by Burke, Dez
“We don’t have that either,” she answers with an apologetic smile. “Will skim milk do?”
I frown. “No, that’s okay. Orange juice will be fine.”
She tucks her pad into her pocket. “I’ll be right back with two cups of coffee then.”
When she leaves, Sam leans back, crosses his arms, and gives me a slow smile. Damn, he’s sexy. I can’t let myself think about it, but it’s impossible not to.
His sandy blond hair is still damp from the shower and unruly from wearing a motorcycle helmet. A lock of hair keeps falling over his eye, and I have a strong urge to reach over and push it back with my fingers.
“I didn’t tell you it was okay for you to sit here,” I point out.
“Why? Someone else joining you?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I wanted some peace and quiet by myself. To read my New York Times and drink my coffee alone.”
“I make you nervous, don’t I?” he says. “Want to tell me why?”
The waitress places two coffee mugs on the table and I take a sip before answering.
“All strange men make me nervous. Nothing personal.”
“You’re implying I’m strange?”
“Not strange, a stranger,” I explain then smile at him. “You might be strange too. Probably are. I don’t know you well enough to say.”
“Maybe you should stick around a while and find out for yourself. And since we’re being brutally honest here, there’s something about you that I’ve been wondering about too.”
He uncrosses his arms and leans forward.
“I’m just going to spit it out,” he continues. “If it offends you, I’m sorry, but I really need to ask you something. Right now. Before this goes any further, I have to know.”
Does he already suspect something about me?
My heart starts pounding. I must be the worst special agent in the history of the ATF if I’ve already blown my cover.
“What do you want to know?” I say. “Go ahead and ask.”
“Only if you promise you won’t get mad.”
I relax a little. Maybe he doesn’t know.
“I can’t promise I won’t get mad. Say it.”
“Okay. But you have to be honest.” He leans closer. “Are you one of those kind of women? There, I said it. Just tell me the truth.”
I put my coffee mug down and stare at him.
Big mistake.
His twinkling blue eyes immediately suck me in and break my concentration.
“What exactly are you asking me?”
He shrugs and fiddles with the handle of his coffee mug.
“You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out.”
It takes me a minute to comprehend what he is asking.
Oh my God!
He thinks I’m a lesbian.
My first instinct as a woman is to be hurt. I should be thinking about how I’ve failed at my job and instead I’m wondering what it is about me that made him think that. The whole undercover operation was based on me being someone who might be intriguing enough to Sam to lure him in. And now I find out that he doesn’t even find me attractive.
Ouch, that stings.
On so many different levels.
“You think I’m a lesbian?” I ask, my voice rising and cracking.
His loud burst of laughter rings out across the diner, causing several of the customers to look our way. A couple of the men nod at Sam and throw up a hand in greeting.
“Hell no!” he says, still chuckling. “I know better than that, darling. Where on earth did you come up with a crazy idea like that?” He looks around to make sure no one is listening before his voice lowers to a whisper.
“I meant are you a...vegan?”
I can’t help but laugh. He’s messing with me. And he got me good. Lesson learned. I’ll have to keep my guard up with him from now on. Sam is a sly, mischievous devil. Somehow my detailed research failed to reveal that vital piece of information.
“Just because I try to eat healthy doesn’t mean I’m a vegan.” I glance up at the waitress heading our way with our orders. “Looks like you should think about eating a little healthier, too.”
I watch in fascination as the waitress unloads Sam’s large order of biscuits, gravy, bacon, eggs, and grits. She places my tiny bowl of oatmeal in front of me.
“Please don’t tell me you eat like this every day,” I say, pointing to his plate.
He frowns at me. “Please don’t tell me you’re putting two packs of artificial sweetener in your oatmeal. At least I’m eating real food and not chemicals. And just so you know, I don’t eat like this every day. Some mornings when I’m feeling frisky, I order blueberry pancakes and sausage instead.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Let’s see who is still alive in fifty years,” I say.
“So you’re planning on sticking around for decades?” he asks. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“As long as it takes to write the magazine articles I’m working on,” I lie.
“Oh, you’re a writer?” he asks. “Who do work for?”
Time to spin my cover story of lies.
“I’m a freelance writer for several different magazines. I’m currently on assignment doing a story about Southern traditions. The North Georgia Mountains seemed like a good place to start. So here I am.”
Sam looks up from the plate of food he is rapidly devouring.
“Sounds interesting. Where are you staying while you’re in town? Do you have family here?”
“I rented a cabin on the lake for a month. Hopefully that will be enough time to get all the information I need. The cabin has a deck with a great view, so it will be like a long summer vacation. I don’t plan on working every minute I’m here. Since I’m a freelancer, I don’t punch a time clock.”
“Good to hear,” he says. “Maybe I can help you out with your story. What kind of Southern traditions are you writing about?”
“I haven’t decided yet. The magazine has expressed some interest in moonshiners, so I’ll probably start there.”
Sam wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a sip of his coffee.
“Moonshine stills are illegal,” he says. “Nobody around here is going to be willing to talk to a big city writer. You probably should think of something else to write about. Quilting or canning green beans might be good.”
“What if I had a local person to help me out with an introduction?”
“Are you talking about me?” He leans back and looks surprised. “What would make you think I know any local moonshiners?”
“Do you?”
“I might know a couple of people who still make hooch,” he says slowly. “If you want the info, it’s going to cost you though. If I arrange to make these introductions, you have to go on a date with me this weekend.”
Well, that was easy and unexpectedly fast. Things are going much better than planned. I was counting on having to play the cat and mouse game with Sam for a while longer. It was completely on impulse that I threw the moonshiners into the conversation, mostly out of curiosity to see what he would say.
I’ve heard of reality shows featuring Georgia moonshiners but didn’t think they really existed. And if they do, the ATF would be very interested in their activities.
“Is this date going to be an interview for sex?” I ask. “Because if it is, I’m not interested.”
He gives me a hurt look.
“Of course not,” he says then smiles again. “You’ve already got the job if you want it. No formal interview necessary.”
“I don’t want it,” I say firmly. “And I’m not looking for a relationship either. Just so you know.”
“Good,” he replies. “Neither am I.”
“So what are you after?”
He reaches across the table and rubs the back of my hand with his thumb.
“You’ll find out.”
My breath catches in my throat. I pull my hand back out of his reach.
“
So how soon can you take me to meet these people?” I ask.
“How about this evening after I close the tattoo shop?” he says. “I’ll make a few calls. I’m sure I can set something up. I’ll pick you up at your lake cabin at seven. Send me a text with the address and I’ll be there.”
“You’re that confident you can set something up with a phone call?”
“I can be extremely persuasive when I want to be,” he says.
I bet.
“Okay then. I’ll be ready for you at seven.”
“I’ll be on my bike, so dress accordingly.”
I frown at him. “You don’t own a car?”
He gulps down the remaining coffee in his cup.
“Sure I do. I rarely take it out. If you want to go anywhere with me, you have to be willing to ride behind me on the bike.”
“Not a problem,” I say. “I’m game if you are. Or we can drive my car.”
“No way. You ride or you don’t go.”
“Fine. I’ll ride. Are you a safe driver?”
“Guess you’ll find out.”
He stands up and grabs the tickets for both of our meals.
“See you at seven.”
I resist the urge to turn around in the booth so I can watch him walk away. It’s hard to take my eyes off him. I hear several people in the diner call out to him as he makes his way to the door, including most of the waitresses.
Sam Mason is a popular guy.
Too bad he won’t be hanging around Bardsville much longer once the ATF gets their hands on him.
Chapter Five
Sam
I arrive at Lila’s cabin on the lake at seven o’clock sharp. My Dad always insisted on promptness from me and my brothers, so it’s a habit I’ve never broken. After having the shit beat out of me for being late more than a few times when I was younger, I learned quickly to be where you’re supposed to be right on time or early.
Jesse and Flint are both the same way. We never talk about the things that went on in our house. It’s better to leave things in the past. Bad memories need to stay buried deep where they belong.
Lila steps out the front door before I have a chance to turn off the bike. She doesn’t invite me in and instead waves a hand down her body.
“Am I dressed okay?” she asks. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
I take a long look. She’s wearing a pair of white shorts that could be a little shorter in my opinion and a white blouse with ruffles. The blouse is sheer and I can see straight through to the white lacy bra underneath. I would love to slip up behind her, slide my hands under the shirt, and cup her full breasts in my hands.
Shit!
She wore that sexy blouse on purpose.
To tempt me.
I can’t forget that everything is a pre-calculated move with her.
“You’re better than okay,” I say. “You look good enough to eat. But your blouse is a little too see-through for where we’re going. The people we’re going to visit can be a little unpredictable, and we don’t want to stir up trouble. You probably should change into something a tad more...nun-like.”
She looks confused and her eyes widen.
“Oh, you mean the moonshiners,” she says. “How rough are these people? Are they dangerous?”
“I don’t know for sure, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.” I try not to let my facial expression give anything away. “Some of these backwoods country folks are a little different. They might not appreciate a provocative blouse with a sexy lacy bra underneath the way I do.” I stare pointedly at her breasts. “And just so you know, I appreciate it very much. So if the shirt is for my benefit, thank you.”
“It isn’t,” she says in a huff, throwing up her hands in frustration. “I’ll be right back.”
I admire the view of her gorgeous ass running back into the house. She returns two minutes later in a plain blue shirt that covers up everything.
“Is this better?” she asks.
I make a face.
“Not to me. But I think you’ll be glad you changed once we get there.”
I hand her a helmet and she straps it on without asking for my help. After I climb on the bike, she hops on behind me and grips my waist without saying a word.
I slide on my sunglasses and hide a smile.
This is going to be fun.
Little Miss Lila is screwing with the wrong person.
Nobody outplays a player, and I’m the best there is.
I run my hand down her smooth thigh and rest it on her knee. She tenses slightly, unconsciously letting me know that she would like to slap my hand away. So I leave it.
“All set back there?” I ask.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
I drive slowly on the two-lane country road then open up the engine when we hit the open highway. When I glance back in the mirror at her, I can’t tell if she’s enjoying the ride or terrified. Either way, she’s not going to let me see it.
Everything Lila does is carefully calculated. Behind those clear green eyes, her mind is probably whirling constantly, always thinking of her next big move against me. It freaks me out to think how things might have turned out if Flint’s contact hadn’t warned us.
When I speed up, she scoots up closer and grips my waist tighter. Her soft breasts press against my back. My cock stirs in interest and I can’t help wondering what she’s like in bed.
Would she be a nice, polite fuck, technically doing everything right, but leaving me cold in the end? Or would she allow herself to let go and feel without inhibitions?
I’m dying to find out.
I want to shake her up, turn her inside out and see what she’s hiding underneath.
Everyone needs a mission.
Her mission is to send me to prison. My new mission is to fuck her so good and so often that when the time comes, she won’t be able to complete her mission.
And after that?
Who the hell knows what will happen? If I get too caught up in the forever after details, it will mess with my head and I’ll screw up.
She leans close to my ear. Her breath tickles my neck. “How much further?”
“Another fifteen minutes or so,” I answer back.
I can’t wait to see her face when we get there. She is going to be pissed.
After several more miles, I turn off onto a one-lane road and drive back into the countryside. The road gradually changes from pavement to gravel to dirt.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asks in concern after I swerve around a mud puddle in the middle of the dirt road.
“Almost there.”
I make one more turn and then we pull up in front of a small yellow house. The wraparound front porch is covered in flower pots of red geraniums and hanging baskets of purples pansies. An elderly woman steps out of the house and waves to us.
After I stop the bike, Lila slides off and removes her helmet.
“Where are we?” she asks, confused. “I thought you were taking me to see a moonshine still.”
I give her a blank look.
“No, you must have misunderstood. I said we were going to see someone who makes hooch. And that would be my Aunt Leona. She mixes up a wicked potion of apple brandy. And occasionally plum.”
“Your Aunt Leona?” Lila echoes after me. “We’re here to talk to the lady waving to us?”
“Yeah, let’s go on in. She’s looking forward to meeting you. When I told her you might write about her in a big-time magazine, she said to bring you right over.”
Lila refuses to budge away from the bike. Her green eyes look perplexed.
“But you said I needed to change my blouse because the moonshiners might think it was too suggestive.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“No, I didn’t say that. You have a wild imagination. What do you think this place is? Deliverance? I knew my Aunt Leona wouldn’t appreciate being able to see straight through your shirt. She’s conservative and old-fashioned. Aren’t you glad n
ow that you changed?”
From the expression on Lila’s face, I can tell she’s having a hard time keeping her shit together. She can’t decide if she should be polite since there’s an old lady waving at her or if she should pitch a hissy fit on me like she really wants to do.
I try to keep a straight face and wait patiently while she makes up her mind, knowing it can easily go either way.
“Y’all come on in now,” Aunt Leona beckons from the porch.
I take Lila’s hand in mine. “We’re coming,” I yell back.
Lila obviously needs a little push. Otherwise we’ll be standing here all night while she tries to figure out how I screwed her over.
“You’re going to love my Aunt Leona,” I say. “She’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about making hooch. And I mean everything. She loves to talk, especially if she has a captive audience.”
Lila plasters a fake smile on her face.
“Great,” she says cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to it.”
My aunt opens the screen door for us to walk through and winks at me behind Lila’s back. She might be old, but she’s as mischievous as I am, if not worse. When I called her earlier and filled her in about what was going on, she jumped at the chance to fool a city girl. The last thing she said before hanging up was that “nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it.”
I’m actually feeling kind of bad for Lila at the moment.
Not too bad though.
Whatever Aunt Leona is getting ready to do to her, she deserves it.
And more.
Chapter Six
Lila
I would like to strangle Sam with my bare hands.
We’ve been walking for fifteen minutes through a hot, hilly cow pasture to reach an apple orchard that I can’t even see yet. I’m already out of breath and his aunt isn’t winded, though she hasn’t stopped talking non-stop since we set out. She insisted that I call her Aunt Leona too, which feels awkward and weird.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got your walking shoes on, Lila,” she says, pointing to my new, uncomfortable sandals that are killing my feet. I’ll be covered in blisters tomorrow and will have to go barefoot for a week.
“If Sam had told me we would be hiking, I would have worn tennis shoes,” I reply, giving him a dirty look.