Two Brutes, One Barista: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (Alaskan Romance Book 3)

by Shaye Marlow

  She bit her lip, and shook her head, and then was nodding vigorously as Harv asked her very nicely to let him keep her satisfied.

  He picked his way through a beautiful guitar solo, despite the plump granny on his lap, and then told her again, and again, and again, and once more for good measure, that she was always on his mind.

  As the last note drifted away, Dotty, who’d looped her arms around his neck, sighed. I’d never seen a more beatific smile on someone’s face.

  And I knew one thing: I wanted Thea to look at me that way.

  THEA

  Some married couples stayed together fifty years out of convenience or habit.

  Not my grandparents. They were still wild for each other, and you could see it in a hundred different ways. They had their ups and downs, sure, and Dotty was certainly more demonstrative than Harv, but that curve to his lips, the gentle familiarity of his hand at her waist all spoke of love. Shouted it, really.

  I couldn’t help smiling, so glad that they’d found each other.

  J.D. cleared his throat, drawing my attention. “Do you happen to know Your Man?” he asked my grandfather.

  “Josh Turner?” Harv asked, one arm around Dotty as she leaned on his chest. “I do.”

  “Would you play it?”

  Harv nodded, pulled Dotty in a little closer, and recovered his hands’ positions on the guitar. Foot tapping, he began to pick out the distinctive intro.

  I glanced over at J.D., and found myself caught in his blue eyes. They were the brightest things in the dim living room, soft and yet shining, and I couldn’t look away. He didn’t, either. He had me so distracted that it was actually a little startling when he opened his mouth and started to sing.

  “Baby lock the door and turn the lights down low,” he began.

  Make that a lot startling. He hit the low notes as though the song had been made for him, in a way that sent shivers down my spine. His singing voice was gorgeous, and so incredibly deep, it could have belonged to the seven-foot wrestler behind him. But there was no seven-foot wrestler. Only him, that low, sweet voice pouring from somewhere deep inside, his whole body settling into the music, imbued with the warmth of his smile.

  He continued, coloring the words with playful suggestiveness, his voice complementing my grandfather’s easy playing. I didn’t look away, and neither did J.D. The air between us hummed with awareness. He was singing to me. That smile, the heat in his eyes, the warmth in his voice, was all for me.

  He hit a particularly low note, and I just about died. Or exploded. Or, in other words, came. I was suddenly, completely, totally turned on.

  His song would’ve been incredible in a room full of women; they would have been shrieking, throwing their panties at him. But it was even better, because his song was for me.

  I gripped the arms of my chair, hanging on his every word, wondering if I’d survive it. I felt out-of-control, seriously tempted to throw myself at him. He’d done something to me, caught me in some sort of spell. I breathed only when he did, only when he paused, only when he gave me a reprieve.

  He was spectacular. And he wanted to lay me down. He wanted to be my man. If I hadn’t known it before, I knew it now, as every word out of his mouth rang with truth. He wanted to be with me, play with me, lay with me.

  My heart thudded, and I wanted it too, more than anything. I wanted him to touch me, wanted to feel his hands sweeping downward, making me shiver with his gentleness, his intent. But gentleness wasn’t all I wanted from him. I wanted him to grip my shirt, to watch those amazing muscles flex as he tore it from me. I wanted him to crowd me, push me back into the cushions, and do things I’d only ever imagined. I wanted him to show me how much he wanted me, to do the things he wanted to do.

  If there’d been no one in the room but us, I’d have gone to him. I would have straddled him, and pushed my fingers into his hair, mussing it. I’d watch his lips as they formed those deep, gorgeous notes, feel the vibration through his skin, the pull of it in my chest. My pussy’d clench, as it was doing now, as I wallowed in his spicy, masculine scent. I could almost feel his hands gripping my hips, feel him hot and hard between my thighs.

  I cleared my throat, shifted in my seat, but still I couldn’t look away. I held his gaze as he let the last sweet note trail off. In that moment, I didn’t care anymore that he was my patient, didn’t care how he treated his brothers. What was important was how he felt, how I felt.

  I wanted him.

  Dotty clapped, and his brothers started babbling about something, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes, my ears, my thoughts were for J.D. My body throbbed, tingled, for him. I was hot, and wet, and ached for him.

  I started when I heard my name.

  “—Thea home,” Gram was saying.

  “We could definitely give her a ride, if that’s what she’d like,” J.D. said.

  I froze, staring into his eyes. My heart, already racing, tripped along a little faster. I could see in them what would happen if they brought me home. J.D. would walk me to my door. He’d kiss me, or I’d kiss him, or we’d kiss each other, and it’d be the kiss that did not end. I’d invite him in, or pull him in. Drag him in. One thing would lead to another. We’d get naked, he’d be touching me this time, touching me all over, and… I’d get my ride.

  But…

  But… I was afraid. My grandmother’s words came back to me, her comment about ‘my little problem’. I’d been shocked that she knew, but I guess I shouldn’t have been, considering she was a god-level gossip who knew everything.

  What if I couldn’t orgasm with him? What if he was unimpressed by my response, my body? What if I disappoint him?

  “But, we still need to weed the tomatoes,” I blurted. “And those suckers; you’ve already let them go long enough.” I was a coward.

  “Oh, pshaw. They can wait. Let the nice boys give you a ride.”

  “I’m enjoying your company,” I insisted. “And Grandda was gonna show me something in the shop.”

  Gram narrowed her eyes at me. That raised eyebrow said, “Really? You’re choosing sucker-plucking over a night of hot sex??” Almost like magic, I began to feel guilty.

  “Oh, quit meddling and leave the girl alone,” Harv said to his wife. “If she wants to stay, she can. I’ll take her home later this evening.”

  Strangely, the guilt trip, plus my grandfather’s support, helped firm my resolve. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stay a while longer,” I told J.D. directly. My body mourned, and I silently berated myself for being such a chickenshit.

  I looked to my grandfather. “Why don’t you finish telling J.D. how you make those ribs, before they go?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THEA

  I looked up when the little bell above the door jingled.

  It was J.D., in an athletic T and shorts that showed a good portion of his muscular thighs. The sun glinted in his disheveled hair as he stepped through the door, and—dear god—he was breathing hard and a little sweaty.

  My body reacted with almost painful suddenness. He was still across the room, and my nipples were hard. I stayed on my stool, and stayed slouched over my book, hoping to conceal the nipple situation.

  He stopped in front of the counter, and looked at me. Didn’t speak. Just stood, and looked.

  In a sudden tizzy of awkwardness, I realized my slouch framed his package in my vision. I straightened, winced when the stool put pressure between my legs, thought about crossing my arms across my chest, then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear and cleared my throat. “Can I, uh, get you something?”

  “What was Dotty talking about?” he asked. His gaze had drifted down to my chest. I was wearing a bra, but my insistent nipples—which knew exactly what they wanted: his hands cupping my tingling breasts, squeezing, the warm wet of his mouth covering, the sharp sting of suction, the wild, arcing rush of sensation—were making it seem as if I wasn’t.

  I jumped up and hid behind the espresso machine, cursing the fact t
hat it wasn’t quite tall enough to conceal my reddened cheeks. My hands began fumbling through the motions of making a latte.

  “It’s a beautiful day out,” I called over the grinding of the beans.

  He grinned wolfishly, and came around the end of the counter.

  My heart started beating really hard. What was he doing?

  He came closer. Closer, trapping me in the corner behind the espresso machine. He jabbed the switch on the grinder, and we were surrounded by a sudden, ringing silence.

  “‘A man to help you with your little problem’?” he asked.

  “She’s going senile,” I said. “She has no idea what she’s saying. Hell, I have no idea what she’s saying.” Feeling frazzled, I tamped the grounds, and twisted the filter into place. I was trying to ignore him so hard, I forgot to put the shot glasses into place, and then nearly knocked one onto the floor when I remembered. I was breathing as hard as if I’d been doing whatever J.D. had to make him so appealingly sweaty.

  He leaned his hip against the counter, watching me. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t care what you believe,” I snapped, not looking at him as I steamed the milk. I’d gained control of my hands, mostly. I had to lean in close to him to get a cup, and then I poured everything together, overdoing it a bit on the foam.

  I turned, and thrust the cup at him, holding it between us like a shield. He was just too much, crowding me with his presence. He would have been too much even standing across the room in this small space. He was just… J.D.

  He took the cup from me, making shivers travel all the way up my arm from where our fingers brushed. He glanced down at the foamy surface, then back at me. His brow lifted.

  “It’s a latte,” I said. “Decaf.”

  He considered the foamy beverage. And then, he took a sip.

  It was a perfectly innocent action, and it would have been just fine—should have been just fine—except it left a little line of foam on his upper lip. I stared at it, hearing a roaring in my ears as my blood thudded through my veins. My pussy throbbed, and my nipples could have cut glass.

  “Pretty good,” he murmured, then caught me staring. “Problem?”

  “You’ve just got a little,” I pointed to my lip, hyperventilating. “Uhhh.”

  “I have a little what?” he asked, moving closer.

  I backed up until I hit the wall. I felt my hair catch on the thumbtacks pressed there, and knew I was well and thoroughly trapped. And I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from his mouth. I gulped. “Foam,” I said.

  He’d set the latte down on the counter, and his hands flattened on the wall to either side of me. “Would you like to help me with it?” he asked.

  I felt his breath on my lips, and it was a damn good thing my hair was caught; it kept me from sliding down the wall. “No, I’m good,” I squeaked.

  “Thea,” he breathed, “please help me.” God, that look in his eyes…

  I tapped my upper lip. “Just lick here,” I whispered.

  He leaned in and flicked his tongue across my lip. I jumped, and nearly combusted on the spot. It’d felt like fire and ice, and he leaned back so quickly, it took me a few seconds to process what he’d done. “Like that?” he rasped.

  Unable to speak, feeling quite dumb, I shook my head.

  “Like this, then?” He leaned in and licked me again, the tip of his tongue slowly traveling the length of my upper lip.

  It should have been gross, should have been wet and weird… but it wasn’t. It was exactly the opposite, and it took opening my eyes to realize I’d closed them.

  He smiled down at me, still with that damn foam on his lip. “Like that?” he asked, his tone teasing.

  “No, you idiot.” I grabbed his damp T-shirt, and dragged his mouth down to mine.

  I ate the foam off his lip, then sealed our mouths together. Holding him to me, I kissed him like I’d been wanting to for days. Consumingly, desperately, loving the perfect way our mouths slid and clung. The heat of it, the sheer eroticism stole my breath away.

  He groaned as he leaned into me. The brush of his chest against my breasts sent a shot of pure desire through my belly. When I gasped, his scent filled my lungs. My head was spinning, and now his hand was on me, the warmth cupping my jaw, my neck, and my bottom lip was in his mouth. When he sucked, I discovered a liquid state. In my knees, my pussy. I clutched at him, moaning as his mouth played with mine.

  So. Damn. Good. I hovered on the edge of losing control, with just this small amount of contact. The intensity scared me.

  I pushed him back. Even that seemed like a mistake, as his firm chest pressed against my hands with each of his gasping breaths. And I had a view of his eyes, the color darkened to cobalt. Except they weren’t hard, not at all. More like the deepest, most mysterious depths of the ocean. But hot. Boiling hot.

  He wanted me. Badly.

  “What did she mean?” he asked. Growled, really. That voice of his vibrated through his chest, and into me. I groaned, the arms that held him off weakening, my body throbbing. His heart thumped under my right palm.

  “You can tell me,” he coaxed, looking like he wanted to kiss me again.

  I stomped my foot on a sound of frustration, which only made him smile. I turned my head to the side when he swooped in again, desperately trying to resist him. It was crazy, that someone could have this much power over me.

  But he was making me forget, making it not matter. He laid kisses on my cheek, rubbing his satiny lips against me with infinite gentleness. Kissing his way to my ear, his caresses lush. The hint of teeth made me gasp.

  His hands drifted inward to find my ribcage. His thumbs brushed the barest edge of my breasts, electrifying me. Then my earlobe was in his mouth, earring and all, and he drew gently on it as his hand slid farther around my neck, the heat of it seeping into me, relaxing me even as he held me still. He groaned, the sound mesmerizing.

  Oh my god. I didn’t know what to do, so I told the truth: “I’ve never had an orgasm with a man,” I blurted, ending the sentence on a moan as I strained into his embrace. I felt surrounded by him, my chin against his shoulder, his scent making me dizzy with lust.

  His whole body stilled. “Never?”

  “Never.”

  He looked adorably confused. “Ever?”

  Gazing up at him, my eyes half-lidded, I wanted to kiss that look right off his face. “Never ever,” I whispered.

  “But… you react like this,” he said, brushing his thumb against my breast again.

  I made a little sound of helpless pleasure, feeling the heat rising to my chest, my face. My nipples were trying to thrust straight through my shirt to get to him, and I pressed my thighs together.

  “Only to you,” I said. I wanted it to be a retort, to be sassy, to back him off, but it was none of those things. The words were breathy, and inviting, and even a little awed, damn it to hell.

  “Only me?” he asked, a full-of-himself grin spreading across his handsome face. As if his head needed to get any bigger.

  “But I’d react this way to anyone,” I insisted. “Anyone who was so…” I freed a hand to wave it at him.

  His grin only widened, and he leaned in again, about to lay complete and utter waste to my resistance.

  In a sudden fit of self-preservation, I tore myself away. I left a few strands of hair hanging from the thumb tacks, but I managed to slip out from between him and the wall. And just in time, too.

  The little bell above the door chimed, and a fisherman walked in. I smiled brightly at him. “What can I get you?” I asked.

  J.D. stayed front and center, glowering at the man.

  The guy hesitated, eyeing J.D., then ordered an Americano. I dumped the used grinds from J.D.’s latte, then ground a new batch. “That’ll be three dollars,” I said as I began pulling the shot.

  J.D. held out his hand, and had three ones laid into it. The fisherman declined room for cream, and I put his espresso-and-hot-water into hi
s hand.

  As he walked out, I sidled away from J.D.

  “Why are you running?” he asked. “I’d love to give you orgasms. I’d happily spend the whole afternoon giving you orgasms. Hell, the whole rest of the day, and on into the night. And tomorrow. And—”

  I snorted. “That’s not all you want.” I parked myself back in front of my book, hoping to ignore him until he went away.

  “Well no, of course it’s not. But I guarantee you’d enjoy that, too,” J.D. said, leaning over my shoulder. “Hey… that’s a Nicholas Sparks.”

  Yes, yes it was. More evidence that I’d lost my mind.

  “What would a guy who beats people up for a living know about making a woman cum?” I muttered, unable to hold back the words. I tensed, knowing a statement like that couldn’t be ignored.

  The silence between us stretched, so acute I could hear the ticking of the clock.

  Finally, his breath tickled my ear as he sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m only good at hurting people.”

  I felt a pang as he backed off. He scooped up the drink I’d made him, and moved around the counter. He paused at the door. “Think about my offer,” he said. Then he pulled the door closed.

  Except, he pulled the door closed with him inside. And then he threw the lock.

  J.D. grinned. “Just kidding,” he said. Then he started toward me.

  I scrambled off my stool, nearly knocking it over in my haste. “What are you doing?” I demanded as he rounded the counter.

  “Answering your challenge,” he said. He set down his coffee. “In the only way you’ll understand.”

  “I understand good old English just fine,” I said, evading him.

  He caught me, spun me around, and pressed me back against the wall.

  I squeaked, gazing up at him with wide eyes, my excitement flavored by just the tiniest bite of apprehension.

  He caught my face, and his mouth crashed down on mine. His kisses had been gentle before. This one was all heat and lust. His tongue thrust like he owned my mouth, like he owned me. He kissed me until all I knew was him. Until I surrendered completely, letting him support my weight where he crushed me to the wall.