Licked (L.A. Liaisons Book 1)

by Brooke Blaine

  “Ugh.” I threw my phone across the room and kicked my legs, tantrum style, not believing I’d just ended what should’ve been a hot night with Cameron because I couldn’t stop visualizing someone I definitely did not want. Someone who purposely went out of his way to antagonize me. Someone getting in the way of hot phone sex with my dream guy.

  “Screw off, Hunter Morgan,” I said in the empty room. “Screw the hell off.”

  YOU ARE AN idiot of the highest order, I told myself for the tenth time in the last hour. It was Saturday night, and as I stood on the doorstep of the last place I expected to be, I debated whether to knock. Maybe I could tell him something came up at the shop and we’d have to discuss things tomorrow, or that I hit an old lady with my car and had to spend the night in the ER waiting room.

  No. Bad karma.

  With my arms crossed tightly over my chest, I chewed on my lip and debated my other options. I could knock and go inside, and then…well, we’d work like we’d discussed at the shop today. And then I’d go home. And that would be that.

  But something about that option had me jittery as hell. I’d been staring at the black door with the numbers 986 in silver for at least five minutes, and soon the neighbors would probably start peeking out of their blinds.

  No. This was a bad idea. Turning on my heel, I went back to my car. Yes, this was a very bad id—

  “Ryleigh?”

  Shit.

  Pivoting slowly, I gave a halfhearted wave. “Hey, Hunter.”

  “Not leaving, are you?” he asked.

  Busted. I headed back up the sidewalk. “No, I was just…going to get something out of my car.”

  “Ah, okay. I’ll wait.”

  “You’ll wait…” I said, and then shook my head. “Nah, it’s not important.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Positive.”

  He held the front door open for me to pass, but didn’t move, which meant I had to brush against him to get inside. I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, but I wasn’t about to stop and linger.

  Damn, damn, damn, this was so not good.

  I walked in to see the blueprints laid out across the circular oak table in the dining area. So I was here to work. Well, that was a relief. He wasn’t going to tear my clothes off after all.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Hunter asked, grabbing two wine glasses that hung from a rack in the kitchen. There was no way in hell I was drinking with him here on his turf. His and Cameron’s turf, I reminded myself.

  When I shook my head, he frowned and then put the extra glass back. “Suit yourself.”

  “I never pictured you for a wine guy,” I said when he sat down across from me at the table and set his glass of red down.

  “What does a wine guy look like?”

  “Suave and debonair, maybe a sophisticated businessman—”

  “Like Cameron.” Hunter’s jaw ticked.

  “Well…yeah.”

  “He hates wine.”

  “Oh.”

  He took a long gulp of the ruby liquid. “So what do I look like, then? Wait, let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Bud Light or PBRs, right?”

  “I would’ve said maybe Corona. Or rum and Coke.”

  Hunter shook his head. “And what is it the boozy shake queen likes? Other than ice cream with her alcohol.”

  “It’s the best of both worlds, which you’d know if you tried one.”

  “I might just have to do that,” he said. “Can’t hurt to have a taste.”

  As the glass went to his lips again, I swallowed hard. Maybe letting him have a taste wouldn’t be such a great idea. He’d probably become addicted, and then I’d never get rid of him.

  Of course, my brain wasn’t just thinking about the boozy shakes then.

  Returning my focus to the plans laid out on the table, I cleared my throat. “So you said there needed to be changes. You mean incredibly minor ones that won’t be any issue at all, right?”

  “Mhmm. Practically nonexistent.”

  “Then let’s get started.”

  “We’ll have to make the bar a few inches longer to accommodate the plumbing.”

  “And?”

  Hunter scanned the plans and then shrugged. “That’s it.”

  I gaped at him. “That’s it? I came all this way for a few measly inches?”

  When he burst into laughter, I flushed, realizing how he took it. I didn’t mean those inches.

  With a growl, I said, “You could’ve gone over these things with me in the shop.”

  “You’re right, I could’ve. I had an ulterior motive.”

  My heart thumped in my chest. Okay, so he was a little bolder than I thought. It was time to have my Louboutin Summerissima sandals hauling ass out the door.

  “Look, I don’t know what you thought—”

  Hunter stood up. “Just wait here,” he said, then threw back the rest of his wine before disappearing into his bedroom. If he came back out with a box of Trojans, my knee was going to make sure he didn’t have an appendage left to use them on.

  When he returned, there was a stack of what looked like scrapbooks in his arms, and he dropped them on the table in front of me with a loud thump.

  My brow knitted in confusion. “What’s this?”

  “Designs to look through before we meet with Mitch.”

  “But I already have ideas in mind. The ones that should’ve been ordered.”

  “And those were fine, but I have a feeling you want something a little more…you.”

  “Those are me.”

  Hunter cocked his head to the side. “Would you just look at them?”

  With a sigh, I opened the book on top of the pile and flipped to the first page. My eyes widened at the array of lacquered black stools with magenta cushioned seats. They were even set against white and black checkered tile flooring, just like the kind in my shop. The effect was visually stunning.

  “I thought you might like those,” Hunter said, a smile creeping onto his lips.

  I wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction of being right. Hell no. “They’re not bad.”

  “Not bad? Your eyes just popped out of your head.”

  Flipping the page, I saw more barstools, this time in a mirage of some of my favorite colors—aqua, yellow, and amethyst. Totally up my alley. The next page had funky tables and booths; the next had different designs for the high-top tables and chairs. All bold. All eclectic. All me.

  When I looked up, Hunter was watching me. “Where did you find this stuff?” I asked.

  “Do you like it?”

  Dammit. I did not want to admit defeat, but the truth was that these pieces blew mine out of the water and made them look plain in comparison. Blowing out a breath, I said, “Fine. Yes. They’re amazing.”

  Hunter gave me a dazzling grin, stood up, and grabbed his glass. “Look at the book underneath that one. It’s got some great ideas for lighting.”

  As I was flipping through that one and oohing and ahhing over everything, Hunter came back with a full wine glass…and one for me.

  “Tell me you don’t like it,” he said when he caught my disapproving look.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Try it and then tell me.”

  “You’re rather pushy, you know that, right?”

  “Maybe I know what you’d like.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

  As I glared at him across the table, he stared right back. “I haven’t been too far off base with anything yet.”

  And dammit, he was right. I hated that he was right. I wasn’t even sure why I wanted to prove him wrong, but since I wasn’t a huge red wine fan, I’d do it now. Picking up the glass, I held it up in a mock salute, and then took a small sip. The instant the flavors of blackberry, chocolate, and vanilla landed on my tongue, I knew I’d lost this round.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, while Hunter gave a victory smile. “I don’t even like red.�
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  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I wonder what I could pair this with for a shake…I could call it the Red Devil.” I looked pointedly at him.

  His hand went over his heart. “I’d be honored.”

  I shook my head and took another sip before pointing at the lighting on the page. “Could we do something like this but have it shine through the bar? So you can see the lights underneath?”

  Hunter’s brow went up. “You mean a clear bar?”

  “Well…yeah. Or maybe not clear, more, um…foggy? Is that the word?”

  “Frosted.”

  “Yeah, frosted.”

  Hunter turned the book to face him and flipped to the next page. “Like this?”

  “I’ll be damned. Exactly like that. Is that feasible?”

  Hunter’s eyes flicked up to mine. “Anything you want.”

  His gaze had my stomach flipping, and I couldn’t force any words out of my mouth. Not even a wise-ass comeback. All I could do was pry my eyes away from his.

  “Let’s nail down a few that you like, and when we see Mitch, he’ll let you know what’s doable in the time frame and in your budget,” he said. “Sound good?”

  I nodded.

  “We’re still on for Monday morning, right? I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  That had my voice coming back. “There’s no need to do that. I can drive myself.”

  “It’s three hours away. It’s stupid to take two cars.”

  Okay, that was a little ridiculous. I tried to think of another reason not to be alone in the car with him for a long period of time.

  “I’ve got a truck, and we might be coming back with a few pieces, so it makes sense for me to drive. Any other arguments?”

  I sighed.

  “Good.”

  “Is there anything else we need to go over?” I asked. There was no way I was coming back for a return trip. Better knock it all out at once.

  “I guess not.” He gestured to the books. “Feel free to take whatever you want and look over them.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” I said, placing the two I’d already gone through in a separate pile so I could go through the others. “I’ll give them back to you on—shit.”

  My hand knocked into my glass and it tumbled over, the wine splattering onto my lap. Against my white dress, the red liquid resembled something out of a murder scene.

  “Don’t move.” Hunter leaped up and grabbed a roll of paper towels and a plastic bag before kneeling in front of me. My hands were holding the edges of my dress up so the contents wouldn’t get all over the floor. He began to wipe at the mess in my lap, discarding the towels into the bag as they each soaked up the wine.

  “I’m so sorry. That’s a huge reason not to drink red wine. Or to wear white, I suppose,” I said. Yeah, white anything wasn’t the smartest idea, and this dress would be going in the trash tonight for sure.

  “Nah, it all comes off,” he said, his hands pressing down on my thighs, and it was then that it occurred to me where he was touching me. He ripped off another paper towel and pressed down where my hip met my thigh. And again and again until the towel soaked and he had to get another. I just sat there, letting him do it, studying the lines of his face as he cleaned me off.

  His skin was so tan compared to mine, and I wondered if it was his natural tone or from hours spent at the beach. His hair fell onto his forehead, and I ached to push it back and thread my fingers through the thick strands. This time, he pressed down a few inches to the left, right in the center where my—

  I pushed his hands away, feeling breathless. He looked up in confusion, and I swallowed. “I can do it,” I whispered.

  He looked down at where he’d been touching me, and it seemed to dawn on him then where his hands had been. Without a word, he handed me the roll of paper towels and got up off the floor. Then he wiped away the drops from the table and took my empty glass to the kitchen.

  Letting out a shaky breath, I finished cleaning my dress as best I could, and then handed him the bag to throw away.

  My knees wobbled as I got to my feet, and I was thankful his back was turned. The door to Cameron’s room was cracked, and I could see the impeccably made bed, the spotless floors and dressers. He seemed to be as put together as he looked. Unlike me, I thought as I looked down at my ruined dress.

  Here I was, in his apartment, having drinks and trying not to ogle his best friend and roommate. What the hell is wrong with me?

  A burst of longing ripped through my chest. I wished he were there. He suddenly felt like a safety blanket, something familiar and steady. Maybe I should call him… Glancing at the wall clock, I added fifteen hours. It would be midafternoon there now. Yes, good plan. Now I just needed to get the hell out of here before the tension suffocated me.

  “I’ll carry them,” Hunter said when I reached for the design books. I didn’t bother putting up a complaint, seeing as my arms still felt like Jell-O. The effect he had on me was lingering, and I didn’t like that a damn bit.

  He seemed to sense my mood and stayed quiet as he followed me to my car. After putting the books on the floor of the backseat, he rested his hand on the door. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed, and then said, “Ryleigh, I—”

  “I need to get going,” I interrupted. “Thank you for the books. I’ll keep them somewhere safe.” I quickly slid into the driver’s seat before he could say any more. Though I wouldn’t meet his eyes, I knew he was staring at me.

  After a long moment, he let out a heavy breath and shut the back door. “Drive safe.”

  Nodding, I put the car in gear and didn’t bother looking his way before flying down the street.

  What was Hunter playing at? He knew I was interested in Cameron, yet everything in me was screaming warnings that the guy was looking to make his move. Unless I was reading the signs wrong, and I didn’t think I was.

  Hunter wasn’t giving up until, true to his name, he’d successfully hunted and captured his prey.

  His prey being…me.

  MY STOMACH HAD been in knots for over twenty-four hours. Hunter would be picking me up any minute, and I was struggling not to bite off every one of my nails while I waited. After leaving his house Saturday night, I’d been restless, half tempted to call off the trip and invest in plastic chairs and cups.

  Maybe I was reading too much into this. He was a flirty guy, yeah, but he hadn’t actually tried anything with me. I bet he did that with all the girls. A few hours in the car would be no big deal. I’d even brought a pair of headphones and stashed them in my purse in case of an emergency—like listening to country music.

  Hunter’s black truck pulled into a space in front of the shop, and he jumped out, dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt. He looked freshly showered…and utterly delicious.

  He opened the passenger’s-side door for me and grinned. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

  I tried for a smile. “Good morning.”

  “You know, for someone who’s about to go shopping, I thought you’d be more excited.”

  Hoping he wouldn’t see right through me, I slid onto the seat and said, “Maybe we can stop for some caffeine?”

  “I thought you might say that,” Hunter said when he’d gotten in the truck. He pulled a coffee cup out of the center console and handed it to me before sipping out of his own.

  “Pickup service and coffee. I could get used to that.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I didn’t mean I could get used to him picking me up and getting me coffee every day, because that would imply something I was not thinking about. I had just meant in general. Of course.

  Luckily, he didn’t comment, just gave me a half-smile and pulled out onto the road.

  I took a sip, and wouldn’t you know it—the coffee was delicious, just like the man who’d made it. But he’d added some kind of sweetener I couldn’t pinpoint.

  “What did you put in this?” I asked.

  “
Can’t tell you that.”

  “Why? Some kind of secret recipe?”

  “Special recipe, yes.”

  “Like…?”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “You can call it Hunter’s sweet cream—ow.” Hunter rubbed his arm where I’d punched him. “What? You asked.”

  “Is it possible for you to stay PG during this trip?”

  “I don’t know, is it possible you could keep your hands to yourself, Tyson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then maybe.”

  I sighed and drank my coffee in silence as he pulled onto the freeway. He looked like a car model with his hand lying on top of the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, his shaggy brown hair whipping across his forehead from the wind that was blowing in through the cracked windows. My hair was up and not going anywhere, so I didn’t mind the fresh air. I also didn’t mind that he hadn’t bothered to turn the radio on either, in case his preference really was country music.

  The twisted ball of trepidation in my stomach eased the farther we drove away from L.A.

  See? This wasn’t so bad. I could be in a car with him and be platonic. It wasn’t like I was visualizing what he looked like naked. Wait…dammit, why did I just think of that?

  Don’t visualize him naked, don’t visualize him naked. Subject change…

  “Oh, by the way,” I said, “I brought a couple of the books you gave me to look through so I could show Mitch. Remind me to give you the rest when we get back.” Yes, good. Focus on work stuff.

  “Find anything you like?”

  “Actually, it was hard to find anything not to be totally obsessed with. I might need help narrowing it down.”

  “That’s what today is for.”

  I picked at the sleeve of the coffee cup. “I don’t remember if I said thank you for this. And if I did, thank you again. I thought I had all my ducks in a row a long time ago.”

  “Everything happens for a reason, right?”

  “I could’ve done without the shady builder stress, but I suppose you’re right.”

  “A better way to look at it would be to say you completely lucked out by snagging me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “So modest.”