Southern Girl Series Bundle: Bohemian Girl, Neighbor Girl, Intern Girl

by Georgia Cates

  “I want this.”

  7

  Porter Beckman

  I just asked a girl for permission to kiss her. That’s never happened. Not even when I was young and probably should have been asking.

  Frankie couldn’t be more different from my typical kind of woman. Younger. Sweeter. Not at all the kind of girl you’d shove against the exterior wall of this house to fuck—and then walk away because you got the one thing you wanted from her.

  No, sir. Frankie Dawson isn’t that kind of girl. If I tried to tug her shorts open right now, I bet she would shove my hand away and tell me no. And for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t find that to be a turnoff.

  It’s sexy as fuck.

  I want this. I hear those soft, sweet words leave her mouth, and I’m electrified. On fucking fire just by the prospect of kissing her.

  I cradle her face and savor the nearness of our mouths. No touching, just simply sharing air. Amazing how fucking intoxicating it is to feel her warm breath on my mouth.

  And I can’t remember ever wanting a woman more.

  I press my lips to hers. Softly. Sweetly. Slowly. And our mouths move together in perfect synchronization until we open for our tongues to meet. The two are slick, wet velvet sliding against one another.

  I move my hands from her face to her lower back and pull her closer so our bodies are pressed together. But I’m careful; I don’t want her to feel as though I’m dry humping her like she’s a cheap whore.

  She drapes her arms over my shoulders and pushes her fingers into the back of my hair. Her nails scraping my scalp send chills down my spine.

  “Woof… woof-woof… woof.”

  She pulls away, and we both turn at the sound of the barking dog on the interior side of the fence. “Get out of here, Teddy. It’s just me. Go away.”

  The exterior lights on the corner of the house come on. “Frankie? Is that you?”

  Shit. It’s Scott.

  Frankie leans forward and places a quick kiss against my mouth. “Gotta go. Stay here until I turn off the lights.”

  Shit. I’m thirty years old and sneaking around behind everyone’s back with a girl almost ten years younger than me. I’m fucking hiding out at the side of her house and waiting for a cue to leave so her daddy doesn’t figure out that we were making out after our secret date.

  Everything about this is fucked up.

  But everything about being with her feels wonderful.

  The light goes off, and I return to Ken’s car. “Sorry about the delay.”

  “No worries. I’ve been driving you for a while now. I’m used to delays.” Ken’s words are a reminder that he has waited in the car many times while I finished off a one-nighter.

  I don’t know why it matters to me, but I don’t like that Ken sees Frankie as another one-nighter. I guess it’s dumb, but I feel the need to set him straight. “This one is different.”

  “Ah, I said that once about a woman.”

  “What happened?”

  “I put a ring on it. That was seven years and three kids ago.”

  I had no idea Ken was married with children. “She’s my intern. And her father has been one of my best employees for five years. He knows things about me and my personal life. I’m not sure he’ll approve of his daughter dating me.” Not when he’s been the one to turn away the women who came to the brewery looking for me.

  “She’s an adult, right?”

  “Barely.”

  “Well, Daddy can’t do anything about it if she’s legal.”

  True. But that’s not the way I’d prefer this to play out. I’d want Scott’s approval.

  I don’t know why I’m sitting here worrying about this. Frankie is only here for ten more weeks. Scott will probably never even know about us.

  If there is an us.

  Fuck. I really want there to be an us. And I’m ready to work on that right now.

  I scroll through my list of contacts and find Frankie’s number. I have to know she’s thinking about me and what just happened.

  Porter: Everything ok?

  Frankie: It’s fine. He didn’t know you were there.

  Porter: I had a great time tonight.

  Frankie: I did too.

  Porter: I hope you’ll want to see me again. Outside of the office.

  Frankie: I would like that.

  Porter: Can you see me tomorrow?

  Frankie: I wish, but the whole family is going to visit my grandparents after church. I can’t skip.

  Porter: Can I book you for lunch on Monday?

  Frankie: My boss is a real hard-ass. He has me doing a lot of busy work, but I think I can work you in.

  Porter: Good.

  Porter: And just so you know, I wasn’t finished kissing you.

  Porter: Does that scare you?

  Frankie: More kisses? No.

  Frankie: How much I want more kisses? Hell. Yes.

  Porter: Why are you afraid of wanting more?

  Frankie: Because I’m leaving soon.

  Porter: I think this is a conversation better had over lunch instead of text messages.

  Frankie: Agreed.

  Porter: Sweet dreams, beautiful.

  Frankie: Goodnight. Sweet dreams to you too.

  They will be sweet dreams if they include Frankie.

  I already know Frankie well enough to figure out that she is a creature of habit. She clocks in between 7:43 and 7:45 every morning. Hence, the reason I’m here at 7:35 to have a venti white chocolate mocha waiting for her on her desk, fire up her computer and select a Journey song to be playing when she comes in, and leave a note reminding her of our lunch date. Not that I think she has forgotten. I just want to let her know that I’m pleased to be spending time with her today.

  I open the top drawer of her desk in search of a sticky pad and come up empty-handed. I only find her sketchbook. Odd she’d leave it here for the weekend. I’d expect her to take it home in case inspiration struck.

  I crack it open and flip from the beginning, searching for a blank page I can tear out. Portraits. Landscapes. Abstracts. You name it and she’s drawn it. She’s talented beyond her years. But her last sketch is the one that catches my attention and hypnotizes me.

  Intricate thick tapered black lines. Swirls. Crisp, clean edges. Ink on skin. My skin. Except these sketches aren’t just my tattoos. They’re the lower portions of my tattoos, the only parts Frankie would be able to see below my sleeve, but with new ink and designs added to them. And they look cool as hell.

  I take out my phone and snap several pictures of her drawing before putting her pad back in the drawer. I forgo tearing out a sheet; I don’t want her to know that I’ve seen her sketches of my tattoos. At least not for now.

  I bolt next door to my office and scribble out my message.

  Lunch with the boss at 12:00.

  Don’t forget. —P

  I have no more than two minutes before she’ll arrive at her desk so I dash back to the art department. I select “Faithfully” to play; I want her to be reminded of our dance. Lastly, I fold the note in half with her name on the outside like a seating card.

  I rush out the door and run right smack into Molly, chest-to-chest. Well, almost. More like chest to abdomen since Molly is so much shorter than me. “Good morning, Porter.”

  “Good morning, Mama Molly.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that you’re up to something?”

  Molly’s motherly intuition is never off. “Because I’m always up to something, and this morning is no different.”

  “This morning is different. You’re here earlier than usual, and you’re running out of the art department like a scalded dog.”

  “I brought Frankie a coffee.” I shrug, playing it off like it’s nothing. “You caught me.”

  “Did you bring me a coffee?”

  “Yes. It’s waiting for you on your desk.”

  “Good boy.” Molly makes a V with her index and middle fingers, using them to point at her ey
es and then mine. “But I’m still watching you.”

  “What’s new?”

  I’m in my office no more than five minutes before Frankie is standing in the doorway knocking. “Thank you for the white chocolate mocha. And the music. That was really thoughtful.”

  Ah, she noticed the song playing. “You’re welcome.”

  “I was planning to work on the new merchandise today. Is that okay, or do you need me to do something else?”

  “Merchandise would be great.”

  “Do you have a minute to look at the draft of the new website? Or are you tied up?”

  “I can come have a look.”

  I go to the art department with Frankie and roll a chair over from the opposite desk so I’m beside her. Close.

  She opens her draft. “Home page. I’m keeping everything clean and streamlined but with bold graphics.”

  “Looks good.”

  “Do you really think so? Because I want you to tell me if you don’t.”

  “I do. Really.”

  “The first drop-down is Our Beers. I think it’s nice for the customer to see all of the beer options on one page but that’s a lot for a mobile device to load. Since most people will be looking at this from a phone, I broke them down.”

  “Makes sense.” I lean closer and inhale deeply. Mmm… peach and floral. “You smell really good.”

  “Thank you.” She clicks on the next drop-down. “This one is Beer Locator. Nothing special going on there. Just a search for Iron City beer distributors.”

  I can hardly concentrate on what she’s saying. “I haven’t been able to think about anything but kissing you again.”

  Frankie looks toward the open door and lowers her voice. “Porter…”

  “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to show me your work but being this close to you is killing me. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss on Saturday night or how badly I want to do it again.”

  She twists to look at me, and her eyes lock with mine. “It’s all I’ve thought about too. And I’m dying to do it again.”

  “When?”

  She grins and bites her bottom lip as she looks away. “I don’t know.”

  She looks and sounds so timid. Not at all like a woman who freely gives herself to men. And it’s sexy as fuck.

  “It has to be soon. I don’t think I can bear to wait.”

  A shrug accompanies her wide grin. “You tell me when.”

  Frankie jolts when there’s a knock on the door. “Hey, early bird.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  I’m too close. I should roll my chair away from her, but that would probably look suspicious. “Looks like y’all are getting an early start this morning.”

  “Yeah. I was just showing Mr. Beckman the new website I’m building.”

  Mr. Beckman. Hearing her call me that is a little bit of a turn-on.

  “What do you think of my little girl, boss? She’s something, right?”

  That is a loaded question. “Frankie is a talented designer. I’m very happy with my choice to take her on as my intern.”

  “I knew she’d do a good job for you.”

  “She does a great job just like her dad.”

  “Appreciate that, boss. Great music choice by the way. Did Frankie tell you that she saw Journey in concert this weekend?”

  “She did. I was pretty jealous.”

  “You’re a fan?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  Scott points at me. “I knew I liked you.” He wouldn’t if he knew what I wanted to do with his daughter. “When you get a few free minutes today, can you come to the warehouse and see me for a bit?”

  Oh fuck. What’s that about? “Sure.”

  Scott winks at Frankie. “See you later, baby girl.”

  I wait until I’m certain Scott is gone. “Do you know why he wants to see me?”

  “I think it’s going to be about the guy he suspects is stealing.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time we had a thief among us. And it wouldn’t be the first time your dad solved the mystery of inventory gone missing.”

  “He’s a sharp guy.”

  Scott and I have always clicked. Not to say that he doesn’t with Lucas and Oliver, but I feel like we’ve always had a good rapport. Conversation comes easy for us.

  “I’m glad my dad likes you. Maybe that’ll keep him from killing you if he finds out we’re… kissing or… whatevering.”

  “Whatevering? I need specifics on what that includes.”

  “You’re so bad.” She shakes her head and turns back to her screen.

  We spend the next fifteen minutes looking at every aspect of the new website and I fight the urge to pull her into my office and… do a little whatevering.

  “Looks great. I think you can go to work on the new merchandise.”

  “Good. I’m anxious to see what I can come up with.”

  “I’ll be in and out of the brewery today, but I’m planning to pick you up at twelve.”

  “Should I wait for you here?”

  “Yeah. I’ll text you when I’m ready.”

  “Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

  8

  Frankie Dawson

  I’m on pins and needles for the next four hours. I cycle through an array of emotions. Nervous. Excited. Frightened. Anxious.

  And happy. Can’t forget happy.

  Porter: I’m back. Waiting for you in my parking spot.

  Oh my goodness. My stomach is in huge knots.

  Frankie: Ok. On my way out.

  I wonder where he’s taking me today. I wouldn’t mind that vegan cafe again. The food was delicious. And the atmosphere was calm and quiet. Being in that tall booth made it feel like we could have a private conversation without everyone around us hearing what we had to say.

  I nearly come to a screeching halt when I meet Molly in the hallway on my way out the door. “Going out for lunch today?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “My phone says it’s eighty-six degrees so try not to melt while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  “Porter’s probably got the air turned up, so it’ll be cool when you get in his truck.” Molly winks and I nearly shit my shorts.

  I say nothing, neither confirming nor denying that I’m leaving with him. But she knows something is happening between us. I know she knows. And I hope she keeps it to herself.

  I dart to Porter’s truck and climb inside. “Sorry you had to open your own door. I thought it might bring unwanted attention if I got out and opened it for you.”

  I almost feel like I need to duck down before we’re seen. “We don’t need any extra suspicion.”

  “Extra?”

  “Is Molly a busybody?”

  Porter grins. “No. I feel certain she knows just about everything that goes on in that brewery, but as far as I know she keeps it to herself. But she did give me a warning in regard to you this morning.”

  “What kind of warning?”

  “She told me that she was watching me.”

  If she’s issuing warnings, then she’s probably aware that my dad won’t approve. “She knows we’re whatevering. Do you think she’ll keep that to herself?”

  “Whatevering. I love that word; it could mean so many different things.”

  Porter doesn’t seem near as worried as me. “Back to Molly. Do you think she will keep our secret?”

  “I think so.”

  “God, I hope.”

  “Don’t worry about Molly. She’s like a second mother to me. She isn’t going to be a problem.”

  “That reminds me. How is your mother?”

  “Her first treatment is today. They’ve probably already started the chemo.”

  I remember that first treatment. I think it was the hardest one. “Is she scared?”

  “Yes, but she’s putting on a brave face to make everyone else comfortable. That’s how my mom is about everything. I told her I would come, but she says driving down and missing work
is unnecessary.”

  “She has your dad, so I tend to agree with her. At least for this one. She might need you later, so you shouldn’t take off too much this early in her treatment.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “Making me feel less guilty about not being there today.”

  “You can show me gratitude by feeding me. Where are we going?”

  “My place. I ran by and picked up a couple of dishes from the vegan cafe.”

  “Oh.” The knot in my stomach tightens.

  “I hope vegan is okay again. I was under the impression you really liked it when we ate there last week.”

  “I loved it, so that works for me.”

  Oh my God. Someone needs to explain to me how I’m supposed to eat when I’ll be alone with Porter in his condo. When I know for a fact that he’s going to kiss me. He’s said as much. And there won’t be anyone around to keep us from doing a lot more whatevering.

  Porter opens the door and catches me around the wrist as we enter the condo. He’s going in for the kiss first thing.

  He pulls me close and then turns us so my back is pressed against the door. “I can’t wait another minute for this.”

  His hands cup my face the way they did during our first kiss. Although it’s a repeat move, it’s no less romantic this time around.

  I quickly lick my lips and Porter presses his mouth to mine before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and holding it between his teeth.

  So hot and sexy.

  I place my hands on his chest and the pec muscles I feel beneath the fabric are rigid. This man works out. A lot. I would love to see all the goodies that are hidden beneath this shirt.

  We make a game of biting and sucking each other’s lips. It’s fun and playful.

  Until it’s not.

  Our kiss is no longer teasing. It’s heated and demanding with increasingly harder handgrips and squeezes.

  His hands move to my hips and he uses them to steer my body to the sofa while kissing me en route.