Because Goose Davenport was one handsome son of a bitch. He knew it too. That self-awareness was in his walk, the way he moved, and in the way he looked at women. Like the way he’d been looking at her during that evening. Strange that he’d never put a move on her tonight.
Until now, she had to remind herself.
He could not have been waiting for this chance. The party was long over, and their meeting in this strange little spot was mere happenstance.
So what the hell? Nothing to lose, as long as she kept her wits about her. She stood, and he followed suit.
“So what’s the plan? Because I still don’t want to go to The Windmill.”
Goose grinned like a little kid—and it hit her just how much he still was one, even in his thirties.
“Follow me,” he said.
He held out his hand and waited. Harriet looked at the proffered hand for a split second but took it and smiled at him. Goose gave it a little squeeze and then led her back into the main building of The Cooperage. So he wasn’t trying to get her into a room.
Yet, she told herself.
“I don’t want to go back to the reception. It’s got to be over by now. And I don’t want to go to the bourbon bar. I just left that place,” she protested as they entered the building.
“We’re not going to either of those places,” he promised and led her down the long hall toward the main lobby of the resort. Once there, he pulled her to the left and into the cavernous, unoccupied restaurant.
“This place isn’t open,” she said, stating the obvious.
From the far left, a lone busboy pushed through the two swinging doors which led to the kitchen.
“Hey, is Goldie around?” Goose asked the kid and released Harriet’s hand.
She realized with a start that she hadn’t been the one to let go once they encountered someone.
“Yeah, in the kitchen,” was the drowsy youth’s response as he went to a table and started to remove some dirty dishes.
Goose marched to the kitchen doors, and Harriet followed mutely. Who was this Goldie chick? What the hell did Goose have in mind?
“Hey, man,” Goose cried out and raised a hand in greeting.
A gangly man wearing a chef’s hat and who had to be close to seven feet tall revealed himself from the depths of the kitchen and shook Goose’s hand vigorously.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Davenport? And in that thing?” The chef pointed to Goose’s tux. “Oh, sorry,” the man said, nodding to Harriet. “Didn’t know you had a date.”
“No worries,” Goose said, not bothering to correct the chef’s misconception.
Or was it a misconception? The notion confused Harriet, although it didn’t upset her.
Goose introduced her to Val Pennington, one of the chefs at The Cooperage. She didn’t get the story on how those two knew each other but figured it had to be an interesting one.
“Got any grub?”
“For you and your lady? You bet!”
“It’s not what you think—oh, never mind,” Goose said as Val told them to stay put and retreated into the mazelike kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, Harriet and Goose again sat together on the patio overlooking the creek, dining on the incredible feast given to them by Goldie. The scrumptious food which had been bestowed upon them was, according to the chef, scheduled to be tossed anyway, and he loved it when he was able to give it away. That didn’t happen very often because law enforcement—usually the folks who were the late-night beneficiaries of the goodies—didn’t make it out to The Cooperage very often.
“Knew him back when he worked at The Rickhouse,” Goose explained. “Used to stop by there a lot on late shift, and he’d give us all kinds of awesome food. Only been out here once to do this, and it wasn’t nearly as much stuff as what he gave us tonight.”
Goose dined on steak, and Harriet enjoyed a large chicken breast, perfectly seasoned. There were veggies (fresh asparagus, one of Harriet’s faves), three kinds of rolls, and bourbon-chocolate cake. Unbeknownst to them until they returned to the patio, Val had also thrown in a few minibottles of white and red wine, along with plastic glasses. He had apparently seen them as a couple off on some romantic late-night lark.
Harriet was ravenous. She’d only had a few bites of reception food in the past several hours, and a real meal—full of protein and carbs—was just what she needed. Harriet was sleepy, but she no longer felt ill, and the incipient headache she’d suffered before Goose had stumbled upon her had disappeared.
She even dove into a piece of that decadent bourbon-chocolate cake. Bourbon in the icing and in the cake, she could tell. It was sprinkled with little red crystals, and she figured that touch was an homage to the bourbon used in the confection, the same bourbon which was made just a few miles north along Old Crow Creek—Old Garnet.
She saw that Goose wasn’t eating dessert but was having fun watching her stuff her face.
“What?” she asked, picking up her napkin. “Do I have icing all over my face or something?”
“No, just watching,” he said, sipping his wine.
There was a little bit of the perv in his remark, but it didn’t really bother her. She sort of had been expecting that kind of behavior from the moment she’d popped awake with his big mug in front of her face. And while there had been flashes of his lascivious ways, he had mostly been quite the gentleman.
And she was baffled.
“You know, this doesn’t really match up with your wild ways, Davenport,” she said and speared a piece of cake.
“What doesn’t?” he said grumpily.
“This,” Harriet said and gestured with a sweeping hand around the patio. “Midnight picnic on the porch after a wedding.”
“Not planned. And maybe I have ulterior motives,” he said, finishing his wine.
“That’s what I’m assuming.”
“And you’d actually be wrong.” He fingered the stem of his glass, his eyes averted.
Harriet pushed the cake away, wiped her mouth, and studied him.
Had she insulted him? He’d admitted that he might be thinking about more than sharing a meal with her that night. And when she thought about the other things they could share—like a bed and their bodies—Harriet felt a frisson of lust crackle across her body. Her nipples hardened, and she was glad for the layered fabric across her breasts so Goose couldn’t tell that her headlights were on full bright. And if he knew that she could feel that little shiver of wetness between her legs—damn, what the man would do to her.
No.
Not him.
Anyone but him.
“Why am I wrong?” she dared to ask.
His brows lowered, and Goose started to gather their trash from the table.
“Harriet, I’ve asked you out more times than I care to remember. And after a guy gets turned down about a hundred times, he gets the message,” Goose said and stood. He went to a trash can near the walkway and tossed everything, even the half-finished wine bottles.
“And what was that message?” Harriet pulled her wrap around her and stood to face him.
“That a fuckup like me has no chance to get a woman like you. I get that. I got that a long time ago, actually. So I’m not even trying, okay?”
“If you call this not even trying, I’d love to see it when you do give a damn and try,” Harriet challenged.
“I didn’t say that I didn’t give a damn, Harriet,” he said hotly. “I’d love nothing more than to—” He stopped and looked her up and down, then took in a long breath. “But I’m a realist,” he concluded.
So he was interested in her. But he was suffering from something she never would have suspected: a lack of confidence.
Why?
Because he was the Bad Boy and she was the Good Girl?
Because he knew that she’d continue to reject him based upon that stereotype?
But that hadn’t been the stereotype she’d seen that night.
“I’m sorry, Goose. I didn�
��t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t,” he said coolly, and his tone told her that he was fibbing. She’d wounded his pride. “Come on, let’s go. I gotta get out of this stupid tux.”
They reached her room first.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling her key card from her small black clutch. “It was nice.”
Wait.
Damn.
That’s what you say at the end of a date.
This had been a date!
How did I just have a date with Goose Davenport?
And if this is a date, then…
She swallowed, then blushed.
3
Goose saw it. That sweet rosy evidence of embarrassment of attraction.
The whole landscape of possibilities for the rest of the night—and maybe beyond—had just shifted before his eyes as Harriet’s pale skin bloomed into an inviting, suggestive warm pink.
“Were you serious back there?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction of the patio.
“Yes, of course. I— Again, I’m very sorry if I insulted you,” she stammered.
“No, I was referring to when you said you’d like to see it when I did try to get a woman like you.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he moved closer. “That’s not what I said.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he snapped but smiled at her.
“What I said was that I’d love to see that.”
His jaw slackened, and he blinked at her. She was grinning.
“It appears I’m not going to have to try very hard.” He moved to kiss her, but she leaned backward and put her hand on his chest. “Or maybe I am,” he said bitterly.
Still grinning, Harriet held up the key card in front of his face, turned, and opened the door.
She walked in and held the door open to him.
“It’s only as hard as walking through this door,” she said, keeping her hand on the doorknob.
Goose didn’t waste time.
He put his hand on the door and pushed it open, causing Harriet to take several steps back into her room. He slammed the door behind him and moved until he stood over her, their faces just inches apart. Her eyes were half-lidded and the silly grin gone, replaced by a sultry, eager look.
“Take the damn thing off,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“What?”
“I’ve seen you looking at me all night. At this dress.” She moved closer to him and turned around. “So take it off me.”
Goose froze and stared at the zipper down the back of the silky blue frock. And since she wasn’t looking, he actually pinched himself on the side of the leg because he simply did not believe this was really happening.
His fantasy.
Goose took the tiny zipper and slowly pulled it down, his breathing becoming more and more ragged the lower the zipper traveled. Once finished, he bent his head and kissed Harriet’s bare neck; she had tilted her head to the right in open invitation as she held the loose dress against her body. He took her hand, spun her around, and cupped her face in his hands. Her grip on the dress slackened, and it fell to the floor like a rush of angels’ wings.
But instead of casting his eyes downward to finally get a look at her bare breasts, Goose kept his eyes on Harriet’s face. He stroked her still-pink cheeks with his thumbs and struggled with what he wanted to say.
“I really didn’t do all that—sitting with you, the stuff with the food—just to try to get you in here like this, okay? I want you to understand that. I didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance with you.”
“And yet here we are, Goose. Just goes to show how being a nice guy can take you places.”
He bent his head and kissed her on the lips for the first time.
She tasted of chocolate and a hint of bourbon. Mighty nice. And those lips—he’d watched her eating and had imagined kissing them. And having those same lips kiss all kinds of happy places on his body.
His hands swept from her face down to her shoulders and finally to her breasts where he tenderly kneaded the lovely, fleshy orbs. Pert yet voluptuous, they were the perfect size, and he stroked Harriet’s nipples while nipping at her earlobes with his teeth. The skin was soft underneath his tongue and roughened hands, and Goose took a deep breath, drinking in her scent, her presence, the moment.
God, was this really happening? Getting the woman he’d always wanted? But if he got what he wanted, what happened next?
He’d never asked that question.
Then again, he’d never been with Harriet Hensley.
* * *
Harriet’s head dropped back, her hair coming loose and tumbling down her neck, and her mind was at war with her body. Goose was making her feel so fucking good—this was just what she wanted, what she needed. And she knew this was only the beginning. The things he was going to do to her that night would be her reward for his sexual experiences with what likely amounted to harem numbers of women.
Her mind was screaming: this is not a good idea! He’s a player, a male whore! His reputation! Gracious!
Yet just as clearly, another part of her whispered reminders of how he’d treated her that night, how he’d made her feel before they’d entered her room.
But the time to think was over.
Time to feel and forget.
Time to revel in the experience of being a woman enjoying and sharing her body with another.
Their feet were entangled in the dress on the floor, so they briefly stopped kissing to put the thing out of the way. Problem was that although she’d ditched her dress, she was still wearing panties and stockings.
“Too many damned clothes,” he complained, as if reading her mind.
She put her hands on her hips and faced him, topless and smiling as she kicked off her shoes. “Considering how much you still have on, you don’t have much room to talk.”
Goose immediately slipped out of his jacket and began to claw at the buttons on his shirt.
“Wait,” she said after watching his rough striptease.
She moved to him and began to undo the buttons on his shirt slowly, gently sliding the fabric apart as she moved lower down his chest. Harriet pulled the shirt from his pants and took the time to check his bulge, which was still intact and undoubtedly getting happier and happier at the very real prospect of soon being released to seek its pleasure.
Goose shuddered as she slid the shirt from his body, and she was presented with a chest that looked like it had been copied from some ancient Greek statue depicting the perfect male physique. Harriet flattened her hands over his torso, moving them upward until his nipples were beneath her thumbs. Goose groaned and slid his hands around her slight waist and slipped his hands under her stockings and panties.
“Time to get rid of these,” he declared. He moved his hands swiftly down until her panties and the stockings were at her feet.
Harriet kicked them away and moved toward the lamp on a table near the bed. She’d left it on so she wouldn’t enter a dark room.
“Don’t turn it off,” he said. “Please, may I just look at you? I mean, unless you’re embarrassed,” he added but not in a teasing way.
She’d never had a man just want to look at her at that moment—the moment before she fell into bed with him. Granted, she didn’t have that much experience but still enough to know the request was unusual.
She dropped her hand away from the lamp. “I’m not embarrassed.”
His eyes roamed over her body, and she felt no shame. Only desire and gratitude. The way Goose looked at her—not a leer, but something deeper, more based in wonder than lust—made her want him all the more.
“If you’re done inspecting the goods,” she said, taking a step toward him, “I’d like the same opportunity.” She pressed her lips together and glanced down, smirking.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, coming out of his trance.
And before she could even move to assist him—and she’d really wanted to do that—he was out of his pants and boxers and kicking off hi
s shoes and stripping his socks. Within half a minute, he was standing before her completely nude, his erection at full salute of her own nakedness.
“Oh—protection?” she asked.
He held out his hand to reveal a palmed condom packet.
But before she could ask how he’d performed that sleight of hand, he was over her, kissing her, and pushing her back against the bed. He reached at last to turn off the light, and then it seemed Goose was everywhere.
His mouth was on her breasts, her lips, as his hands raked across her torso and down to her ass. He squeezed her cheeks just before she fell backward onto the mattress. As Goose positioned himself over her, Harriet wondered just how quick it was going to be.
She started to feel the ache of regret. He’d just wanted to get her to this point, naked and under him. A quick, easy bang.
While she waited for him to perform some little trick to slip on the condom as he continued to kiss her, she was surprised when Goose dropped the packet onto the table.
“But—you need to—”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “I’m not ready. And neither are you,” he said, kissing her so tenderly she nearly cried.
An ambient glow seeped into the room from a long glass pane that ran the length of the room above a window covered by thick curtains. There was enough light for them to see the other’s face, and when she looked at him in that moment, Harriet saw her own emotions reflected there.
Wonder.
Surprise.
Delight.
Trust.
And although she suspected this would be their only time together, Harriet also knew this was not going to be something she would soon forget or live to regret.
Goose stroked her cheek, and she turned into his caress before he kissed her and moved his hands lower along her body. He passed a hand over her breast and gave her nipple a playful pinch before moving lower to the spot between her legs she had been dying for him to touch. Running a rough finger up and down her wetness, he had her panting and hissing his name in seconds.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 34