Love Ever After: Eleven All-New Romances! Page 12

  “Water under the bridge.”

  She grunted a displeased huff. “I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

  “Well, you’re the fancy songwriter, so you’d know.”

  Fuck. She swallowed the rude response that she wanted to jam down his throat. It was so easy to be mean to each other. The cruel price to pay for having siblings—the best of friends and the worst of enemies. She didn’t want any of her brothers to be an enemy today. Not even someone who was clearly spoiling for a fight. “Sam…”

  He walked a few paces away, then turned and gave her a lopsided grin that didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. “You look beautiful, Mari. Chase is a lucky man.”

  Her heart cracked and she pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m a lucky sister. Never forget that, okay?”

  He nodded and she watched him turn and walk to his truck. He didn’t spray gravel or spin out of the drive onto the road at unnecessary speed, but there was still an urgency to his departure that told Mari it wasn’t forgotten or water under the bridge.

  Shit was right.

  — —

  Sam knew he was acting unconscionably—he owed Mari a huge apology, but every time he opened his mouth, something else came out.

  So much for being a decent guy. He was a selfish, angry man who couldn’t see past the end of his own nose. He needed to shake it off and just be happy for his baby sister on her wedding day.

  Pretend to fit in. How hard could that be?

  For a guy driving a beat-up pickup truck that no car wash could get entirely clean, pretty damn hard. He’d gotten the inside professionally detailed this week, but he’d still needed to haul some hay the day before, and…well, there was no way around the fact that he was a country hick who had recently developed an impulse-control problem.

  Being dressed in a suit that cost more than his last feed bill didn’t change the fact that he had no clue how to wear it—or play the games it seemed to call for.

  His shoulders hitched up as he took the hill out of town. In the last few years, the stretch between Wardham and Kingsville had gotten downright fancy—and Go West Winery led the charge in that respect.

  The winery sat at the end of a long, tree-lined drive, right on the edge of the lake. The modern glass building to the right housed the vineyard operations, the banquet hall, the wine shop, and the various offices. On the far side of the parking lot was the all-that-is-old-is-new-again original mansion that had recently been turned into a modern, luxurious inn.

  Of course it had.

  Because nothing about Wardham could stay sleepy and faded and normal.

  Sam gritted his teeth together as he walked across the parking lot and pulled open the door to the main winery building. The spacious lobby was empty, but he could hear staff moving around in the banquet hall. The ceremony would be outside, on the back terrace overlooking the lake, before moving inside for cocktails and dinner and dancing.

  He’d been to a few nice weddings in the last couple of years—many of them in this very same building. The West brothers certainly knew how to throw a party.

  But the Millers had gone all out. It definitely wasn’t the Beadies who’d picked trees draped in pearls for the extravagant centrepieces, that was for damn sure. For every time he and his father disagreed on something, they never wasted money like that.

  “You look like you just swallowed something sour,” a gentle voice sounded from the staircase.

  Sam turned his head to the side, then rocked back on his heel. Well, damn. Big eyes, shiny golden brown hair, and curves that filled out a bright red dress like magic. He grinned at the beautiful woman who now stood where a moment before there had been nobody. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, moving closer to the perfect excuse to get out of his head. “I thought I was alone with my thoughts.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “So you don’t deny the thoughts were sour. Are you a jilted lover or something?”

  He laughed. “Grumpy older brother, actually. To the bride.”

  “Oh.” She gave a knowing smile. “Marrying into the NHL world can be a bit overwhelming.”

  Hardly. He knit his eyebrows together. “My sister’s on tour with Alaskan Nights right now. I don’t think a bunch of hockey players could overwhelm her.”

  The redhead wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. I may have been projecting.”

  Don’t get involved, don’t get involved… “You’re here with one of the players?”

  “Sort of.” She shrugged. “I mean, yes. But we’re just friends. Not that it matters.” She blushed. “Anyway, we were told we could explore the winery. That’s what I was doing.”

  “Exploring sounds like fun. Did you see everything you were looking for?” Sam knew he should get the box of programs and mill around the entrance to greet any other early arrivals—that would be appropriate penance for being a dick—but there was something about this woman…like maybe she didn’t quite fit in, either. “I could give you a more thorough tour.”

  Like hell he could. He’d only been here for weddings, didn’t know the first thing about wine, and there was a solid chance that any commentary he had to offer would be heavily slanted toward rich people being out-of-touch snobs. No matter how cute this woman was, he needed to walk away. Go find some duct tape and cover his mouth before he inadvertently offended his sister’s guest.

  “Really?” The woman took the last two steps down the staircase and held out her hand. “I’m Gillian. And I’m definitely interested in a thorough tour—of whatever you want to show me.”

  — —

  Chase paced ahead of his brother toward the winery. They killed a good amount of time his parents’ house, but since his sisters were with Mari, there weren’t many family pictures that could be taken—except a few with his six month old nephew, little Will. His parents had gleefully signed up for baby duty while his brother-in-law ran wedding morning errands and Karen did the bridesmaid thing. Even on his wedding day, Chase was no longer the most important boy in his parents’ life.

  He couldn’t blame them. He’d had a good run. Thirty-three years was probably a solid fifteen years too long, anyway—a point Davis had laughingly made on the drive over.

  And right now his brother was trailing behind him, muttering something about a groom stepping back and letting other people handle shit, today of all days.

  Chase threw a good-natured, nothing-can-ruin-this-day grin over his shoulder. “Shut up, it’s not like I have anything else to do. Might as well get here early to greet guests.”

  Davis smoothed out his jacket and tugged on his cuffs. For a man who lived in board shorts and sunscreen-stained tank tops, he had a secret GQ side that Chase hadn’t expected. “I think Mari’s brothers are doing that.”

  Chase spun around in a slow circle, his open palms sweeping the empty space around them. “Obviously not.”

  “That’s Sam’s truck over there,” Davis pointed out.

  “Maybe he dropped it off and ran an errand. Maybe he went to find Brenton to throw-down again. I don’t know.” Chase wiped his hands on his pants. “Who thought it was a good idea to have the ceremony in the afternoon? That’s a hell of a lot of waiting around time.”

  Davis laughed. “Seems kind of standard with weddings, dude.”

  Dude. There was his brother. Chase had started to worry for a minute. He grinned. “We should go inside and find a drink.”

  Davis winked. “No need to look anywhere else.” He pulled a thin flask from his breast pocket and handed it over. “I’ve got you covered.”

  As soon as he twisted off the cap, Chase caught a whiff of grassy rye. Full-proof, straight up. “Were you planning on getting us drunk?”

  “Just a nip.” Davis winked and took the flask after Chase tipped back a shot. “And enough for Sam, Gavin, and Travis if—I mean when—they show up.”

  “When, you dickhead. We’re early. They’re not late.”

  Davis took another shot and fixed his gaze on Chase’s neck. “Come he
re.”

  “What?” Chase hopped backwards, batting his brother’s hand out of the way. “Leave my tie alone.”

  “I’m just fixing it.”

  “Fuck off. It’s fine. Let’s go check out the set-up inside. Maybe find a bridesmaid for you to hit on or something.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Davis perked up, but just for a second. “Hey, I’m related to all the bridesmaids.”

  “Not Stella.”

  “Practically.”

  Chase shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “No you’re not. You don’t care about the plight of the single man.”

  He grinned. Nope. Not his problem anymore—or ever again.

  — —

  It took Gavin exactly three seconds to figure out that Mari had done exactly what he’d warned her not to do.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she said, setting down the glass of orange juice she’d just shot back, wishing it was wine.

  “It’s your wedding day. Why did you have to poke the bear?”

  “I couldn’t help myself, clearly.”

  “You okay?”

  She let out a wry laugh. “That’s what I asked him. Apparently a land mine of a question.”

  “It’s hard for him,” Gavin said, lowering his voice. “Seeing you move into a different life. Be away.”

  “I’m not like…him.” They both knew she was referring to their birth father—a man neither of them had ever met, but Sam and Travis remembered.

  “I know that. And Sam knows that, too.”

  “He can’t put that on me, though.”

  “Is he? Or is he trying to just deal with his shit, all by himself?”

  And she’d pushed Sam to talk when he didn’t want to. Damn. “Right.” Tears welled up again and she closed her eyelids, refusing to let them fall. “Why are weddings so stressful?”

  “No clue. Take a deep breath, let it out, and promise me you’re not going to try to fix Sam’s fucked up head again today.” She scrunched up her face and he laughed. “Okay. Whatever. Just…your guy can throw a wicked right hook, so don’t get into it with Sam again in front of Chase.”

  — SIX —

  “So this is the back hallway,” Sam said slowly, his words trailing off as Gillian swayed toward him. The ridiculousness of what he was saying pushed against him for a second, but then she laughed, and it lit up her eyes.

  “Fascinating,” she whispered. He dropped his gaze to her mouth—plump, shiny with lip gloss he wanted to nibble away.

  Like he had a shot with a woman like this.

  A woman who was here with someone else. Just a friend. Did that matter?

  Sam was a traditional guy. Yeah, it should matter.

  But Gillian sparkled. From the inside out, and something about her grabbed at his guts and hung on for dear life. If she gave him a clear invitation, he was going to take it. Damn the consequences.

  She’d patiently followed him through the great hall and across the terrace—both of which looked perfect and ready for the wedding of the century to happen in a little less than two hours. Now they were were in, as he’d already explained, the back hallway that ran beneath the suite of offices upstairs.

  Any second, no matter how slowly they walked, they’d be back in the great hall. He’d go and loiter in the lobby until guests started to arrive, and she’d head back to her room.

  “So, I’ve shown you around…” He stepped away from her, but only to give himself enough room to turn towards her and run the pads of his fingers along the sweet curve of her arm without being creepy. Leaning against the wall, he touched her just enough to invite her to move in closer. A suggestion, no pressure. Hopefully not too much of a plea, but God, she smelled good and felt better, and he wanted the world to stop so this moment could stretch on forever. When was the last time he’d been able to lose himself in a big pair of eyes? “But I haven’t asked you anything about yourself.”

  She did him one better than just take the invitation to stop and talk. She closed the gap between them to a scant inch and danced her index finger up the squiggly pattern on his tie. He’d taken off his jacket in the great hall, hanging it over his chair at the head table. Gillian had taken a few opportunities before to touch his arm as they walked and talked, but now she was right in front of him, and the touch was anything but accidental.

  Almost definitely on purpose, her pinky finger trailed to the side, sliding up the front of his shirt, and he gave silent thanks for his sister not wanting them in a traditional tux with a vest. On the other side of his thin dress shirt, his muscles pulsed against her touch. Eager for more of it and willing to do just about anything to get it.

  “What do you want to know?” Her breath puffed warm and sweet between them as she whispered the question, looking at his tie as she asked it. Then she blinked up at him and it took all of his willpower not to haul her tight against him. Get rid of that inch of space and consume her like she’d already somehow consumed him.

  He cleared his throat and let his hands settle lightly on her waist—not that it made a difference to how his body reacted. His pulse picked up and he desperately wanted to dip his head and taste of her lips. He settled for more conversation, which with Gillian wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Where are you from?”

  “Vermont, originally. Arizona for the last three years.”

  “No more snow for you.”

  “I like the snow, actually.” She floated her hips left, then right, beneath his hands, and his cock lifted toward her and his balls drew tight. “Skiing, snowboarding…snowball fights.”

  “You would be a very distracting opponent, I’m sure.”

  “I’d go easy on you.”

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  She laughed and pressed in close, her belly brushing his erection. “No. I wouldn’t.”

  Holding his breath, he froze. She didn’t pull away. His dick flexed toward her and he couldn’t summon any shame, even though this was wrong.

  “I should let you get back to your date,” he said gruffly, his hands flexing on her hips.

  “Zach Brenton is face down in his pillow right now, and even if he wasn’t, I don’t want to spend any time alone with him. I’d say coming with him on this trip was a mistake, except I quite like this town. And right now, I quite like you, too.”

  “Brenton is your date?” Fuck propriety. Fuck the rules. That ass-wipe didn’t deserve this woman, and she deserved more than to be rejected twice in a weekend. Skating one palm up her side, he found her hand and tangled their fingers together. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe I can make it up to you.”

  “How so?” Her eyes danced as he brought her knuckles to his lips. Why she was thrilled, he couldn’t quite figure out—his skin didn’t feel like silk or smell like candy. But if she was game, he’d make the next hour good for her.

  Way better than Brenton ever could.

  “The tour isn’t over yet,” he murmured, sliding his other hand into the small of her back as he moved his lips from her hand to her mouth. She parted her lips immediately, and the touch of her tongue against his was like a spark to the dry kindling that was his resolve to not go too far.

  Fuck that.

  They were going as far as they possibly could. He pressed deeper, swallowing her sounds of pleasure and pleas for more. Oh, he’d give her more. He’d give her everything he had.

  He glanced up and down the hall, then spun them around, holding her tight as he tried the nearest door.

  A storage closet. It would do.

  “See?” he said once they were inside and he had her pressed into a body-shaped space between the door and the first shelf. “The tour continues.”

  “Wow.” Her voice hitched as he trailed his hand down her hip. Over her thigh. Fuck….

  Every time he touched a bit more of her bare skin, he thought it was the best thing he’d ever felt. Her thigh was smooth skin and firm muscle, with a soft promise of pillowy goodness at the top. And she was wearing stockings, completely with
the little ribbons attached to something that felt like it was made of satin and sin. “This,” he said roughly, “is the debauching closet.”

  Her lips quirked as she fluttered her eyelashes up at him. “Is that so? I hear they’re very rare. What a lucky find.”

  “Today I think I’m the luckiest man in town,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers. “Maybe the entire country…”

  He kissed her as his questing fingers explored the entire fascinating geography beneath her skirt—the edge of her stockings, the sweet skin above them, and the curve of her hip and the lush sweep of her ass.

  And then finally, when he’d touched her everywhere else and couldn’t wait another minute more, and she gave him the breathiest, sexiest yes he’d ever heard, he slid his hand between her legs and cupped her sex.

  “Ohhhh, Sam.” Gillian’s cheeks were pink and her lips were still wet from his mouth as she tipped her head back against the wall and fixed her half-mast gaze on his face. She looked so good it should be illegal. He rocked his palm more firmly over that thin strip of lace separating him from her pussy.

  “You feel amazing on my hand.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Tell me I can touch you. Tell me I’m going to get to find out how you feel ever better sucking my fingers inside you.”

  “God, yes. Please. Now.” She squirmed against his fingers as he tugged her panties to the side. Trim curls tickled his fingers as he found her slick, already wet and swollen for him. She swallowed a moan as he traced her inner lips, then found her clit, gently circling it before testing a firmer rock of his thumb right there. Right there. Jesus H. Murphy, that firm nub against his thumb would be something he’d never forget.

  “Arizona, you say,” he muttered as he dropped his head to her shoulder, curving his back to make a private space between their bodies. So she could see him touching her, and maybe if she wanted to…

  He hissed in a breath as her hands immediately went for his belt. Thank Christ she wanted to.

  She fumbled with his dress pants once she had his fly open, because they were loose and if she let go of them, they’d fall. He cursed under his breath and slid his fingers out of her pussy, ignoring her whimper of protest.