"Fuck the deal." His voice was rough, sensual. "This is just you and me. No contracts. No rules. Our way, whatever we want that way to be."
"What way do you want?" she asked.
"I want to keep going. I want you in my bed. I want you in my life. Does that scare you?"
She licked her lips, then nodded.
"I'm sorry about that. But I don't think you're the kind of woman who runs from scary things."
A laugh bubbled out of her. "Oh, I think I do. Scary emotional things, anyway." She drew a breath, then cupped his cheek. "But I don't want to run from you."
"What do you want? Leaving aside selling the distillery, what is it you want to do?"
She cocked her head, considering the question. "I want to travel. See the world. I like exploring. I want to learn to paint. To read Greek. And I'd like to watch operas and Bollywood movies. I want to stomp grapes in France. And I don't want to wake up one day and realize I've lived my life with my nose in a balance sheet."
"And you don't think you can do all that and keep your distillery?"
She shrugged. "Certainly easier without."
"A lot of things are easy without. But it's lonelier, too."
Her mother's words seemed to echo in her head.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Once again, she laughed. "I thought you were."
He smirked. "How the hell did you break into my house?"
"Oh." The lightness evaporated. "Before the Herringtons adopted me and Matthew, we were in the system. I told you that, right? Well, before our birthmother abandoned us at the mall, she pretty much abandoned us at home. And we wouldn't have food for days and days."
"My God." The horror in his voice was clear.
"Yeah. It wasn't fun. But it was what it was. And so Matthew and I stole what we needed."
She spoke matter-of-factly, but when he took her hands in his, she knew he heard the pain underneath.
"He was never very good at security systems, but I could always manage to get around them. Honestly, I hadn't tested my skill in a long time. Yours was tricky, but doable."
"Hmm. I'll get it upgraded." He paused, then, "Selma, I--"
She pressed her finger to her lips. "Don't even say it. No regrets. I've moved on."
"Have you?"
She turned away.
He hooked a finger under her chin and turned her head back to face him. "I don't like that you're moving to Scotland." His words made butterflies dance in her stomach. She'd told him her entire plan, of course, but so far they hadn't talked about it. "And I'm jealous as shit of this guy. Sean O'Reilly. Sounds like a bad guy in a Tom Clancy movie. You should steer clear."
She laughed, suddenly happier than she could remember being in a long time. Which made no sense. Except, of course, that it made all the sense in the world. "It's okay. He's engaged."
Easton's eyes narrowed. "All right then. Maybe he's okay." He sighed. "I don't know anymore."
"If he's okay?" She'd gotten confused along the way.
"What we're doing," he clarified. "Somewhere, I lost track of what we're doing."
"That's all right." She kissed him slow and deep. "We'll figure it out together."
Chapter Twelve
"Just so you know, if you hurt my sister, I will kill you."
Easton sat on one of the padded benches in Matthew's gym and stared up at his friend. "I thought you were going to spot me?" They'd intended to go out for a drink, but except for very athletic sex, Easton hadn't gotten in a workout recently, so they'd decide to talk over weights and machines.
"I'll spot you while I interrogate you. Trust me. You want to give me the right answers."
"I have no intention of hurting your sister. What she does to herself, though, is out of my hands."
"What do you mean?"
"She doesn't want to sell the distillery. I just hope she realizes it before she makes a mistake."
Matthew seemed to study him. "Agreed. But what about you? Are you a mistake?"
Easton thought about the bullshit campaign. About how he'd let Marianne on his arm instead of the woman he was falling for, hard and fast. "I'm not," he said firmly. "But I've definitely made some mistakes. I'm going to correct them."
"How?"
"Not sure," Easton admitted. "But I like your sister. I think I might even love her." And wasn't that pretty damn scary? "So I promise you I'm going to figure it out."
In front of him, Matthew nodded. "Fair enough. Just know that if you do hurt her, don't come bitching to me if a heavy load of weights falls on your head one day."
Easton laughed. "We have a deal."
He spent a few more hours with Matthew, then headed over to see Selma, only to end up bereft when he didn't find her at home. He tracked her down, but she was with a group of girlfriends, and he hadn't crossed the line to being so needy he'd pull her away from her friends. Or, at least, he hadn't crossed the line to admitting he was that needy.
Unfortunately, that meant that he saw very little of her that week, because he was in trial in Waco, and drove up before dawn Monday morning. Selma, however, wasn't foiled by the distance; the woman made texting an art form. And all Easton had to do was remember to keep his phone away from his client and opposing counsel. No one else needed to see the naughty sexts they sent back and forth.
The trial was exhausting and brutal, which was a good thing. For one thing, he loved the excitement of being in front of the bench and thinking on his feet; that was something he'd definitely miss if he won the election.
On top of that, a perk of the intense concentration necessary for trial meant that he didn't have time to miss Selma or mourn their time apart.
But by the time he was finished with the final day's trial prep on Thursday night, he was definitely ready for some sexy texts. That, of course, was when she didn't send naughty pictures and raw words describing exactly what she intended to do when she saw him again. Instead, she texted him pictures of bats.
He called her on the phone within seconds. "Bats? I was hoping for breasts. Yours, actually."
The sound of her laughter made him smile. "Too bad for you. I'm working on a new logo for Bat Bourbon. What do you think of the middle image?"
He didn't bother looking. Just frowned at the phone. "Baby, what's going on with you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Branding isn't your concern anymore. Or it won't be after you sign."
"Oh. I know. I'm just fooling around. Besides, it's kind of my legacy. I should go out with the company and brand looking exactly like I want them too, right?"
Wrong.
But what he said was, "What are you afraid of?"
"Excuse me?"
"That if you keep the distillery you'll be trapped? There are no bars. That it might fail later so you should sell it now? It won't, and even if it does, you'll survive. That you'll be bored? You won't be. You could find something fascinating in a sea of asphalt. That's just the kind of person you are."
"Easton--"
"That you'll be alone?" He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You won't be."
"You can't promise that."
He hesitated, then closed his eyes. "Yeah. I think I can."
"I--" Her voice hitched.
"Come with me on Saturday to the event at the Children's Museum."
"What?"
"As my date."
"But--"
"I want you with me. I want us together."
She stayed silent.
"You told me once that you understood what it was like to have the world ripped out from under you," he said. "And I know the story behind please. Maybe it's time you stop being afraid, Selma. Say yes, and come with me."
For a moment, there was silence. Then he heard her soft, breathy, "Yes," followed by the click of the call disconnecting.
Selma dialed the country code for Scotland, then put her phone down.
Five minutes later, she picked it up again. This time, she got all the way through Sean's number b
efore she slid the phone away.
The next time--an hour later after she'd showered--she forced herself to dial the full number and press the little handset icon.
She heard the weird ring that signified that it wasn't a US call, then tightened her grip so she wouldn't be tempted to hang up again.
A click, a yawn, and then a sleepy voice. "Selma?"
Damn. She hadn't factored in the time change.
"I'm sorry to wake you. I just--I wanted to talk to you soon. So you were in the loop."
"There's a loop?"
She smiled. The odd question coupled with his sexy Scottish voice crossed the line into funny.
"It's just that I--well, I won't be coming after all. I'm sorry if that leaves you in a lurch."
"Yeah?" Another yawn, followed by a soft, it's okay, love, go back to sleep, and when he came back on, he sounded more human. "What's up?"
"I just--well, honestly, there's a guy. No, that's not it." She shook her head. "It's Free-Tail. I'm not ready to give it up."
She closed her eyes and waited for him to lose his temper. She knew he'd been counting on her help. He'd even arranged a flat for her to lease.
A moment passed, then another. Then finally, he said, "If I were you, I couldn't walk away either."
"You're not mad?"
"Nah. Disappointed I won't be seeing you, but come make a trip when you can."
Relief flooded through her, and for the first time she was not only certain she'd done the right thing, but she felt one hundred percent comfortable with a longterm decision.
"I will."
"And Selma? If there is a guy in the picture, bring him, too. I want to meet the man who finally got under your skin."
He had gotten under her skin, Selma realized. And the most significant evidence was that she was standing in Elena's bedroom getting dressed for the Children's Museum function.
Since Easton had some sort of board meeting before the event, she was meeting him there. And she wanted him to know--not just through her words--that she'd made a decision. About her work, and her life.
Because frankly, she didn't want to see Marianne on his arm anymore. She wanted that job, and she considered today an audition.
And none of her friends dressed as classy as Elena.
"It's a knockoff," Elena said. "But it's a good one."
"Chanel?"
"Classic," Elena said, holding the pale pink suit. "And you can match it with pearls and a silk blouse."
Selma looked at the conservative outfit dubiously, then reminded herself why she was doing this. She wanted to be a woman he didn't hesitate to show off.
But underneath the damn thing, she was wearing her thong.
"We can cover your wrist tattoo with makeup. And a quick rinse will put your hair all to black. We can style it close to your face. Classic makeup and then stunning shoes and you're all set."
"Shoes?" She hadn't thought to bring any.
"We're the same size. I've got you covered."
An hour later, Elena's words proved true. Selma hardly recognized herself as she stood in front of the mirror decked out in a conservative but classic suit, a scoop neck silk blouse paired with a choker of pearls--fake, but decent quality. Her hair was styled with curls worn close to her scalp, giving her a little bit of a flapper look.
The shoes were kickass. Only three-inch heels, but the material was almost iridescent and it reflected the color of the dress.
As for her makeup, Selma had never worn so little, but she had to admit her eyes looked good. And the shade of lipstick was flattering, too.
"I think you're ready," Elena said. "Go get him, Tiger."
Laughing, Selma hugged her friend, then went outside to catch an Uber to the museum. Elena was living with her parents both to save money and to get to know her dad and her half-brother better, and that meant that they were too far away to walk.
Since Selma fully intended to go home with Easton, she'd taken an Uber to the house as well.
The ride downtown was quick, and Selma barely had time to pull herself together before the car stopped in front of the museum and she found herself standing on the sidewalk with a bad case of nerves.
What if Easton felt differently? She was assuming he wanted something more permanent between them--and that her presenting herself conservatively in public would be a good idea.
But what if he hadn't really meant what he'd said? What if despite everything, he wanted to just keep going on as fuck buddies?
Honestly, the possibility was too depressing to consider. A fact that only confirmed to Selma how far gone she was for the man. Because not too long ago, she would have run from anyone who suggested anything more than random, no-strings sex.
Yet here she was, afraid that he didn't want to commit.
She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. Probably better not to do either considering the amount of mascara Elena had put on her lashes.
"Now or never," she murmured to herself, then smiled at a passing stranger who gave her a curious look.
She entered the museum, was given directions to the event, and headed that way.
She saw him immediately. He stood at the far end of an open area lined with science exhibits. He looked like a celebrity in his suit, his chin lifted confidently, his gaze taking in all of the people around him. She wasn't convinced he wanted to be a judge, but in that moment she knew he had it in him to be elected.
Then he looked up, and his gaze landed right on her. And in that moment, all the air was sucked from the room. There was nothing left but him and her. She felt like Maria in the dance scene in West Side Story where everything faded away except her and Tony.
Hopefully her story and Easton's would have a much happier ending.
She stood transfixed as he moved to her and didn't breathe until he took her hands in his. "You look stunning. Hell, it's even more sexy knowing that under that suit you're hiding all those tats. Not to mention what I'm sure is some very sexy lingerie."
She smiled so wide that it hurt. "True. And thank you."
His eyes roamed over her for a few more minutes, then he shook his head, seeming to clear it. "Come on, I'll introduce you around. Judge Coale is here. I'd like you to meet him."
The butterflies that had kicked up a storm in response to that announcement wouldn't let her agree aloud, but she nodded, and they walked hand in hand to a distinguished octogenarian who held court by a pendulum. He paused as Easton approached, his smile as paternal as if Easton were his son.
"Judge Coale, I'd like you to meet my date, Selma Herrington, the owner of Austin Free-Tail Distillery."
"My dear, it's wonderful to meet you." The judge's grip was surprisingly strong, and it was clear to Selma why he'd been successful in politics. By the time they left she was not only charmed, but had no idea at all what the man thought of her. He was completely impossible to read.
"There are a few other folks I want you to meet," Easton began, but she cut him off with a hand to his arm.
"I want to, but I need to tell you something first."
He led her toward a hallway that appeared to lead to public meeting rooms. "What is it?"
She swallowed. "I want to cancel the deal. I don't want to sell. I don't want to go to Scotland."
"I see."
"No," she said. "I'm not sure you do." She drew in a breath. "What I do want, is you."
A muscle twitched in his cheek, but otherwise, he didn't react. For a moment, she feared that she'd gotten everything wrong. That this was not good news to him, and that she'd just made a huge fool of herself.
Then he grabbed her hand, squeezing hard, and hurried down the hall as if they were escaping a fire. He pushed open one of the meeting room doors, kicked it shut, then slammed her up against the wall.
"Christ, Selma, do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"I--"
"What hearing you say that does to me? Seeing you dressed like this, knowing you're doing it for me. I mean, pearls. Baby
, you're amazing."
His fingers closed over the pearls. He was breathing hard. So was she.
"So this is good? You're not--"
"I'm not anything but turned on. You couldn't have said anything better to me. Christ, when I get you home tonight..."
"Yes," she murmured as his hand cupped her breast.
And then, without warning, he said, "Fuck it." Using the pearls as leverage, he pulled her toward him. The cheap strand snapped, sending white beads everywhere, but she didn't care.
"Ignore it," she said, pulling his head closer and opening her mouth to his. He kissed her hard. Tongue and teeth and the taste of blood. His hands seemed to be everywhere. Her hands, her thighs. She realized he had her skirt up, his hand between her legs, his body pressed close.
"Now," he said. "I have to be inside you now."
"Easton, the party."
"The door's locked. We're fine."
She moaned as his fingers slid into her.
"The door's not--"
And then the door burst open.
He tugged his hand free and moved to shield her with his body even as she blinked from the camera flashes that suddenly and completely filled the room.
Chapter Thirteen
"I'm so damn sorry. So goddamn, fucking sorry."
Easton had been repeating the same thing over and over again all the way back to her distillery. She knew he was mortified, but she was all right. She wished he'd just talk to her instead of apologizing repeatedly.
"I lost my head," he said. "And now your reputation, my reputation." He pulled in behind her building, then slammed his palm against the steering wheel. "Shit."
"Just come on up. We're tired. We'll sleep. We'll talk about it more in the morning."
He shook his head. "And then Marianne standing right there with the press, telling them that I was some asshole who couldn't control himself, and you're just some skank who's been following me around until I finally gave in."
She tensed. When Marianne had blurted that out as Selma had been jerking her clothes back in place, she'd had to use all of her self-control not to throw a shoe at the bitch.
"She's just jealous that you're the candidate and she's not."
"I'm not the candidate anymore, though, am I? One night with you actually as my date, and it all goes to fucking hell."
She froze. She just absolutely froze. "What did you say?"