Tap (Lovibond #1) (10 page)

He kisses me close-mouthed at first but every motion brings our lips closer to opening. And then—bam. His wet velvety tongue touches mine and together the two waltz a slow, seductive dance intended only for lovers.

He pushes me backward until I’m pressed firmly against the wall.
Now, this is one of the fantasies I had in my head earlier. Is he a mind reader?

I’m trapped with nowhere to go, but for some reason, I’m not scared. His grip is different from Xavier’s. Aggressive, but hot. Not unhealthy.

His hands leave my face and glide down my sides until they find the bottom of my boxers.
Oh, shit. His fingers are creeping up my shorts. They’re touching my butt cheeks. Only my panties prevent him from touching my bare skin. And they’re the same damn cotton panties I wore all day. In the heat. While I was sweating. Fuck.

“Ohh.” The sound escapes my mouth in a whisper. Softly. Delicately. But his reaction to hearing it isn’t.

His hands grab the backs of my thighs and lift me so my legs wrap around his waist, my back pressed against the wall. Hard. “You are so fucking sexy, Wren.”

I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I squeeze tightly, pulling him closer.
If that’s even possible.

He pulls away, his lips abandoning mine. I watch him close his eyes and bite his bottom lip before leaning in to press his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

I liked everything he was doing. “I strongly disagree. So much so I think you should do it again.”

He puts my feet back on the floor. I reach for the sides of his face so I can go in for more, but he stops me by grasping my wrists. He shakes his head from side to side. “Don’t.”

I’m lost about what is happening. Brou didn’t leave anything at Ollie’s. He had the driver bring him back for me. For this. Maybe more. And now he’s backing out.
Did he change his mind about me in literally zero to sixty seconds? Or is it possible Ollie was wrong and Brou is seeing someone?

Whatever the reason, he’s rejecting me.
I’m desperate to get away from him, but he still has my back pressed against the wall. I can’t escape.

I drop my arms and turn my head to the side so I’m no longer looking into those damn eyes the color of blue lapis. I suck in, trying to shrink into the wall. Disappear. Get away.

No success. He remains standing so close I can smell the mix of cologne and dried sweat on his skin. He smells the way a man should.
So delicious I could lick him.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand.”

I’m not confused. “Grabbing my wrists was a pretty clear indication you wanted me to stop.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He backs away and places his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he sighs loudly. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Those are words of regret.
My heart plummets.
“You wish you hadn’t kissed me.”

“I do but not for the reason you think.”

I wasn’t prepared to hear him admit it.
That hurts. A lot.
“We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“There’s not even a remote possibility of forgetting that kiss when I look at you.”

If looking at me is a problem, it’s one I can easily fix. “Then I’ll leave tomorrow so you don’t have to look at me again.”

“You’re misunderstanding me. Exactly what I didn’t want.”

He talks in riddles. “Then set me straight. Because I am so confused about what the problem is.”

“I regret kissing you because it only makes me want you more. Which isn’t an option; you’re off limits to me.”

Off limits? “Says who?”

“Stout.”

I hold my hands out, palm side up. “News flash. Ollie isn’t here.”

“We had a conversation about you a while ago. He told me if you ever came to visit, I wasn’t to touch you. He was very clear regarding his feelings about it.”

That pisses me off so badly. I’m apparently the only one of us who believes in the adult sibling respect rule. “My brother doesn’t get a say in who does and doesn’t touch me.”

“He does when it comes to me; we’re business partners. If I start something with you and he doesn’t approve, it can throw a serious wrench in my working relationship with him.”

“You want to pretend we didn’t connect? That the kiss didn’t happen?”

He grasps the top of his hair and pulls. “Ugh. As much as I hate it, I think we have to.”

I’m a terrible actress. Always have been. “Then I should probably go home in the morning.”

“Don’t go, Wren.” I gloat inside . . . until I remember there’s no point in sticking around if I have to spend the day acting like I’m not attracted to him.

“I can do a much better job of pretending this didn’t happen if I’m four hundred miles away.”

He takes one step away and his hands go to his hips. He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels as a deep exhale leaves his chest. “I don’t want you to go but you’re right. Distance is probably best.”

I’m stiff as a board when I offer my hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Broussard.”

He takes my hand in his. “
Nice
? Sure. We can call it that.”

T
he devil is perched
on one shoulder whispering in my ear.
What are you doing, stupid motherfucker? You had her shoved against the wall with your hands in her shorts. And she loved it. You could be between her legs right now if you’d played your cards right. But you didn’t. You took the pussy’s way out.

I’m pretty sure Wren was going to let me fuck her. And I walked away.
She’ll never know how hard that was for me.

I did the right thing. I don’t question that for a moment. So why do I feel so miserable?
Shouldn’t I be proud of myself?

The devil leans in closer to whisper in my ear again.
You’re miserable because you’ll be jacking off tonight instead of fucking a gorgeous blonde. You should turn this car around and go back to her.

I would love nothing more than to say fuck it all and go back to Wren.
When she’d open the door, I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom. I’d toss her on the bed and worship her body from head to toe. I’d make her come over and over.

I really need to get home so I can take care of myself.

I look at my phone and wish like hell she’d text me.

Come back.

I don’t care what Ollie thinks or says.

I want you.

There’s not a bit of doubt in my mind. If she reached out to me, I couldn’t resist Lawrence Thorn again if my life depended on it.

A familiar ping alerts me to a new text.

Shit. There it is. A message from Wren. The very one I was hoping to get.

I’m ecstatic until my brain registers that she sent it to Stout’s phone. Not mine.
Fuck.

I have to respond the way Stout would.

I’ve seen Stout call Wren
sis
and say this exact same thing in some of their older messages. Should be safe.

Dammit. Why’d she have to ask that?

That damn little devil is still on my shoulder.
She thinks the messages she’s receiving from this phone are from her brother. You can say anything and she’ll believe you. Take advantage. Let her believe she has her brother’s blessing.

I’ve been lying to Wren but it’s been nothing of any consequence. This is different. A serious kind of deceit.

It’s killing me to tell her that. But it’s what Stout would say.

Stout considers me a womanizer. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell his sister about that aspect of my life.
But I can’t. I don’t want to paint myself in that light.

No. I guess she never will know me or how I am.
I’m a little surprised by how that makes me feel.

Sounds like a brotherly thing to say. I think.

She really likes me? Shit. Now I really want to turn this car around.

But seeing the proof of her liking me changes nothing. She’s Stout’s sister. He’s my partner. And she’s still off limits.

I’ve shared more
I love yous
with Lawrence Thorn in the last couple of weeks than anyone else in my life. Ever. I thought the words would feel empty. They were intended for someone I didn’t know and from someone other than myself, although I was the one typing them.
Oddly, I haven’t grown immune to them at all. I feel a little jab to the heart every time I tell her. And I think there may be a bit of a twist to the jab now that I’ve met her.

Oh, shit. Wren doesn’t have her car. She’ll need a ride to pick it up in the morning.
I’m the one who convinced her to leave it. Doesn’t that make me responsible for making sure she gets it back?

I have to text her. I don’t have a choice.

I get to see her one last time before she goes.
That doesn’t suck.

What’s easier? Alleviating the need for me to pick her up and take her to her car or her leaving without seeing me?

I have never uttered, nor texted, those words to a woman. Ever.

A minute passes. And another.
She must be thinking hard about her reply.

Those two letters make me extremely happy.

The driver lets me out of the Suburban at the entrance to the festival. Plastic cups and napkins litter the grounds.
Do people not know what a trashcan is for?

I find Porter and the Lovibond gang at our booth straightening the disarray. “Wow. This is a damn mess.”

“You missed the last-call rush. It was fucking crazy. Where’d you disappear to?”

“I had to take Lawrence to Stout’s apartment.”

Porter stops and stares at me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We’re all here working, and you’re off trying to get a piece of ass from our business partner’s sister?” I want to punch Porter in the face for talking that way about Wren.

He isn’t far off from the truth, but it’s not an announcement for him to make in front of our staff. “Can I see you privately?’

Porter tosses the towel in his hand on the table. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

I walk until I’m certain we’re out of earshot. “What the hell was that all about?”

“You’ve been with Lawrence all day.”

“I fulfilled all my job duties. Every aspect. I landed four new accounts today. I'm set to get more tomorrow. I made rounds on every guest brewery. I judged the home brew competition and did a damn good job of picking the best according to you. Name one way I failed Lovibond.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“Stout won't like what you're doing with his sister.” And it doesn’t look like Porter does either.

“I’m not doing anything with Lawrence except watching over her and making her feel welcome. That's it.”

“Be sure to keep it that way because none of us can afford a fallout over her. Not me. Not you. Not Stout. Or any of those people who work their asses off for us at the brewery.”

“Stout and I have already had the Lawrence conversation.” I don’t owe Porter an explanation but there it is anyway. Maybe it’ll get him off my back.

“Good. You know where he stands, so get your ass over here and help us clean up so we can go home, sleep fast, and do this again tomorrow.”

I
t was
two in the morning when I finally rolled into bed. Sleep didn’t find me easily. But visions of Wren in that camisole with no bra did.

I wanted to touch her tits so badly. Rub my thumbs over her hard nipples pushing against the fabric of her top. I went for her sweet round ass with the intention of moving on to those perky tits next.

Didn’t happen.

I grew a hard-on and then a fucking conscience. Bad combination.

I bet I barely got three hours of sleep last night, but I’m still up and ready for her call at any time.

I’m on my second cup of coffee when she texts.

Wren opens the door and I’m blown away by how beautiful she is. Not because she’s dressed in something elaborate and wearing a ton of makeup. Total opposite. She’s barefaced with a single braid down the middle of her back.
Natural beauty.

I hold up the bag of coffee and box of tea I picked up on the way over. “Both organic. Think you have time for a cup before you have to go?” Or two cups? Maybe three? I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give.

“I think I can stick around long enough to have one.” I follow her into the kitchen and she holds up both. “Which would you prefer?”

I don’t care. Whichever will last longer. “Whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

She opens the box of chai tea and takes out two bags. “What time did you make it in last night?”

“Two.”

“Good grief. What time did you get up?”

“Six.” I sit at the dining table and watch Wren flutter around the kitchen.
She’s like a graceful butterfly.

“Ouch. Four hours of sleep?”

I wish. “More like two. Maybe three.”

“Why so little?”

“I was wound pretty tight last night.”
As was my hand as I fantasized about what was beneath that little cami you were wearing.

“You must have been after making sure the festival went off without a hitch.” No. That wasn’t the reason at all.
You were.

“Day one of operation beer fest was a success. Hopefully today goes as well.”

“I’m sure it will. I know Ollie must be bummed he’s missing it.”

“He has to be.” But, no worries. I’m letting his ass take over the next festival.

“Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?” Wren goes to the refrigerator but promptly shuts it. “Forgot. No milk. Sugar only then?”

“I’ll take mine however you do.”

She puts a spoonful of white granules in one cup and stirs. “You don’t drink tea, do you?”

“Not this kind.”

Wren looks at me and huffs.
I think she does that often.
“I would have been happy to make you coffee.”

Another dose of caffeine could do me in. “It’s only seven thirty and I’ve had two cups. I didn’t need a third.”

“Okay, but if you don’t like it, I’m making you a pot of coffee.”

“Deal.”

We migrate to the living room with her leading the way. She takes a seat on one end of the couch so I choose the opposite.
I don’t want to be in the chair across from her. It’s too far away.

She dips her teabag up and down by the string so I mimic her. “I feel so dainty.”

“Well, I must admit it’s a little entertaining to watch a manly, bearded man dip that teabag like that.” Hmm . . . she’s thought about me enough to come to the conclusion I’m manly.
Interesting.

She continues dunking so I do too. “You don’t consider chai tea a man drink?”

She watches me for a moment. “I’ve never given it much thought, but after seeing you do that I’ve come to the conclusion it isn’t.”

Wren uses her spoon to press the bag so I follow her cue. And tilt the damn cup over so far a huge portion of my tea spills in my lap. I set my cup of hot-ass liquid on the coffee table and spring up from the couch to tug the fabric away from my skin. “Oh, motherfucker, that is hot.”

Wren leaps up from the couch and sprints into the kitchen, quickly returning with a towel in hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I made the damn mess.” I take the towel from her and wipe the crotch of my jeans. “I think we can agree I don’t have enough grace to be a tea drinker.”

“I concur.”

The hot tea on my crotch turns cold quickly. “Do you mind if I grab a pair of Stout’s pants so I can put my jeans in the dryer for a few minutes? I don’t think it’ll take long for them to dry.”

“Sure. I’ll grab some for you.”

Wren returns a moment later holding elastic-waisted pants. “These okay?”

“That works. Thanks.”

I go into the bathroom to strip out of my jeans and find my boxer briefs took a nice hit as well.
Shit. Those have to go into the dryer too.

I come out of the bathroom free-balling beneath thin white linen pants.
Real thin.

Wren holds out her hand. “I’ll put those in the dryer for you.”

“I can do it.”

She holds out her hands. “I don’t mind.”

I guess I don’t have a choice. She’s going to handle my skivvies. “Thanks.”

She comes back to the living room wearing a grin. “You doused yourself pretty good.”

“Allow me to tell you a little something about me. I don’t do anything halfway. I go all the way.”

Wren giggles as she plants herself on the opposite end of the couch from me a second time. “I believe I’ve heard that line used before.”

“Yeah. I may have stolen it from a pretty girl I drank beer with once.”

Wren takes a sip of her tea.
Much more graceful than me.
“Sounds like a fun girl.”

“I enjoy her company very much. And she’s banging.”

She giggles some more and nearly spills her tea. “Banging, huh?”

“Oh yeah. And she’s a great kisser.”

“How many times have you kissed this girl?” Wren’s brow is wrinkled.
I think she’s second-guessing if I’m talking about her.