Written in the Stars (17 page)

Their fingers were nearly touching where they rested on the arms of the chairs. She wanted him to reach over and hold her hand. The thought caused an ache to settle in her chest. Until that moment she hadn't realized how much she missed having a man in her life.

“You've gone quiet, Becca. Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head, but didn't risk looking at him. “That's the problem. You're saying all the right things. Making me long for something I've not experienced in a while.”
Maybe never,
she thought with a sigh.

“There's always the dining room table,” he said, and she had to laugh.

“That was the wine talking,” she joked, but there was some truth to the statement.

“Then remind me to always bring wine.”

Becca leaned her head against the cushion and chuckled. Something warm and comfortable settled between them, and just like that he reached over and held her hand. Neither of them said anything, just sat there and enjoyed the view, each lost in thought.

Although a feeling of peace washed over her, Becca knew there were complications to getting involved with Jimmy. She'd already made up her mind that her stay in Cricket Creek was going to be an extended visit—­maybe even semipermanent—­but she still had obligations in London. She planned to go back there with Garret and Mattie when he filmed
Sing for Me
. And like Gracie, Becca loved to travel and explore the world. And there was something that Jimmy wasn't telling her just yet, the reason that he'd fought his attraction from day one. ­Before—­or if—­they took this thing between them to the next level, she wanted to know what haunted him.

As if reading some of her thoughts, he squeezed her hand. Unlike young love, romance at this age had its own set of complications; the biggest was dealing with the past. But for now Becca was going to enjoy her hand being held on a warm summer evening by a handsome man who suddenly oozed Southern charm. Everything else would just have to wait.

Afternoon Delight

G
RACE CLIMBED UP ON A BA
RSTOOL ARMED WITH A
STICK
of chalk to draw up the beer menu. With the first of their weekend soft openings happening tomorrow, she was full of nervous energy. The fully furnished taproom looked ready for action. Twenty tall stools stood around the large bar, which jutted out into the room in a big square, leaving a big area to move around for the bartenders. As in many taprooms, upscale smooth wooden picnic tables were positioned in the center of the room, with a few high-­tops hugging the walls. The actual brewery was visible through a big window taking up most of one wall, so patrons could see how the beer was being brewed. In the far corner, Grace had set up a gift shop filled with witch-­themed glasses, T-­shirts, key chains, and baseball caps. The logo, a silhouette of a witch on a broom, was painted on one wall with a bright yellow background. State-­of-­the-­art flat-­screen televisions hung suspended above the bar, and later they would add more along the walls. Grace thought everything looked clean and fresh, with the added whimsy of the witchcraft theme. Luckily, Mason had been so consumed with brewing the beer that he'd finally left the marketing to her.

“Is the Belgian strong ale going to be ready for tomorrow night?” Grace looked over her shoulder for Mason.

“Yes, it's been aging for over two months, so it's ready to tap,” Mason answered from where he was hanging a dartboard, and then looked over at her. “Gracie, just what the hell do you think you're doin'?”

“Writing the names of the ales on the chalkboard. We're calling the Belgian strong ale Witches' Brew, right? Holy cow, eleven percent ABV. That will cast some black magic on you in no time.”

“You're gonna fall and break something. Like your fool neck.”

“I'm fine,” Grace said, but then wobbled. “Whoa!”

Mason was at her side in an instant. He reached up and put steadying hands around her waist. “I have a stepstool that's much safer.”

“I like to live on the edge.”

“Not on my watch.”

“But then I wouldn't have your hands around my waist, now, would I?”

“Gracie Gordon, you're gonna be the death of me.”

“Just keeping you on your toes.” She leaned forward and started writing on the chalkboard. “And the American pale ale is called Under My Spell.”

“Whatever.” Mason groaned.

Grace gave him a look.

“Okay, if you insist. You've got me under your spell or I'd never agree to this whole witches thing.”

“A hint of key lime and a citrus-­hop blend,” Grace said as she wrote in neat script. She looked down at him again. “Oh, come on, it's fun, and I can tell it's growing on you. You even laughed at the bike rack out front with broomsticks resting in it.”

“It was either laugh or cry.”

“Hey, the
Cricket Creek Courier
gave us a great article and loved the name.”

“It was written by Trish Marino. A woman. A guy would have concentrated on the quality of the ale and not gone on and on about the cute logo and gift shop items.”

“That's been my whole point all along. Blokes will come for darts and beer, but you needed a hook for women. With Halloween six weeks away, the grand opening is perfect timing. Don't you think?”

“What? Sorry. I was distracted by having your cute butt perched in front of my face.”

Grace laughed as she finished writing. After she turned around, he lifted her down and then pressed her up against the counter. “What do you think you're doing, brewmaster?”

“Ah, well now, if I'm the master, does that mean you're my slave?”

“Yes,” she answered without a hint of hesitation.

“Well, then come with me.”

Powerless to say no, Grace took Mason's hand, thinking that she was the one under
his
spell, not the other way around. He pulled her into his office and shut the door. “What if someone comes in?”

“We're all alone.”

“With deliveries of glasses due.”

“I thought you liked living on the edge.”

“Good point.”

“Okay, then.” Mason reached over and turned the lock. “Take off your clothes,” he said in a stern tone.

“Yes, beermaster,” Grace said meekly, and then tugged her Broomstick Brewery T-­shirt over her head. “What now?” She loved the way his eyes lingered on her black demi-­bra, which pushed her breasts up over the lace edges. A little white pearl bow was in the center, demure and sexy at the same time. She'd recently taken a trip to a new lingerie boutique that just opened up in Wedding Row and had gone on a fun shopping spree. Grace leaned up against the wall and let him look his fill. “Do you like it?”

“Oh yeah. Do the panties match?”

“You're assuming I'm wearing panties.”

“You're killing me.”

“You did mention that I'd be the death of you.”

“Yeah, with slow torture.”

Grace pointed to the zipper on her jeans. “Go ahead and find out.”

Mason went to his knees and a moment later he tugged her skinny jeans down to her ankles. “Oh God, a thong.”

“I'm not really a fan, but I'm wearing it for you.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I have several colors and styles.”

“I will be trying to guess every time I see you.”

When he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the tiny triangle of black silk, Grace gasped and held on to his head for support. The wall felt cool against her back and this seemed so naughty in the middle of the afternoon. He toyed with the lace sides with his thumbs, sending a parade of shivers dancing down her spine. “Oh!” His warm mouth felt so sensual through the thin silk, but she wanted him against her bare skin. ­“Mason...”

“Put one of those endless legs over my shoulder.” Knowing just what she wanted, he pulled the thong to the side and slid his tongue back and forth, bringing her closer and closer until waves of pleasure rippled through her. Dazed, she clung to him. He seemed to know her hot spots and found some she didn't know she had. Grace found herself being open and free with him in a way she'd never been before. She knew that it was because she was falling in love with him, and it scared her a little bit. But before she could dwell on her thoughts, he stood up and tugged his shirt over his head. After shucking his boots, he made quick work of shedding his jeans until he stood before her in black boxer briefs.

“Baby, take them off me.”

“Gladly.” Grace had the boxers down his legs with one swift tug. When his erection sprang forward, she put her hand around him, loving the steely hardness beneath the warm, smooth skin. “I want you,” she said, and looked into his eyes while she stroked him.

“You've got me,” Mason said. She could tell that his statement went beyond sex, but she wasn't ready to tell him how she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Mason, and she suddenly felt as if she was in too deep already. “Gracie, don't look at me like that,” he said, but when she opened her mouth to try to...what, explain? What could she say that he didn't already know? “Just kiss me.”

“Mason,” she began, but he covered her mouth with his, and she gave in to the passion. When she was in his arms, all of her fear melted away, and she told herself that this would all work out some way, somehow. When she wasn't with Mason, she was thinking about him, a sure sign that this was love and they could make this work. Couldn't they?

Mason stepped back and ran a gentle fingertip down her cheek and across her bottom lip. She smiled, thinking how it was so amazing that such a big, strong man had this tender, gentle side. “Stop thinking, Gracie. Just live in the moment and let yourself go.” When she nodded, he slipped on a condom and then pulled her back into his arms. He kissed her worries right out of her brain, until all she could think about was making love to him. “Wrap one leg around my waist,” he said in her ear.

“Bossy pants,” she said, but immediately complied. Her breath caught when he entered her, and she clung to his shoulders. “Oh, Mason,” she said. When he kissed her neck, she tilted her head to the side and thought that this was how love should be made, on impulse in the middle of the afternoon. She inhaled the scent of his aftershave...spice, musk, and a hint of the outdoors. His silky chest hair teased her breasts, and she loved the ripple of muscle when he moved. When Grace wrapped her other leg around him, he held her up with his strong arms, big hands beneath her bum. When he pressed her back against the wall, Grace urged him on, faster, harder, until she cried out and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt him stiffen and shudder with his release, and then he laughed weakly.

“God...”

Grace remained wrapped around him, inhaling shaky breaths. “I know...that was...God, there are no words. Afternoon delight?”

“Delight is way too tame. Afternoon mind-­blowing, amazing. I could keep going.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows and bit her bottom lip.

Mason laughed. “I mean the description. The rest of me needs to recover. Although being with you has my body doing things I didn't know were possible. You just turn me on something fierce.”

Grace laughed and then realized that he was still holding her up against the wall and she must be getting heavy. “Mason, you can put me down now, love.”

Mason kissed her and then helped ease her feet back to the floor. He rested his forehead against hers as if trying to gather himself together. “That beats the hell out of a coffee break any old time.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you. But now we must get back to work, Sir Brewmaster.”

Mason tilted his head. “Oh, so I've been upgraded to Sir Brewmaster?”

“I do believe you deserve the lofty title.”

Mason nodded and then started gathering up his clothes. “I think I like it.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “I'd better get dressed before we start getting some deliveries.”

“I'll pull myself together and then do some work on the Facebook page. Then I'm going to meet with Sophia and Mattie and do some last-­minute tweaks with the menu. We're going to keep it simple and focus on the ale.”

“Smart thinking.”

“I have my moments.”

He kissed her again and then brushed her hair from her face. “I like having moments with you, Gracie. And I want to have a lot more of them.”

“Me too.” Grace smiled, but after Mason walked out of the office, she tried not to let thoughts of her limited future in Cricket Creek get in the way of her happiness. During the launch of the brewery, she felt energized and in her element. But once everything was up and running smoothly, the challenge would end and she would crave something new. What could this lovely but laid-­back town offer her that could fill that void?

“Don't think about it,” she whispered as she tugged her clothes back on. But not thinking about it wasn't fair to Mason either. Grace sat down on the edge of the desk and thought about how her mother had been unhappy because the men she married lived a much different lifestyle than she wanted. But most important was that neither Rick Ruleman nor her father was ever around. Although her mother always presented a positive attitude, even in the worst of times, Grace could see the loneliness lurking in her eyes. Her mother was an amazing, successful woman and deserved happiness. Grace gripped the desk and swallowed hard. How on earth did one combine the two very different backgrounds and lifestyles without being doomed to failure?

But it can be done,
a voice whispered in her head. Just look at Garret and Mattie, right? Who would have ever thought that her rebellious brother could have been tamed by a sweet-­natured small-­town girl? And who would have guessed that Mattie would have followed him to London on her own, prepared to live in a foreign country just to be with the man she loved?

“It can be done,” she repeated firmly, planting a seed of hope in her heart. Now all she had to do was let it grow.