Whiskey Charm (Foster House Book 3), page 20
In so many ways and in a few positions. Papa’s worried I’ll lose my heart with my pants. He doesn’t know Haven very well. “No.”
“Good.”
“Yeah. Good.”
When I get to the last glass, he’s finished a light sweep and closed all the blinds on the windows. He heads to the door, throwing me a wave. “No one’s in the lot, and Deputy Palmer is on duty. You got this?”
“I’m too wired to sleep, so I’ll probably mop.”
“I’ll lock this behind me. Check before you go out.”
“Night, Papa.” I’m parked right by the door, just in case. Papa’s quit worrying about leaving me alone to lock up, but he still tosses out warnings like a worried dad. I don’t hate it.
After he’s gone, quiet sets in, and I sigh. Time to mop. At least I can look forward to editing cute images of animals after I wake in the morning. Just as I’m rounding the counter, there’s a knock on the door. My heart lurches into my throat.
Who the hell would be here at this time of night? I creep toward the entrance.
“Who is it?” Can I sound any less intimidating?
“Haven.”
I practically leap to the door and whip it open. I should’ve checked first, but I know what he sounds like.
He’s bracing himself on the frame, no hat, his eyes dark in the dim glow of the outside light. “Hey. I couldn’t sleep.”
I step back to let him in and flip the lock behind him. “That wild of a party?”
“Must’ve been. Meadow loved it, and she’s gonna sleep for twelve hours straight. I think it’s safe to say she’s been exposed to a lot of kids now.”
It’s good for her. And for Haven to have everyone at his house. “I was just going to mop and head out.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Of course. You want to get home.”
Wait—he’s here. I have him to myself. There’s no need to rush. There’s nowhere else for us to go. Bootleg is the last business open. Not even the gas station is open twenty-four hours. An idea sparks. “I’m not in a big hurry. Papa groans a lot when he’s getting settled. Want to see the photos I took today?”
A grin spreads across his handsome face. “Can I?”
“Of the animals. You’ll have to wait for the library’s headshots until they post them.”
“There’s only one headshot I want to see.”
“I haven’t had one for years.” I grab my camera case from under the bar. He takes a stool, and I sit next to him. “The dogs are first.”
He chuckles going through them. “There are a lot of blurs.”
“Those buggers took all my skill to get some decent shots. I’m not a sports photographer.” I rub my hands on my shorts. “I offered to start some online accounts for them. Try to hustle for them.”
“Yeah? You’re opening your influencer doors again?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m just going to get them more visibility. I can hand over the logins when I move.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Right. I’m sure they’ll appreciate any help.” He continues to scroll through photos. “Which is your favorite?”
“The puppies, when they got tired and passed out in random spots.”
“What about of all time?”
His. Hands down every single one I took of Haven. “Um…probably Buford.” He’s a close second. “I have one when he’s in a sunbeam and his eyes glow. It’s like he had powers.”
“That was your first post.”
My brows lift. “You scrolled all the way through them?”
He focuses hard on the dog image we stopped on. “Sometimes I can’t sleep. What’s your favorite photo of you?”
“None.” When he gives me a seriously? look, I shrug. “It’s not that I don’t like pictures of myself. I’m usually behind the camera.”
He nudges the camera. “Show me how to use this.”
“Why?” Surely, he can’t be thinking about—
“You should have pictures of yourself. Show me.”
I like the idea of Haven using my equipment way too much. “Okay, well, right now, it’s just a plain camera.” I poke at the screen and adjust the settings for the dim indoors of Bootleg. “Just press and hold that button. It’ll autofocus on the subject.”
“Like this?” He aims the lens at me.
I sway to the side. “Whoa. Whoa. That’s going to be up my nose.”
He chuckles and hops off the stool. “How would you pose yourself?”
I’m not self-conscious. I’m not. Yet I don’t answer seriously. “Reclining on a settee with a sheet artfully draped over me like a Renaissance painting.”
“We’re a local bar. No settee.” He snaps a picture. “No sheet.”
I throw a hand up. “Hey!” I huff out a breath. He’s set to do this. I might as well humor him. I can delete all the images later. “Fine. Stay there.”
I twist to the side, put an elbow on the bar, and rest my chin in my hand. The rapid fire of clicks fills the air.
He lowers the camera. “Next pose.”
I slip off the stool and go behind the counter. “Get me from the side, almost like an action shot.”
“Do you have to change the speed or something?” He lines himself up at my right.
“Nope. I’ll do short motions to add depth.” I dig out the silver shaker Papa and I almost never use. I hold it to the side opposite Haven. “Get ready.”
Once we’re done with that pose, he lowers the camera and rakes his gaze down my body. “Now take your clothes off.”
Haven
She’s not going to do it. Standing in her dad’s bar, wearing a pale-green shirt and jean shorts, she’s going to tell me I’m being ridiculous. She’s going to tell me how tired she is and ask to call it a night. Then she grips the hem of her shirt and drags it over her head. Her creamy tits jiggle in the same pale-blue bra she wore when we were in the tack room.
Blood rushes to my dick. I’ve been talking it down since I arrived, but this time I don’t. Pressure grows behind my zipper, and I look into the screen of the camera. I snap some pictures.
Her gaze drifts from my hands to my face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she murmurs, and shucks her pants off. She leaves her sandals piled with her pants.
“Underclothes too.”
“Haven!”
“You’re right. I need some pictures like this.” She’s an angelic beauty in the viewfinder. Her comment about the Renaissance painting is spot on. The curves, the demure expression, the pink tint to the apples of her cheeks. Where can I fit a settee in my house? “Grip the counter behind you.”
She licks her lower lip, hesitant, but she does it. The pose pushes her breasts out, and she bends a knee. Instinctive. After I get some shots that only fuel the heat pounding through my veins, I’m not ready to quit. “Turn around. Get that ass in the air.”
She sticks her hips out, and her ass rounds in a way that robs all the moisture from my mouth. So fucking perfect.
I take more pictures as she rolls through poses. When she reaches up to free her hair from its clip, I’m struck with dizziness. There’s no damn blood left for my brain. It’s all in my raging erection.
Only because I need to immortalize the fantasy she’s bringing to life, I get several more shots before lust makes me stop. “Come here.”
She pauses for a second, then picks her way toward me. The vulnerability in her eyes is a stark reminder of the power I have. I slide her bra straps down and reach behind her to unhook her bra. It falls loose, and her tits are free.
I caress down one soft globe before I pull out a stool and pat the surface. Then I take a few steps back. Like before, she has to think for a moment before complying.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says again before planting her sweet ass on the stool.
“Think of me as your personal boudoir photographer.”
She chuckles, and damn, it does things to her boobs that could drive me to my knees. But she crosses one leg over the other, angles herself to the side, and looks coquettishly over her shoulder. “I’d need more equipment for that.”
“My god, Red.” I press the button like my life depends on it. “You’re determined to make sure I’m never going to sleep again.” Not with these memories to haunt me.
I close the distance between us and set her camera on the bar. Her hair’s off her shoulders, and I spread out the brilliant strands and drape the tresses over her shoulders. They fall down her chest and I tunnel through them to palm her breasts.
Lust beats at my temples. “You’re like my very own mermaid.”
“I don’t have a tail or scales.”
“Trust me.” I drag her underwear down. She lifts her hips so I can get them all the way down to her thighs. I push my knee between hers. “That’s for the best, or I couldn’t do this.”
Sinking to the floor, I’m at eye level with her navel. She tries to suck in her stomach and starts to squirm. To keep her distracted, I tug her underwear all the way off.
She pulls her legs in, but I still her with my hands on her knees. “Don’t hide from me.” I brush up her satiny skin. “Since I first saw your creamy butt cheeks in the ditch, I’ve only wanted to see more.”
“You say the sweetest nothings.” A smile plays over her lips.
“With you, it’s never nothing.”
“Oh my god, that’s going to get you laid.” There’s something in her tone, a playfulness, but also disregard.
“I’m not saying whatever I can just to get laid.” I don’t need help with that.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh, I know. It’s just that you make me comfortable. I’m not usually this…brazen.”
“I get it.” Why did I get so defensive?
Because she means a lot. More than she should, and it’s critical that she feels safe with me. I told her that I’m not looking for something long-term. I don’t do complications, and this girl could tangle the hell out of my heart.
I’m not what she needs. Not like that. Like this, though? I know exactly what to do. “Oh, sweet Red. I think you’ve been like this a lot longer than you know.”
“That makes one of us.”
No one’s made her feel desired like this. No one’s made her willing to open up. They’ve only closed the door and moved on. We know where we stand, and as long as we’re messing around, she can be wide open.
I push her knees apart. “Let me show you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Haven
Mom: Can you come down before your birthday?
I look at the text for the third time, and dammit, I’m hiding in the rickhouse to do it. If I go before my birthday, then I won’t be around when Prescott is taking pictures of Foster House Gold. If I go, I can’t tell my brothers. They don’t know how much I’ve been talking to her or helping her. If I go, I’ll also have to be careful not to discuss what’s going on in my brothers’ lives.
What would I tell everyone?
Me: What time?
Mom: Come for dinner.
I could leave after lunch. I’d get there for a quick dinner, and then I’d return to Huckleberry Springs before too late. Not enough time to incriminate myself, but short enough that I wouldn’t have to make excuses. I’ll tell my brothers I went fishing, if they even notice. Both of them are too busy with their lives to notice.
I’m leaning against the table I fucked Prescott on for the first time. What about her? I could tell her, but after how it turned out last time, will she think I’m foolish to think Mom will even be home?
No, I want to keep this to myself. It might be a fool’s errand, but she’s my mom, and she remembered my birthday. Prescott doesn’t need to worry.
We’re not serious. I push off the table and rub at the ache in my chest. I can do what I want, and no one gets hurt.
Me: I’ll be there. Need me to bring anything?
Mom: Grab whatever you like to eat.
I bark out a laugh. Nothing responds other than dust filtering through the light.
Bring my own fucking food for the birthday celebration she wants to throw me. Does she even know what my favorite food is? Shaking my head, I tuck my phone away and head back to the main building.
Lane’s pacing behind the employee entrance in the back, punctuating the air with a hand. He has his phone to his ear. “Hutch!” He looks up at the sky like he’s begging for patience. “Hutch! Goddammit.”
He drops the arm holding his phone.
“Having trouble with your neighbor?” I ask.
“You can say that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. He might be dressed like me in jeans and boots, with his standard Foster House polo, but he’s all business. “He keeps asking me what to do about his place when he dies.”
“He sick or something?”
He snorts. “Probably. His liver can’t be keeping him healthy.”
My brothers and I weren’t living in town when Hutch lost his kids after his wife died. My dad would’ve known if Hutch was a drinker before that, but we lost all access to the historical gossip hotline when he died.
He sticks his phone in his pocket. “He managed to find a lawyer, and he’s talking about making up some trust for his house and property.”
“You make it sound like that’s not a good idea.”
Lane’s lips thin. “He wants to, fuck— Never mind. He’ll probably change his mind. He’d better.”
“Trusts are pretty straightforward.” The arrangement kept our mom out of our funds and away from the property. It’s why we all have careers and homes now.
Lane stuffs a hand through his hair. “He’s coming up with some crazy ideas.”
“Like what? He’s got kids. Don’t they get along?”
“A boy and a girl, and I’ve heard they do, and he’s desperate to get them back in Huckleberry Springs. He’s even mentioned—” He blows out a breath. “It’s just the beer talking. I’ll jam some sense into him in the morning.” He props his hands on his hips. “I’m going to be traveling to Denver a little more in the next few months. I’ll be here for the wedding though.”
Mentioning the upcoming nuptials gives me an idea. “Speaking of that, I’d like to take a little more time off next Friday. I can be here in the morning when Prescott’s taking pictures. But then I’d like to get away. Before everything.”
He grunts. “Right? It gets to be a lot, and Elodie and Cruz are next. Then it’s just us.”
The last two single guys of Foster House. “Unless you meet some girl and tie the knot before you know it.”
The bemused look he shoots me isn’t expected. “If Hutch has his way.” Shaking his head, he rolls his shoulders. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Taking your birthday off?”
“Just the evening. Prescott insisted on making me dinner.”
“Nice. You two getting serious?”
“Nope.”
Surprise lifts his brows. “It’s like that?”
“She’s not planting roots in town, and I’m not leaving.”
He nods. “If you both know what you want, more power to ya.”
I bob my head, relieved he doesn’t grill me more than that. “Yep. We both know.”
He shifts his gaze toward me. “Wherever she settles, I’m sure some guy will sweep her off her feet.”
The fuck he will. He won’t know that she doesn’t want to like photography again because she’s afraid of disappearing behind the camera once more. He won’t know that she’s loyal to her dad even though he’s the man who hurt her the most. And worst of all, he might not realize that her birthdays are precious to her, and she hasn’t had a good one since her mom died.
Lane slaps me on the shoulder. “Like I said, as long as you both know what you want.”
Prescott
Me: Can I get some more footage of the cats before I go to work? I have an idea for the new account.
I stare at the phone, waiting, as if Haven’s going to drop everything and jump on my text.
“Excuse me, please,” an older man says.
I jump out of the way. “Sorry!”
He chuckles as he pushes his cart by. I’m in the middle of the Tractor Supply store. I have a handbasket full of cat treats, a puppy toy, and some kitty toys. The money from the library photo shoot is burning a hole in my pocket, and I should save it for whenever I actually move. But I continue shopping.
My phone buzzes, and I hug the boot aisle to read it without blocking anyone’s way.
Haven: You know where the key is.
I smile. He doesn’t have a key. The guy lets anyone come and go, but from what I can tell, I’m the only one doing so.
I finish up in the store, load my items into the car, and head for Haven’s place. The drive is so damn familiar by now, it’s second nature. It’s…wishful thinking. I cannot catch feelings. I’m barely over my titillating embarrassment from going through the images he took of me in the bar. I even edited a few.
The man has an eye for…me.
I pull in a breath and slowly let it out. The impromptu boudoir session, what he did to me on the stool after…a cold shower isn’t enough. Can I swim in the Stillwater? Is it icy? Glacial? That’s the only thing that’s going to cut through the haze of lust from that night. It’s that daze that made me upload one of the edited images in my pale-blue underwear set to his gallery.
I don’t have the guts to tell him.
When I reach his house, his pickup’s gone. I figured he was at work, but the disappointment is still there. I got myself all bothered on the drive.
I park by the barn, grab the bag with my purchases and my camera, and head inside. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Daisy sprints from the back of the barn, her tail held high.
“Hey there, girl.” I take out the treats and rip the top off. The sound attracts Thistle. Good.
I dig out my camera, set the bag on the floor, and squat. Aiming toward the anxiously waiting kittens, I hit record and toss out a few treats. The kittens dive for them and gobble them up. The shot is perfect with the visible treat bag.
For the next twenty minutes, I get video and stills of the cats eating and playing with the toys. I’m so engrossed in the work, laughing at their antics, and being delighted that I even got some of Tan, that I don’t hear Haven pull up until he’s standing in the doorway.
