Page 60 of Bourbon and Proof

“Hadley—” he says, like he doesn’t want this conversation to be over.

Ignoring him, I move into the bedroom. “You’re going to sleep on your side tonight. Beside me, for once,” I say, looking atthe massive bed that I’ve been sleeping in the center of. “Wait, which is your side?” I turn to look at him.

He unbuttons his shirt and moves into his closet as he says, “I don’t have a side. I sleep in the middle, like you.”

My lips tilt into a slow, knowing smile. “Do you sneak in here and watch me sleep?” I tease, louder for him to hear me. “Very creepy and kinky of you, husband. But that’s not going to work if you don’t want me cuddling into you. Pick a side, and I promise—” But my words falter when he emerges from the walk-in closet. A very shirtless Daddy Foxx shuffles into the room with loose cotton pants slung low on his hips.

He swipes away on his phone, distracted and out the bedroom door without so much as a glance when he says, “There are a few things I need to finish up.” There’s a coldness to his tone that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Goodnight, Hadley.”

Relief and disappointment mingle, making my heart heavy as I crawl into his bed and think about the details of what he’s shared.

Sleep must’ve found me quickly, because when I wake up, I’ve barely moved. The room is still dark, but there’s enough light creeping above the horizon that the dim swell of morning bleeds behind the dark velvet drapes hung around the windows.

I turn over and find the space empty, but when I squint my eyes, I notice Ace passed out on the oversized chair just a few feet from the bed. A hardcover book is resting open on his bare chest, his head tilted down and eyes closed.

Ace has always been distractingly handsome, but asleep and vulnerable, he seems lighter, sweeter, younger. Nothing like the man everyone knows. Sexier with a book, too. A book about bourbon and grains is the only weight on his chest, while the heaviness of everything he carries is resting. I should close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I don’t.

The hardwood floors are cold and the air cool when I shove the covers back. Stepping over to him on quiet feet, I lift the book up and over him slowly to place it on the table next to him. His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist suddenly. It startles me and pulls a rather pathetic gasping squeak from my throat.

With his intense eyes locked on mind, his voice is low as he speaks. “What are you doing?”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to shake either of us up more from the haze of sleep than I already have. I twist my wrist in his hand as he loosens his grip and I hold on to his forearm, pulling him toward me as I move backwards to the bed. He follows easily, watching me with long, tired blinks as his knee hits the mattress. I don’t have any ulterior motives other than wanting him to find comfort in a space that he’s made sure I feel welcomed in.

I crawl across the mattress, moving over to make space for him. He settles toward the center on his stomach, facing me. “Did you mean it?” he asks quietly, just above a whisper.

With his eyes on mine in the dimly lit room, I let the quiet settle around us.

“That you want this,” he clarifies.

I nod, watching rare vulnerability last for mere moments around a man who typically never allows it.

My heart beats a little faster as I whisper back without hesitation. “I’m sure.”

Taking him in like this, I can’t decide if it’s the gray or the dark brown hair that I like more. I don’t remember when the deep-set “eleven” lines on his brow became a permanent part of his features, or if it’s just part of his life-long seriousness, but right now, he looks content. The only lines that crease his skin are the faint reminder that years have passed since the first time I laid eyes on him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says with a smirk tilting his lips, his eyes closing. “Dangerous,” he whispers as a follow-up. Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling—the wooden beams that look like charred barrels and a vaulted design that seem so far from where we are lying.

“Like what?” I smile, knowing exactly how I was looking at him.

“Like you’re mine,” he mumbles into his pillow, like he’s drifting back to sleep.

And all I can think to myself as I lie next to him is:that’s all I’ve ever been.

Chapter 25

Ace

Even before Iopen my eyes, I’m aware of what I’ve done. I flex my fingers along the satin panties that I instantly know are hers. I’d felt that lace trim and the soft satin sheen with the pads of my fingers plenty of times. The massive difference this time is that it’s still on her warm curves. She breathes so calmly that I don’t want to jostle and wake her.Jesus Christ, she’s beautiful.

Moving my free arm above my head slowly, I lift my other hand from her ass as I try to slide myself out from under her. Her body half sprawled over me in the morning isn’t the way I had planned to wake up, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t something I’ve thought about before. A part of me wants to linger here longer and let this moment play out—the very obvious morning hard-on isn’t helping me think straight. As I move quietly from the bed and look at her like this, I can’t help but picture a lazy morning with her wrapped around me as I fuck her nice and easy. How we could take our time and learn all the curves and touches that made us both feel good.

The morning light is barely seeping into the openings of the curtains, but one glance at my phone, and I’m already starting my day later than usual. I need to get to the distillery, but before that, I have to make calls and confirm that all loose ends were tied up after last night. My knuckles are bruised, but it’s a good kind of pain, the one where you know something came out of it.

I work my way through a solid 45-minute leg workout, with some time on the heavy bag before my knuckles split again. Nerves about what’s coming and what I still have to address nag at the back of my mind, needing an escape through exertion. While Hadley was content with the answers I gave her about Seraphine and the added information about Julian, I still haven’t told her about her father. About the agreements I’d made and what needed to happen.

The kitchen is quiet, neither Griz nor Hadley making noise yet, so I snag a clementine from the fruit drawer and pour an iced coffee to leave on her nightstand. I’d add two pain relievers if she had drank too much and ended up crashing in the guest suite. It’s become a small and secret gesture, one I know she assumes is Griz’s handiwork. There’s a part of me that likes knowing I can do something to take care of her when she’s under my roof.

When I pad back into the room, I notice she’s only shifted slightly since I left. I keep my movements quiet as I place the coffee and orange on the side table, then I head into the closet to pick out my clothes before my shower. The space is large enough for both of us to hang our things—I know it was a perk when she realized how much real estate I was giving to her. I smile at the eclectic mix of colors and textures on her side. It’s a stark contrast to my very specific hues of black to gray to navy suits and white to black dress shirts. I wear jeans and T-shirts, mesh shorts and sweats, but those things are folded in drawers and tucked away on shelves.

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