Page 34 of The Misfits of Copper County
I checked my texts. There was nothing from Brewer—which was fine. I mean, I wasn’t sitting at home waiting for him… even if I happened to be sitting at home waiting for him. But I’d missed a message from Marjorie.
Marjorie
Counterpoints is ready to commit if you can give me a firm deadline! Call me ASAP to coordinate.
My stomach knotted. I was no closer to finishing than I’d been when we’d last talked.
I closed her message and headed upstairs to change into pajamas… then I headed to the laundry room for a fresh bottle of sauv blanc.
As I opened the wine, I spotted Brewer’s sweatshirt folded neatly on top of the dryer. I hesitated, running my fingers over the soft, worn fabric. Then, darting a glance around just to make sure no one was there to see, I brought it to my nose.
Under the clean laundry detergent fragrance was the distinct scent of sawdust and Brewer, a warm, masculine musk that made my pulse quicken. My mouth actually watered as I inhaled again, which was at least as ridiculous and embarrassing as my Pavlovian Dick Response. But just smelling Brewer’s scent, even when he wasn’t around—especially because he wasn’t around—made my cheeks go hot.
I wanted more of it.
I darted another guilty glance toward the laundry room door, but I knew I’d have plenty of warning when Brewer came home—the rumble of his truck engine, the clomp of his boots. Besides, my short pajamas were the height of comfort but not the height of warmth, and with the snow falling, the temperature had dropped…
“Fuck it,” I muttered, pulling the sweatshirt over my head.
It enveloped me completely, the sleeves extending past my fingers, the hem nearly to my thighs. It was the closest I’d let myself come to admitting what I really wanted—to be wrapped in Brewer’s arms, surrounded by all that strength and warmth.
The thought was both terrifying and intoxicating, and my skin prickled with goose bumps that had nothing to do with cold or drafts.
I pushed the sleeves up to my elbows and grabbed the wine bottle.
I shut off all the lights and settled on the floor in front of the fire, leaning against the couch. The flames cast dancing shadows, and outside the window, the snow created a curtain of white against the black night.
Despite the house’s emptiness, I wasn’t truly alone. Brewer’s presence lingered everywhere—in the tools spread around the kitchen, in the half-finished projects throughout the house, in the sweatshirt wrapped around me like a confession. Everything Tam had said echoed in my mind, impossible to dismiss when I was alone with my thoughts.
Maybe I was being stubborn about the wrong things.
Maybe there were things I wanted more than being right.
Maybe I should try jumping Br?—
No. Nope.
I pulled out my Kindle, determined to distract myself with the hot alien romance I’d been reading, but even that betrayed me.
“The warrior’s massive hands could span his captive’s entire waist…” My skin flushed hot as I imagined Brewer’s hands on a cabinet, adjusting a level.
“His rumbling voice sent shivers down Matteo’s spine…” A corresponding shiver ran down my own spine, remembering Brewer’s low growl of frustration when something wouldn’t fit right.
I gave up and set the Kindle aside. I refilled my glass, let the wine settle warmly in my veins, and watched the snow as my thoughts drifted hazily.
The memory of that morning came back to me—because of course it did—with sudden, unwanted clarity.
I’d been half-awake, reaching for my glasses, when I’d heard a low creaking from the other side of the wall. At first, I’d thought Brewer was just shifting on his mattress or, I don’t know, maybe doing push-ups.
But then a soft groan had escaped him—a sound so primal and unguarded it had sent electricity straight to my core—and I’d frozen in place, suddenly wide,wideawake.
His mattress had made soft, rhythmic shushing noises against the floor that came faster and more urgently. He’d let out a few stuttered breaths—huh, huh, huh. And I hadn’t been able to stop myself from picturing Brewer—his powerful body tense, his head thrown back, that fucking jaw locked, one hand wrapped around himself, working urgently.
I’d had no idea if my imaginings were accurate, obvs, but let me tell you, no alien warrior could compare.
I’d covered my head with a pillow like a scandalized Victorian maiden, but it had been too late. My ears had already become totally attuned to his sounds and sought them out, even through the dense memory foam.
When he’d finally come with a muffled groan, I hadn’t just heard it; it had vibrated through the wall and directly into my own balls. My body had thrummed with sympathetic arousal, my cock painfully hard under the sheets.
