Page 40 of Harvest Brew With the Mountain Man
“You two seem close. For just reconnecting.”
“Mom. Come on. I grew up watching him and Drew have fart contests. Please.”
Oh, God. She’s so on to me.Why am I great at lying until it comes to that man?
“Hmm. Well, you too have a lovely evening.”
“He’s just dropping me off. Love you. Good night, Mom.”
“Love you, Sweetheart.”
I join West, and he opens my door. Drew hops on his bike, and we all drive off, parting directions at the end of my parents’ driveway. Thank God, my watchdog rides off with him.
Guilt makes my stomach queasy, knowing my brother won’t see reason at first. It’ll only feel like a betrayal. And West will pay the most for our secret.
I study his profile, strong, like a Greek god. I reach over and fingercomb back his hair. His chest rumbles in pleasure. I keep my hand at his neck, my thumb running back and forth behind his ear. His large, warm hand rests at my thigh with a light squeeze.
I’m falling. Hard.
CHAPTER TEN
WEST
“West,” Camille’s eyes are wide as she holds the sample pint. “This is dangerously good.”
“Yeah?” I smile, proud of what my brothers and I put together with our signature autumn bourbon.
“Are you kidding me right now?” She takes another hearty sip, then licks her top lip with gusto.
“I could’ve done that for you.” I stare at her full top lip with the most perfect cupid’s bow.
Her eyes flare with desire. “The night’s still young, Hero.”
Holding the cinnamon stick garnish, she takes another sip. “I need this in an IV, please.”
“I’ll make a request to Ezra. I’m sure he’ll love that,” I chuckle, closing up the bottle to put away.
“What did you guys name it?” she asks, savoring her last drops of the pumpkin bourbon apple cider.
“Being that most of the concept was my idea, they let me name it.”
Her face brightens with excitement. “And what did you call it?”
I grin. “Sorry, Nyx. You’re going to have to wait for the reveal.”
Her mouth gapes. “Are you kidding me? You’re really not going to tell me?”
I laugh, “Sorry, beautiful, it’s a surprise.”
Her shock bleeds into a look I’ve grown accustomed to over the last week. It’s trouble. The kind I’ll love but have also tried fighting.
She sets her glass down gently, then slides off the barstool, tracing her fingertips on the counter as she comes around the corner to stand before me.
“I could always persuade you to tell me,” her voice turns sultry, which apparently has a direct line to my cock.
“Little Pixie,” I warn, my voice low, deep.
The hand at the counter glides off and slowly rides up my thigh. “You know, you made promises yesterday.”
