Page 3 of Mixed Motives

Keane refrains from commenting on my garb and instead politely asks, “How’s the bed-and-breakfast going? It’s been, what? Six weeks?”

My heart does a little leap. He’s been paying attention to the happenings of my life, even if I don’t see him that often. My mouth moves without my permission, likely because this is a much safer topic than the one I intended to talk about. “Yeah, just over a month. It’s tough. Aunt Veronica wasn’t very tech savvy, and I’m only just now figuring out how to do things. The parts I’d be good at—like upgrading the website—well, I don’t want to do those quite yet, because I’m not ready for more business. So I’m maintaining the status quo until I get things squared away. I’ve got so many ideas for the future, though I don’t know if they’ll work in practice.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks,” I say. His confidence in me feels more like sincere reassurance than a platitude. Especially since I know how good he is at running his own business.

“The hospitality industry can be difficult, but it can also be fun. You just have to think about what the other person wants. How they want to be treated. We try to do that in the tasting room.”

Keane’s small but successful winery is in town, near my aunt’s old Victorian home, which she turned into a bed-and-breakfast. I inherited the place just before Christmas and have been trying to keep it running ever since.

I gulp my water and smile.

“Henry,” he says gently, “you look so nervous. It’s just me. We don’t have to talk about business if you don’t want to. Are you in some kind of trouble? Can I help? You’re not usually”—he holds his hands out, indicating my garb—“like this. What is it you need?”

Squaring my shoulders, I look my ex-boyfriend’s dad in the eye and give him the most seductive smile I can muster. Not sure I succeed, since I don’t feel like smiling. I lower my voice to a purr. “I guess I just was thinking about you, and I figured that now was the best time for me to ask you for something.”

“Okay …” He draws out the syllables as he raises his glass to his lips.

I dig into my shorts and pull out the condoms and lube, watching his eyes widen. “I want—no, I need—you to fuck me.”

CHAPTER 2

KEANE

I choke on my drink and start coughing.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Henry says, grabbing the gray mohair throw and using it to wipe off the coffee table, then patting me on the back. “I didn’t mean to cut off your air circulation. Breathing is very important.”

“It’s not a problem,” I wheeze, my brain whirring as he hovers over me, wearing next to nothing.

Henry Carter is my son’s boyfriend. I have no idea what’s gotten into him, but there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m having sex with him. That’s just plain wrong. I’m not going to help him cheat on my son, period, let alone with me.

Tell that to my dick, though. Because for the past few minutes, Henry’s been sitting less than six feet away from me, wearing mostly skin. Tempting as all hell. Since the moment I saw him on my doorstep, I’ve been studying the sinuous curves of his body. The way his lower lip is extra pouty, demanding to be bitten.

He’s sweet and utterly beautiful and charming and entrancing, with the brown curls of his hair and his pale gray-blue eyes. I’ve been fighting an erection this entire time. In fact, I made myself go get water so I could take a few deep breaths before I had to face his sexiness.

Damnit, I cannot get hard for my son’s boyfriend, even—especially?—when he comes waltzing into my house and propositions me. My brain knows it’s immoral, but my body has other ideas.

Like removing Henry’s booty shorts with my teeth.

I need to change the subject.

Henry settles back down, satisfied that I’m not going to die, and keeps talking. “I was thinking about coming over here with poppers, but I didn’t know if you’re into that. Or if you ever were. I mean, things are different now, but I thought it might be some kind of vintage fun. Except I have no idea where to get them, since I don’t do drugs, and now I’m talking way too much.”

What is he talking about? Poppers? Where does that boy’s brain go? I clear my throat.

I need to do the right thing. He’s plain old off-limits. There are boundaries I will not cross, and this is one of them. I’ve never seriously considered him. End of story.

“Henry,” I begin, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that he’s going to get turned down.

He sets aside the blanket and puts his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I came on to you and just said it like that. I’m so embarrassed. Oh my God, I’m going to go move to a different town. Which I can’t do, because arghhhhh. I have to manage the B and B.” He groans, sliding his hands down his cheeks.

Henry’s so damned cute. I want to console him, but that would be sending the wrong message.

I decide to indulge my brain, since I’m not going to let my body do what it wants. “Can I ask why?” I ask.

“Why poppers?”

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