Page 31 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“No. That implies it’s lewd and shameful. Some would go as far to say ‘dumbed down literature’ that women can read. The author of the book I am reading was a lawyer who practiced for fifteen years before following her dreams of becoming a writer. Now she’s her own boss, running a successful author brand, and writing books that are both enjoyable and addicting. There’s nothing lewd or shameful about that.”

“I never said it was.”

“Like I said, it was implied.”

“Baby, if you think I’m judging anyone after the way I grew up, then you haven’t been paying attention at all.”

“I told you, don’t call me that.”

He propped his elbow on the bar, his muscle bulging against his shirt, making me wonder if he’d ever ripped one at the seams. “Why? Am I reminding you of one of the characters in your book?”

“Can we change the subject, please?” I walked to my glass of wine, picked it up, and took a nice, long sip. Between admitting my secret to him, hearing him call me baby, and the way he smiled when he saidsmut,my body was battling a litany of sensations, each one contradicting the other.

“Sure.” He poured a two-finger pour of whiskey and took a sip. “So are we talking Outlander or Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“The fact that you know both of those is shocking.”

“Outlander’s a good show. There’s romance, but it’s also heavy on history and damn accurate.”

My head swiveled toward him, shock seeping into me as he praised the historical drama. I imagined him curled up on his couch with Jack, glass of whiskey in hand, shadows of a roaring fire dancing across his face as he watched the show. Did he get turned on by the intimate scenes, or was that just me and my dry spell? Did he long for a love that transcended centuries?

What the hell was I thinking? This was Brady. He’d never had a serious relationship in his life. He’d hooked up with people. The town gossip mill had kept me abreast of that, but he never actually dated anyone. He was more of a one and done kind of guy.

“Do you not agree?” he asked, taking another swig from his glass.

“I do. I’m just surprised you watch it, is all.”

“I think if you’d care to notice, you’d be surprised by a lot of things.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re quick to judge, quick to hold a grudge, and quick to dismiss someone.”

“That is not true at all. Maybe you’d be surprised by a lot of things too if you could see beyond that ridiculous perception you have of me.”

“Do you not remember accusing Quinn of being some gold digger?”

“I was protecting my brother and nephew. In the end, I was wrong. I admitted it, and I apologized to Quinn.” I swiped my glass of wine off the bar, almost spilling the contents. That was one time I misjudged someone and their intentions, and I still felt shitty about it. I didn’t need him using it against me.

I felt his eyes on me, and I debated looking up or keeping my attention on the red liquid in my glass. I relented. My breath caught at the way his eyebrows pinched together above the strong bridge of his nose. There was a slight bump there, barely noticeable, but I knew it was there.

I remember him showing up at our house, two black eyes, dried blood on his upper lip. He told us he tripped and fell into a doorknob, but I knew the truth. It might have been a doorknob that broke his nose, but he didn’t trip. I had gotten him ice and couldn’t forget the wince when I had put it to his face.

His eyes met mine then, looking at me just as he was now. There was softness there—tenderness that contradicted his gruff exterior. I shifted under the weight of his gaze, an uncomfortable knot dropping in my stomach. He was looking at me like someone who surprised him, and he admired it. But he hadn’t looked at me like that for a very long time.

“What?” I finally asked.

“You really feel bad about that. About Quinn.” It was a statement, not a question, but I still felt the need to clarify.

“Of course I do. Quinn is a sweetheart who treats my nephew like her own. She’s probably going to be my sister-in-law one day, and I villainized her.” I lived up to my bitch persona without even trying. Quinn had forgiven me, but it would be a long time before I forgave myself.

His eyes didn’t waver, not when my voice rose and not when it weakened. He stayed locked in on me. My breath stuttered in my chest, my heartbeat picked up, and I got lost in the green depths.

“Char—”

A loud crash jolted us away. I nearly fell off the barstool, but Brady grabbed my arm, securing me in place before putting his body in front of me.

I gasped, pressing a hand to my heart that was beating way too hard. “What the hell was that?”

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