Page 77 of South of The Skyway

“But…?”

“Wren offered to open.”

“The point of hiring staff is to stop workinginyour business so you can workonit.”

“Which means…?”

“Take a break. Jesus, play hooky for a week. You’ve obviously earned it.”

“I have, haven’t I?” She nodded defiantly. “What’s on your docket today?” She asked, sipping her coffee.

“Subs in and out all day at both locations. Priority is this place, obviously. And I want to finish the outdoor living space before the family arrives.” We’d affectionately been referring to the built-in hangout as ‘the deck’. It made sense despite the fact that we were building so much more into it. Brex had adjusted my sketches last week, adding a bench seat and a white wall for projecting movies. It was a damn good idea. Honestly, it left me a little perplexed as to how the hell I hadn’t come up with it myself.

“Did the bar’s stove come in?” she said out of the corner of her mouth, eyes beginning to track words on the page.

“Not yet.” The stove was a beauty. Top fucking tier. My chef back home would donate an organ for it. But these demographics would actually earn me my money back. Taste for kickass cuisine was abundant in the city. And I’d be damned if we didn’t have the prime appetizers in a twenty-minute radius. Bite-sized bliss and the best booze money could buy. That was the mission. “They said between noon and six tomorrow.”

Something dangerous flashed in her eyes, familiar hunger sliding beneath the innocent baby blues as she scooted her chair back. I’d never felt so wanted as I had in these weeks beside Brexley. Her work ethic rivaled a Rhodes, but we didn’t let the endless task list come between us. Somehow our stolen moments became all the more precious. The words hadn’t even left her mouth and I knew what she was thinking, her scheme written over the expectation set on her petite features.

“So, you’re saying you’re here today?”

Running my tongue over a canine and my mind through the list of to-dos, ultimately ruling they could wait, I set my coffee down and swiftly closed the gap. When I grabbed the back of her chair, Brexley’s breath hitched in her throat, and I couldn’t help but smile as the sound sent a jolt down my spine. Eyes locked on hers, I leaned her back, nudging her knees apart as I stepped between her thighs. The determined lift of her chin did a pretty good job of concealing her nerves. Fuck, I needed to play poker with this woman. She’d clean house. Only the tight hold of her belly and those shallow little breaths showed her nerves. Slowly, I lowered my face to hers, dropping my voice.

“Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll make it a reality, Ace.”

The moment her teeth grazed that lower lip, my cock jerked to attention, a smile on my face as her delicate hands raked up my chest before scraping down my stomach.

“Careful what you wish for, Rhyett Rhodes.”

THIRTY-FIVE

RHYETT

Brexley had this way of winding dangerous promises into a taunting tone that drew pricks along my flesh. Her blonde hair was wound up into a clip, leaving the long, tan line of her neck bared to me. I threaded my fingers into the loose updo and tilted her head back as my lips caressed her slender throat. She swallowed audibly, the shift against my lips enough to send me spiraling if I wasn’t already. This woman had me wrapped so tightly around her delicate fingers, her sharp mind, and her decadent body, and she didn’t even know it.

Or, perhaps, she did. Perhaps that was the danger in her tone. An intrinsic knowing that should she speak it, I would so willingly comply.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to use my imagination, Ace.” My teeth against the sensitive skin above her artery sent goosebumps in a wave down her body. Her shiver sent a flood right to my dick. There was something about being able to affect her so quickly, so profoundly. “You’ve spent your life locked away reading those filthy books of yours.” She tasted fresh, clean, save for the hint of sweat. I wanted to lick every inch of her. “Tell me about them.” I nipped at the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, quickly soothing it with my lips. “There has to be a scene you’ve just been dying to try out.”

There was something so fucking satisfying about the sharp intake of breath before Brexley’s moan. Something that sent control wayside as I pulled her from her seat, whipped us to the counter, and lifted her onto the surface of the island.

“Tell me what you thought about to get yourself off at night.” This gasp tickled my stubbled jaw. She tightened her legs around my waist. “Tell me what the men in your books do that keep you all so rapt.”

“I can’t think with you this close,” she whispered. I could tell she’d meant for the words to have gusto, but they’d come out breathless, which brought me some fucked up kind of satisfaction. She wasn’t rattled arguing with my contractors when I’d sent her to sign for an installation and they’d brought the wrong damn thing. Or running her shop or facing life head-on by herself. But she trembled against me here, my mouth on her neck, hips pressed to hers, hand in her hair as hers roamed the length of my back.

“A scene, Brexley.” I sucked harder this time, relishing her rapid breaths. Stopping just shy of leaving a mark, I moved up to her jaw, fingers tightening as I angled her face for easy access. “I just need one to start.”

She nodded, chest rising and falling against mine. “Okay. Yes.God, Rhyett, yes.” My fingers hedged the hem of her shirt, sliding across her smooth belly, and the woman nearly growled. “Fuck. Baby, slow down, you’re driving me—never mind, don’t stop. Please don’t ever fucking stop.”

Chuckling, I slid my palms up until they rested just below her breasts. “Was he blonde, like me?”

“One of them,” she said, the words soft and a little high-pitched. Nerves, arousal, embarrassment, or some shaken cocktail of the three. I blinked, leaning back to study her face as it pinked.Oh. This was too good.

“Oneof them, like one of the books? Or one of them, likeone ofthe men in the scene?”

“You’re not allowed to judge book club.”

“Hell, baby, I’m not allowed to judge, period. I’m no saint—” Her slender fingers severed my words. Her ensuing scowl buried them forever.

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