“I think it’s less about the physical act of love than it is about procreation. Old people love babies.”

  “I think you should enjoy being married first. I mean, as much as you can with Owen in the house.” I slide my oil-stained hand down the front of my overalls before grabbing the door handle.

  “Patricia has already offered to keep him every weekend with a wink and a nudge—and that’s after keeping Pinky all week.”

  I laugh as I imagine Aiden’s mom eagerly keeping her grandkids in the hopes of getting more. “Maybe that’s my problem. I’m secretly an old lady obsessed with babies.”

  “You’re an old soul. Now get cleaned up and meet me at the distillery. We need to curate the guest list. Oh! Wedding planner. We forgot to add that to your résumé!”

  “Wedding planner does not go on my résumé. I’m only doing this for you because I love you, and I have no money to give you a real gift.”

  “Speaking of money, how much do I owe you for the oil change?”

  “Are you kidding? You bought the oil. I’m not charging to put it in your truck.” I reach for the door just as she catches my arm.

  “I love you, and I’m paying you for your service.”

  “We’ll discuss it at the distillery. I can’t stand here like this.”

  “That’s why you don’t have any money.”

  “One oil change isn’t going to pay my bills, Britt.”

  She mutters something about being stubborn as I walk through the glass door behind the stores, and I shake my head, continuing up the short foyer to the tarot studio where I worked for six months last year.

  It wasn’t a bad job. Gwen gave me a short list of questions designed to uncover the heart of each client’s problem—sort of like a therapist. Then she showed me how to give a reading that would comfort them. Every tarot card has at least five different meanings, so it was all about finding the combination that worked for that person.

  Britt’s right, I was able to make them happy. We never had an unsatisfied customer, which to Gwen meant I had a gift.

  “I’m still not sure I agree with her,” I mutter, sliding my fingers along the wooden molding above the door.

  I take the key down, trotting up the stairs and inserting it into the doorknob. It turns easily, and I step inside the empty apartment, discarding my clothes in the small nook beside the washing machine just behind the refrigerator.

  No direction, no job, no place to live…

  Scrubbing my hand over my forehead, I push that thought away. “I’m not my mother.” No matter what fucking Drake Redford said.

  I can’t listen to the rantings of a small-dicked, spoiled man-child trying to pressure me into marrying him—and utterly astonished someone had the nerve to tell him no.

  Overalls off, undershirt off, I stomp to the bathroom in my black lace undies and no bra when the narrow door opens all by itself and a tall, dark figure emerges from the steamy room.

  “Shit!” I start to scream, but the sound dies on my lips when Alex Stone materializes before me in all his naked glory.

  Shiiit… My eyes bug as they flash from the tips of his damp, brown hair to his broad, muscled shoulders to the lines in his chest… I can’t stop them moving lower… to the cut of his six-pack abs to the two, thrilling lines that form a V over his hips to the center of his pelvis.

  “Holy shit.” The breath leaves my body on a hot whisper, and my inner thighs tingle.

  I’m frozen to the spot, gaping at the sight of his smooth, semi-erect, impressively large cock. It’s thick and perfect with just enough veins and a mushroom cap that holds so much promise…

  “See something you like?” His baritone voice snaps me out of my trance.

  He doesn’t move to cover himself, and I blink quickly from his dick to his hungry gaze, which is fixed on my bare breasts. His eyebrow arches, and he licks his lips.

  He actually licks his lips.

  It’s when I remember I’m standing in front of him in only my black lace panties.

  Slamming my arms over my chest, I stutter. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “Aiden said I could use the shower to clean up.” He gives me a wicked smile, putting a hand on his hip and not even trying to hide his mesmerizing physique. “Myrtle got loose, and we ended up in a ditch.”

  “Would you please?” I gesture towards his waist. “This isn’t a men’s locker room.”

  His hazel eyes squint, and his grin widens over straight, white teeth. “Sorry, I thought you were seeing something you liked.”

  “It’s not… I can’t…” Use your words, Cass. “I’m not used to seeing all that… out in the wild.”

  I wave my hand at his cock, which I’m pretty sure has grown thicker in the short time we’ve stood here facing each other half-naked.

  Well, I’m half-naked. He’s full monty.

  “That, as in my dick?” Reaching inside the small bathroom, he’s still not covering his junk, and my pussy is slippery and pulsing as fast as my heart.

  I turn my back and take a few deep breaths to calm my volcanic hormones. How long has it been since I’ve had a nice, solid roll in the sack? Too long! my hormones answer, and never with someone so endowed.

  Get a grip, Cass. It’s freakin’ Alex Stone. He’s the most controlled, distant, reserved of the Stone brothers. We are nothing alike. We never share more than a few polite sentences when we’re together, and for a long time, I was pretty sure he found me annoying, although I’ve never given him a reason.

  “And I seem to remember you like wild things.” A tease is in his tone, and the noise of drawers opening and closing sounds behind me, the rattle of clothes in a bag, and a thought tickles my brain.

  “How could you possibly know something like that?”

  “I’ve seen you skinny dipping.”

  “I haven’t done that in fifteen years.”

  “Too bad. You can turn around now.” He still has that tone, but I don’t move.

  I’m still standing here topless. “That’s okay.”

  His low chuckle makes my stomach tighten. “Well, I’m heading out. The place is yours. See you around, Cass.”

  Nodding, I turn as he passes me and dash into the bathroom, closing the door and leaning my back against it. My heart hammers in my chest, and I glance at the removable showerhead.

  Quickly stepping into the tub, I turn the water on warm and lower that nifty device between my thighs. Bracing my hand on the wall, I close my eyes and move it in slow circles over my pulsing clit.

  It doesn’t take long before my lips part, and a moan scrapes from my throat. I shudder through an intense orgasm as I imagine tracing my fingers over every line of muscle in his sexy body, leaning my head back as I ride it out on Alex Stone’s massive cock.

  Talk about a twist…

  CHAPTER 3

  ALEX

  I’ve closed the bar early, and I’m standing behind the dark-stained, reclaimed-wood barrier, polished to a high shine, cleaning a glass with my eyes fixed on my future sister-in-law and Cass Dixon leaning together and laughing softly as they peruse a list of names for the upcoming wedding.

  Cass leans closer to her friend, and a glossy lock of dark, chestnut hair slides over her shoulder onto her breast. What happened in Britt’s old apartment burns in my stomach. She’s grown up, and her body has as well. She’s softer, fuller, mouthwatering…

  Tonight she’s wearing a thin, white tank top and jean shorts. Her long arms and long legs are shapely like a dancer’s, and her olive skin is warmed by the yellow lights. Britt is a drop of blonde sunshine, but Cass is something darker, more sensual.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, not that I was ever a fuck boy. I’m a patient guy, controlled, focused, willing to wait for the good things, but this afternoon in Britt’s apartment, I was ready to go full caveman.

  “Stop playing Mr. Aloof,” Britt calls to me from her perch. “Get over here and weigh in on this.”

  Cass’s gray-blue eyes meet mine briefly before blinking to the sheet in front of them. I don’t miss the pink rising in her cheeks. It’s an attractive hue that compliments her glossy, full lips.

  Tossing the bar rag on the counter, I reach overhead and take down a bottle of our famous single-barrel, and walk slowly to where the women are sitting.

  “What’s so important you need my help?” I give Britt a pretend frown.

  “Don’t play grumpy with me. I know as well as you, your opinion is usually correct.”

  Britt’s sunny, but not in an annoying way. She manages to walk that fine line between sweet and saccharine, and God knows she’s made a world of difference in my brother’s life. I hadn’t seen him smile in seven years before she blasted back into town—nearly running him down with her old truck in the process.

  The memory makes me chuckle. She got his ass back in the game fast.

  “Between your mom’s list and mine, we’ve got twenty too many people coming to the reception. Some of them have to go, or the fire marshal will be on our backs. And you know your law-abiding big brother won’t let that happen.”

  “Let me see.” I reach for the list, giving it a quick scan. Uncles, aunts, cousins… I don’t land on a single name from our side I could cut without catching shit. That just leaves Britt’s side. “You don’t have twenty tight-rope walkers or poodle jugglers you could cut?”

  “Very funny.” Britt’s eyes narrow, and she snatches the sheet from my hand. “I have more than circus freaks in my family, thank you very much.”

  “I’m just teasing.” I nudge the side of her arm before taking down three tumblers and pouring us each a finger of our best bourbon. “We could open the back doors and extend the space onto the patio. Maybe string some lights in the trees and add a few picnic tables. What do you think, Cass? Would it work?”

  She blinks away from me, turning to face the large, metal garage doors we usually keep closed and locked at the back of the room. “As long as the weather holds, it would certainly be enough space for twenty people. Possibly more.”

  “Problem solved.” I lift my tumbler.

  “I knew you could help us.” Britt smiles, lifting her glass to clink against mine.

  Cass raises her tumbler as well, but she still doesn’t make direct eye contact with me. Her gaze lingers on the amber liquid in our glasses. We say a cheers, and sip the warm liquid. It’s a drink to be savored, not shot.

  “Mm,” Britt tilts her head to the side, thoughtfully. “Smoky, smooth… oak with a hint of vanilla?”

  “You got it.” I nod. “Not as much caramel in this batch. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s amazing. You’re really a genius when it comes to this stuff. Aiden has taught me the flavor notes to look for, but it’s still pretty cool how you’re able to coax so much from simple mash.”

  “Time, patience… My grandfather kept good notes, and he shared everything he knew with me.”

  “Weren’t you only fifteen when he died?” Cass’s eyes finally land on mine, and a charge resonates between us.

  I was fifteen that day so long ago when I ran away from his funeral and found her. It was the first time I saw her naked. A smile curls my lips, and she quickly blinks away to her glass.

  “I was younger than that when he started teaching me his technique, but he only let me taste it, hold the flavor on my tongue, then spit it out, which is how wine makers work.”

  “I’m sure your dad would’ve had a fit.” Britt’s nose wrinkles.

  “The Stone family were never fans of my mother’s bootlegger heritage, but I loved it.” I look away, remembering the old man who took me fishing, talked to me about people and life. “Pop had a lot of wisdom. He taught me to wait, and good things would come when the time was right.”

  The words feel weighted, and my gaze moves to Cass again. My instinct rises, telling me to stop acting like a teenager. I put away my childish infatuation with her years ago when it was clear she only wanted to be friends. One renewed peek at her body isn’t going to bring all that nonsense out of retirement.

  Or is it…

  The girls return to their prior conversation, and I don’t interrupt. Instead, I make like a good bartender and pour us all another finger of bourbon.

  “You’re still left without a place to live. Just take my old loft,” Britt says.

  “I can’t live there for free, and your mom will just try and get me to work at the Star Parlor again. You know I can’t say no to her. She’s very persuasive.”

  “So what will you do? Go back to Carol’s?”

  “Aunt Carol would be happy for me to live with her for the rest of my life, but I hate going backwards. I have to find my own way. Follow my path.”

  “You can’t follow any path if you refuse to let people pay you for your work. Now let me pay you for the oil change.”

  “I’m not taking your money.” Cass blocks Britt’s hand, which is advancing with several bills folded together. “I changed your oil because it’s easy, and there’s no reason to pay for something that simple.”

  “It’s skilled labor, and Bud would’ve charged me at least seventy-five dollars.”

  “Seventy-five dollars!” Cass gasps. “That’s highway robbery! I can’t believe he can look at himself in the mirror and charge you that much for a simple oil change on a twenty-year-old Ford. It’s not like it’s a BMW or a Porsche.”

  “He says it’s twenty bucks for the oil, then labor charges—”

  “Bud Dewey is full of shit, and I’m going to stop by his garage tomorrow and give him a piece of my mind. The most he should dare charge you is thirty bucks.”

  “Okay… thirty, it is!” Britt peels two twenties off her wad of bills. “Here you go, and a ten-dollar tip because I love you.”

  “Britt Bailey, are you trying to trick me?”

  I can’t help a laugh. “What’s this all about?” My deep voice contrasts with their light banter.

  “Cass is broke, yet she does all these things for me for free—she changes the oil in my truck, plans my whole wedding, makes the wedding cake, flea-dips my dog, and she won’t let me pay her a red cent!”

  “You flea-dipped Edward?” I’m impressed by such a feat. Britt’s bloodhound must weigh at least eighty pounds. “How do you lift him?”

  “Oh, please. Edward is the sweetest dog on the planet. I tell him to get in the tub and sit, and he steps right in and sits. Done.” Squinting one eye, she points at Britt. “That’s the only reason I still do it for you. It would be different if he was an out-of-control mutt like some of the other pets I’ve had to wrestle to the ground—or if he were a cat who tried to maul me to death. Like I said, that era has ended. Full stop.”

  “Okay, okay!” Britt holds up her hands, and I’m fully invested.

  I need more information. “What’s this about eras?”

  “Of the avalanche of jobs my beautiful friend is proficient at, she still hasn’t found one she loves—”

  “I haven’t found the one that will pay my bills and keep me out of Aunt Carol’s house. I know the ones I’ve loved.”

  “Which are?” I lean on my elbow, hungry to know more about the beauty who haunted my teenage dreams for too long.

  “Babies.” Britt leans forward on the bar a little too fast.

  It catches me completely off guard, and I huff a laugh as I straighten. “I’m sorry… What?”

  “Good lord, Britt.” Another flush of pink stains Cass’s soft cheeks. Shaking her head, she holds up a hand. “What she means is, I’ve loved the jobs when I’m working with children the most. I’m just not certified to teach, and baby dance classes don’t pay the bills.”

  “Ah, that’s right, you taught my daughter ballet lessons. Was that two years ago?” Damn, my head was so far up my ass in those days.

  If we’re talking eras, I was in my “success only comes before work in the dictionary” era, and I busted my ass twenty-four seven.

  My primary focus was on breaking Stone Cold into the high-class world of premium spirits, and if it weren’t for Mom’s help, I’m not sure how I would’ve done it with Pinky only two and a half years old.

  As it is, the distillery broke through, and now we’re all doing very well.

  “She was adorable, and a natural little dancer, too.” Cass’s eyes are warm, and the genuine affection in her tone hits me unexpectedly.

  Shit, maybe my teenage infatuation isn’t as dead as I’d like it to be.

  “If I remember correctly, she really liked your classes. She talked about you nonstop.” My eyes trace her hair as I remember my little girl saying Wonder Woman taught her class.

  “Where is she now?”

  “Sleepover at a friend’s. They’re doing a little spa birthday party or something.”

  “Say less!” Britt cries. “I want to have a little girl so much.”

  “They sent us pictures.” I turn my phone so they can see my curly-haired cherub lying on her back on a palette surrounded by other little girls doing the same. Her stuffed piglet doll is under her arm.

  “She’s adorable!” Cass coos.

  “Where are Piglet’s cucumbers?” Britt teases.

  “He probably ate them.” Cass laughs, and our eyes connect once more, holding a moment longer.

  I don’t know if my vision is still clouded by our afternoon encounter or if it’s the sweet things she’s saying about my daughter, but it feels different, unique in a way that makes me hesitate. It makes me run my eyes over her hair and her cheekbones, the tip of her nose and her lips.

  I feel Britt looking back and forth between us, and I shut it down, tucking my phone in my pocket. “I think it’s time to call it a night, yes?”

  The last thing I need is my tipsy sister-in-law picking up on any nascent chemistry between Cass and me.

  “Morning does come early.” Britt slides off her stool, and her shift in tone eases the concern in my chest. “I’ve got to be at the courthouse bright and early with the sheriff, aka, my future husband.”

  She trills out the last bit, and Cass slides off her stool with a grin, taking her friend’s arm. “Any hot cases you can share with us?”