Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (41 page)

***

“Think of your feet.”

“There is nothing wrong with my feet. Put me down.” She laughed, and her laughter was heaven.

I craved it.

As of two hours ago, Sienna and Jethro were declared wife and husband. Jennifer had made the cake—which was not a banana cake, since Jethro hated bananas—and the wedding festivities were ongoing outside.

But we were inside, and had both had three glasses of champagne, and were presently on our way to my room. And she was still laughing.

As much as I enjoyed her laughter, I also enjoyed the other sounds she made. Consequently, as soon as we entered my bedroom, I sought those other sounds.

I kissed her as we crossed the threshold and she laughed against my mouth. “Are you trying to distract me? Because it’s working.”

“Not at all.” I kicked the door closed and let her slide from my arms, smoothly placing her feet on the floor. “I’m just really concerned about the health of your toes.”

“Why is that?” Jennifer turned her bright and brilliant eyes to me while she smoothed down her dress. It was a deep purple that clung to her body, making me want to peel it off. I wanted to unwrap her.

“Because I think I’d like to suck on them.”

She stood a tad straighter, lifting an eyebrow at me. “What?”

“I want to suck on your toes.”

“That sounds unpleasant. For both of us.”

I grinned, but not too wide, advancing on her until the backs of her legs met the bed. “Let’s just see, shall we?”

“Are you serious?” She caught herself before she fell backward, her eyes betraying her disbelief. “You’re joking. This is a joke.”

“It’s not. I am as serious as . . . as—”

The sound and feel of Jennifer undoing my belt buckle had me frowning at her. “What are you doing?”

Her fingers made quick work of my zipper and soon my pants and boxers were around my ankles. Saying nothing, she turned us, then pushed me to a sitting position on the bed. Kneeling between my knees, she gave me a frantic kiss, grabbed my hands, and pressed them to her breasts through her dress.

Jennifer broke our kiss just long enough to say really essential things like,

“I love you.”

And,

“I want you to touch me.”

And then,

“But first I’m going to give you a blow job.”

Now, I admit, I was distracted. A man has only so much focus. When handed two, perfect breasts, all other thoughts must abruptly cease, and all attention is rerouted to the palms.

It took me several seconds to decipher the meaning behind her gibberish, but when I did, it was too late. I was already in her mouth.

“Oh!”

Fuck.

I released a startled breath and my brain shut off. It just . . . flipped off. It hung up the closed-for-business sign and checked out. I’d been wrong about so many things recently. But this, denying Jennifer’s request to do this last week, was the wrongest.

See? Brain gone. Wrongest isn’t a word. But I didn’t know that. All I knew was that I never wanted this to end, but it was going to end. It was going to end mortifyingly soon. And there wasn’t a single fucking thing I could do about it.

Her eyes lifted to mine, full of excitement and trust, and I groaned.

So she stopped, gripping me in her hand and withholding her mouth. “Is it okay? Am I doing okay?”

“You are so perfect I don’t have words to describe how perfect you are,” I said on a rush, but then I held her shoulders as she moved to return her mouth. “Wait. I’m about to come, and you don’t want to—”

“No. No. I’m good. I read about this. I’m good. I’m prepared. I know what I’m doing.”

And with that, she took me inside her again. An involuntary sound escaped my throat, and then another. Later, I would thank Jethro for hiring a live band, because I wasn’t quiet, but no one would have heard me.

I was going to die.

I was going to die from how good this felt.

But I didn’t. I came, wanting to wrap my fingers in her hair but instead gripping the comforter on either side of my thighs.

She finished and I fell backward on the bed, reaching for her. She evaded me. Through one eye I watched as she leaned to the side, picked up a previously hidden washcloth and pressed it to her mouth. Then she picked up a hidden bottle of mouthwash and rinsed out her mouth, using another towel. And then, she picked up a hidden bottle of water and took a swallow.

Then and only then did she come to me, laying pressed against my side, a smug smile on her lips. “So, I was perfect?”

I exhaled an incredulous laugh, enjoying the sight of her triumphant moment, enjoying her. “You planned this.”

Her grin widened. “I did.”

“You’re a sneak.”

She nodded. “I am.”

I shook my head—at her, at myself.

“I love you,” I said, and breathed, and felt, and knew, and believed. I was
faithing
Jennifer. I was faithing her so hard.

And she was faithing me as she responded, “I love you more.”

This was our life. This woman was my future. She would be the mother of my children.

This was our beginning.

I couldn’t wait for the middle.

And I never wanted it to end.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes...”

― Byron

~Jennifer~

I had brown
hair.

“Are you sure we’re not supposed to bring something? Not even a casserole?” my mother fretted, twisting her fingers as we drove along Moth Run Road toward the Winston homestead.

“I’m sure. They were very adamant that we just bring ourselves.”

I felt my mother’s eyes on me and she sighed sadly. “I’m not used to seeing you like this yet.”

I didn’t respond. I was tired of talking to her about my hair.

The Monday after Jethro’s wedding, my momma and I came to an agreement on my terms of employment. She’d also signed over my BMW to me as a show of good faith. Or as a bribe. One or the other, and possibly because at Sienna and Jethro’s wedding I’d been approached by a famous pastry chef based in Los Angeles.

I’d dyed my hair back to what I assumed was my natural color just before the trip to New York, after seeing Cletus off for his boar hunting trip to Texas. The color had caused hysterics from my momma. I did my best to tolerate her waterworks. Instead I concentrated on organizing the bakery in preparation for my three-day absence. 

She’d been crying non-stop since kicking my father out. At first I had worried she would take him back, but then she explained that she wasn’t crying because she was missing him. She was crying because she realized how much his nasty and vile behavior and selfishness had cost her family. She’d nearly lost both her children. It was then I realized how much I did love my momma, and wanted to give her the chance to know the real me. And perhaps, I might get to know the real her, too.

Presently, I was a little nervous about my hair. Cletus hadn’t seen me yet and I hadn’t told him. I wore blonde wigs for all my social media posts and pictures, and during the meetings with the talent agent.

“Am I dressed okay?” She smoothed her hands down her pants and fiddled with her third finger on her left hand, where her wedding ring no longer belonged.

“You look great.”

She did look great. I’d insisted we go shopping while in New York and had pushed her into trying on a pair of pants. They looked fantastic. I then talked her into buying them. I also splurged and grabbed a few items, one of which I was wearing now, a dark orange sweater dress. I’d liked how Cletus looked at me in the blue knit dress and I thought this one complimented the color of my hair.

“You also look very nice,” my momma said, patting my leg.

I struggled for a moment. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I decided to say, “Thank you, Momma.”

But it felt like a big deal. It was the first time she’d complimented me about anything for months, since I’d painted my nails burgundy, in fact.

I was anxious to see Cletus. We’d been texting as much as possible, but where he’d been—out in the middle of nowhere Texas—didn’t get good reception. Also, when I’d returned from my trip, I’d been working non-stop at the bakery fulfilling seven hundred Thanksgiving orders for banana cake.

Then he’d returned from Texas late last night.

I missed him.

But today was the day. The cakes were baked. The orders were delivered. I’d talked my momma into taking the day off and going to the Winstons’ with me for Thanksgiving.

“This will be fun,” she said, as though trying to convince herself, still twisting the vacant spot on her finger.

I parked my car and then reached for her hand, squeezing it until she met my eyes. “It will be fun. The Winstons are really nice. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself.”

She nodded tightly, but I could see she was panicked. Maybe she didn’t know how to relax. Or maybe she didn’t know how to enjoy herself.

Sighing, I left the car, waiting for her to also exit before climbing the steps to the porch. We walked to the front door together and I rang the doorbell, a little flutter of excitement in my stomach growing and reaching a crescendo as the door was pulled open.

I grinned. “Cletus.”

He grinned, his eyes devouring me. “My Jenn.”

He was so handsome, but I didn’t get much of a chance to count the ways because he pulled me forward, wrapped me in his arms, and gave me the most magical of all kisses, cupping my jaw with one hand, tilting my head to one side then the other, tasting me from every angle and making my toes curl in my shoes.

I clung to him, my heart racing, my blood singing in my veins—more, more,
more.

And then my mother cleared her throat.

And so did someone else, followed by a voice chiding, “We’re going to move that mistletoe, Cletus. That’s the twelfth person you’ve kissed tonight.”

Cletus lifted his head and turned an angry expression on Beau. “That is a falsehood. I’ve kissed no person for ten days.”

Beau elbowed him out of the way and reached for my mother’s hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it and saying, “Please excuse my brother. He usually has better manners. Won’t you come in?”

My momma gave Beau a tight smile. “Yes, thank you for having us.”

“Our pleasure,” the redhead responded graciously, offering his arm.

Despite my kiss haze, I could see Beau’s gentle politeness had worked as my mother walked by. She was by no means relaxed, but perhaps I needed to give her some time.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to say a word on the matter because Cletus pulled me to the porch, shutting the door behind us, pressing me against the side of the house, and kissed me again.

“I missed you,” he said between kisses, “so much.”

“I missed you,” I said when he gave me three seconds to gasp for air, but I didn’t mind. Not at all. I just wished we’d had a moment before now to catch up.

Eventually the kisses turned less frantic and frenzied. His lips softened. His fingers relaxed and smoothed down the length of my torso instead of gripping my hips with punishing fingers. We rested our foreheads together and attempted to catch our breath, neither of us willing to cease touching.

“I was very rude to your mother. I will have to apologize and compliment her pants.”

I nodded, laughing lightly. “You noticed my momma’s pants?”

“Yes. Of course. My whole life I’ve never seen that woman in pants.”

“Did you notice anything else?” I lifted my head and peered up at him, lifting my eyebrows in expectation.

He studied me, a confused frown on his forehead. “She’s not wearing her wedding ring.”

“No. Not about her. About me.”

His frown deepened and his eyes widened, like a deer caught in headlights. “You . . . changed your . . . toothpaste?”

I glowered at him. And then I smacked his arm.

“No, wait. You changed the address on your voter’s registration card?”

“Cletus.” I smacked him again.

“Sorry, of course, I’ve got it. You changed your mind about me sucking your toes.”

Despite myself I laughed, but I also smacked his arm a third time. “You are extremely irritating.”

Grinning, he captured my cheeks and pulled me forward, placing a soft kiss on my lips, then pulling away. His clever eyes moved over my head and he pushed his fingers into my hair.

“You are lovely, Jenn. No matter what color you paint your hair, I love it and I love you.” His gaze returned to mine and he added on a rumbly whisper, “But it’s your goodness, kindness, and heart that makes you beautiful.”

***

My mother didn’t
stay long after dinner. I could see she was trying, but I also understood that being faced with a boisterous, happy family like the Winstons must have been painful on some level. She’d had two children, invested a lot of herself into us, and nothing had turned out like she’d hoped.

I walked her to my car and gave her a hug. She’d returned the embrace, kissing me on the cheek, and drove back to the lodge. She’d been staying there since splitting from my father. My father wasn’t at our family house either. My mother had changed all the locks and froze all the accounts. The gossip mill was having a field day with Kip Sylvester’s sudden disappearance. I endeavored to ignore the lingering looks and whispered questions.

I didn’t know where he was. He hadn’t made any attempt to contact me.

I tried not to think about it, about him. My life was full of too many wonderful things. I decided I didn’t have time or energy to waste on pointless endeavors.

Dessert was served outside, around a large bonfire as we all bundled up in blankets. Cletus passed out shot glasses of moonshine while Drew and Ashley passed out pie.

“I wonder what Duane and Jess are up to.” Roscoe picked at his pie, eventually discarding his fork in favor of the shot of moonshine.

“They’re probably asleep.” Cletus refilled his youngest brother’s glass, then capped the jar and moved to me. “It’s the middle of the night in Italy.”

“They should have stayed for Thanksgiving,” Ashley lamented, frowning at the fire.

She was sitting on Drew’s lap and he rubbed her back. “But then they’d never leave. After Thanksgiving it’s Christmas, then New Year’s, then birthdays, and such. It was time for them to go, they’d put off their fernweh long enough.”

Cletus motioned for me to stand from my seat, so I did. Then he claimed it and opened his arms. “Come cuddle with me,” he said low enough for only me to hear. “I still miss you. I need you close.”

I grinned at that and settled myself in his lap, covering us both with the blanket.

“Speaking of adventures, how was boar hunting, Cletus? Did you bring home much meat?” Jethro was lounging with Sienna on a blanket. He sat upright with his legs stretched out before him and she rested her head on his lap, sucking on a lemon candy I’d made her. She said they helped with the nausea, but still wanted the custard cakes. I was happy to oblige.

“Don’t you worry about my meat, Jethro.” Cletus lifted his eyebrows at his oldest brother, holding me close. “I brought home plenty and more is on its way. Jenn and I are going to make some sausage pie.”

“Sausage pie?” This question came from Billy, and he swapped a knowing look with Beau.

“That’s right. Sausage pie.” Cletus pushed my hair over my shoulder and encouraged me to snuggle closer.

“I see.” Beau nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “So Jennifer is going to let you put your sausage in her pie.”

Cletus stiffened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Roscoe pressed his lips together, staring at the fire and clearly trying not to smile. “Beau is just asking after your sausage, and we know how much you like talking about it.”

“You know what.” I could hear the warning in Cletus’s tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cletus.” Beau held his hands up as though he surrendered, but he lost the fight against his grin. “I’m just remarking on the fact that you’re going to slip your famous sausage into Jennifer’s hot, moist—”

“Do not use that word.” Ashley raised her voice over Beau’s and made a face. “Everybody hates that word.”

“Fine. Hot, wet—”

“Pie crust is not wet. It’s flaky,” Jethro put in.

Sienna added, “I think using the word moist for cake is okay.”

“Using moist for cake is the only time it’s okay,” Ashley confirmed. “Otherwise it’s a no go.”

“Wait a minute, that’s a good point.” Beau pointed at Ashley, then at me. “Let’s talk about Jennifer’s moist cake for a minute.”

“Beau. Stop it.” Cletus did not sound amused. “Quit.”

I straightened and sat forward, meeting Beau’s twinkling and teasing gaze. “I think it’s pretty obvious why my cake is so moist.”

Everyone—and I do mean everyone—frowned, blinked, and turned their startled gazes to me.

Despite all the eyes leveled on my person, I managed to sound completely reasonable and calm as I said, “It’s the banana. The banana in my cake makes it wet.”

A stunned silence followed, during which the men—Cletus included—gaped and the women grinned.

Sienna’s burst of laughter broke the silence. “I love her! I swear, Cletus, if you don’t marry her then I will talk to Jethro about making her my sister-wife.”

I turned a bright smile to Cletus and he gave me the side-eye. “You’re pretty sneaky.”

My smile grew because it was uncontainable. It was uncontainable because I was surrounded by warmth and love and Cletus. I knew, without a doubt, that this was where I belonged. I’d found my tribe. I’d found my people.

I’d found my person.

And I’d found myself.

***

I fell asleep
on Cletus’s lap in front of the fire. The ebb and flow of the conversation, the laughter. The good and warm feelings lulled me, relaxing me, until I could fight my exhaustion no more.

I woke up in Cletus’s arms and it took me several seconds to comprehend we were in my house. Apparently, he’d driven me home and carried me inside.