Carter (Bourbon & Blood Book 3) (13 page)

C
arter parked
Josie’s car behind his truck and climbed out of the vehicle. Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door for her. Once she stepped out, he scooped her up into his arms.

“You’re only supposed to carry me over the threshold, not down the alley, up the flight of stairs, etcetera, etcetera,” she reproved.

“I like carrying you,” he said. “It reminds me of the first night I ever brought you home with me… of course, I’m going to hope that this night goes a little differently.”

She laughed. “You don’t think puking and passing out are appropriate wedding night activities?”

He paused at the top of the stairs. “My keys are in my pocket.”

Before Josie could ask what he meant, he shifted her in his arms, and suddenly she was draped over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. One strong arm gripped her at the backs of her thighs and she was staring directly at his denim clad behind. “Carter Hayes, this is not romantic.”

“Of course it is,” he said, as he unlocked the door. “We’re nonconformists.”

“I’m dizzy… All the blood is rushing to my head!”

His hand moved from the backs of her thighs up to her bottom, cupping one cheek. “Funny, I’m having the same problem.”

Once inside the apartment, he dropped the keys on the table and then lowered her until she could put her feet on the floor. Standing upright, Josie really was dizzy. She placed one hand on his shoulder and leaned back against the door.

“I am not a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay,” she informed him. “You don’t just prop me on your shoulder and carry me around like that!”

Carter was still kneeling in front of her but he was clearly distracted. His hands were on her thighs, skimming beneath her dress.

Good lord, she thought, his hands. Callused and rough, but always gentle when it counted. As he pushed the hem of her dress up, he hooked his thumbs through the sides of her panties and slowly tugged them down over her hips. The snagged on her boots and she reached for the zipper to take them off, but Carter stopped her.

“Oh, you’re leaving the boots on,” he said. “They’ve been driving me crazy since I saw you leaning against my truck.”

She wanted to say something funny, something witty and smart, but he was kissing her thighs. His mouth was hot on her skin, the soft glide of his tongue on her inner thighs was maddening. She pressed her palms against the door and closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her.

Each pass of his tongue, of his lips and the gentle nip of his teeth moved higher, closer to the part of her that was so eager for him. He hooked one hand behind her knee and draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her to him. Then his mouth was on her. If he’d been gentle and tender while kissing her thighs, he was now ravenous. His mouth moved over her hungrily, his tongue circling her clit, sucking deeply as if he wanted to consume her.

Josie buried her fingers in his hair, holding onto him as the world just fell away. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. She just trembled against him as he devoured her. The intensity of her orgasm was shocking. Her body quaked, had it not been for his hand pressed against her stomach, holding her up, she would have collapsed right there. What was even more shocking was that he was not stopping. He continued the sensual onslaught, drawing out the pleasure until it was almost too much to bear.

Sobbing, breathless, unable to form coherent words, she just begged. “No more. Carter… It’s too much.”

Her reprieve was only momentary. Carter picked her up, carried her to the couch and laid down with her, his hard body pressed against hers. Her dress just vanished, her bra followed. Laying there beneath him, wearing nothing but a pair of high heeled boots, she felt decadent, sexy, and all those things that she’d always wanted to feel.

As she looked up at him, their eyes met, and it wasn’t just the hunger that she saw there. It was so much more.

“I never dreamed that when I pulled you down off that bar, this is where we’d end up… But I wouldn’t change a damn second of it. You’re perfect, Josie. And you’re mine.”

“God, I love you,” she whispered. “Even when you make me crazy… maybe especially when you make me crazy.”

There was no more talking. Carter stripped off his shirt, revealing the hard, lean muscles that just robbed her of the ability to think. His jeans followed and then he was naked against her, skin to skin.

Locking her legs around his lean hips, she pulled him close. He surged into her, deep, hard and it was so perfect. She held onto him as he rocked into her again and again, each thrust reawakening the intense pleasure of only moments earlier.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her jaw. And then his mouth was on hers, tasting her, teasing, his tongue moved between her parted lips mimicking the actions of his body. It drove her over the edge and she was shuddering beneath him, moaning his name against his lips.

She felt him stiffen against her, his muscles going completely rigid, and then the hot rush of his release inside her.

Afterward, curled together on the couch, Carter tracing lazy circles on her hips, tickling her spine and generally being an adorable nuisance. “We still have to tell everybody we got married.”

“We could,” he said. “Or we could just let Fontaine’s gossip mill do the work for us. If they’re going to talk about us, Josie, we ought to at least benefit from it.”

It was such a tempting idea. “Isn’t that a little cowardly?”

“Hell, yes, it is… and I am okay with that.”

She turned over so that they were facing one another, resting her arms on his chest as his hand shifted to her hair, twining the strands around his fingers. “So who do we tell to get the word out?”

Carter reached for his pants lying on the floor and fished his cell phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts and then tapped Bennett’s name.

The phone rang twice before Bennett answered. “This better be good.”

Knowing what he’d more than likely interrupted, Carter grinned. “You’ve been walking around with blue balls for years. A few more minutes won’t kill you… I need to speak to Mia.”

“No,” Bennett said. “Call back later.”

Carter laughed, but pressed on. “Seriously, Bennett… this is important.”

Bennett sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.”

A second later, Mia picked up the phone. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing is wrong… but we need you to spread a little gossip for us.”

“Who is we?” she asked.

“Do you think you could tell people who would then tell other people that Josie and I eloped today?”

Mia’s squeal was deafening. “You didn’t!”

“We did, actually… And since everyone in town wants to talk about us anyway, we figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“I’ll call Loralei… and Annalee. But you do know that shit is going to hit the fan over this, right? I mean her dad is a minister and you went and got married in a court house!”

“A grocery store actually,” Carter corrected. “It’s a long story.”

After a few more pertinent details were exchanged, the call ended and Carter looked at Josie. “It’s done. By tomorrow morning, the entire town will know.”

She rolled her eyes. “By ten o’clock tonight the whole town will know!”

“It’s eight thirty now, so yeah, probably… I’m ordering pizza. I did promise not to let you starve,” he said.

Josie sat up and unzipped the boots that had gone from decadent and sexy to just hot and uncomfortable. “At least when we go to church tomorrow, there’ll be witnesses and my daddy can’t shoot you on the spot.”

His face fell. “We still have to go to church?”

“
Yes
. And I’m not going to face this alone,” she said, as she got up from the couch. “I need a shower. Then you’re going to feed me, and then we’re going to bed where we may or may not sleep. I haven’t decided yet.”

Carter watched her walking naked across the living room. “Yes, ma’am.” If getting that view meant he had to go and be preached to, he’d just learn to live with it.

J
osie straightened
Carter’s tie for the third time. As he reached up to tug at it, she smacked his hand. “Leave it alone! It looks fine.”

“It feels like a damn noose.”

She glanced pointedly at the church they were parked beside. “You want to rephrase that?”

“No. I don’t. I can still cuss till we’re inside,” he said.

They’d arrived early. Josie figured facing her father down before the sermon would be their best option. As they walked toward the front steps, the side door of the church opened and she saw her mother standing there. Deborah waved them over.

Carter gripped her hand tightly.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Well, I’m not,” he shot back, and his voice was tight with nerves.

“They won’t bite,” she offered reassuringly.

“Will they shoot?” he demanded.

“Not in church. Come on,” she said. “Dreading it always worse than just doing it.”

He looked ahead to where her mother stood waiting for them. “I think you might be wrong about that.”

As they reached the building, Deborah stepped back to let them inside. The door had no sooner closed behind them than she was grabbing Josie’s left hand and looking at the ring that rested on her third finger.

“It’s true. I thought it was just a rumor but… Why would you run off like that?” she asked, clearly hurt.

“It wasn’t like that,” Josie said. “We just wanted to be married. No fuss, no fanfare and delays.”

“But I always pictured your wedding—.”

“I didn’t want a wedding, Mom,” Josie said, hugging her mother. “I just wanted to be married to Carter.”

Deborah hugged her back and then sniffed. “You’re still having a wedding. It might be after the fact, but maybe for your first anniversary we can have a real wedding… in this church,” she said pointedly and looked directly at Carter. He wisely didn’t respond with anything more than a nod of agreement.

“Your daddy is waiting upstairs,” Deborah said.

“Are his feelings hurt?” Josie asked.

“Oddly enough, no. He took it much better than I did… But men don’t understand what weddings mean.” She glanced at Carter. “No offense.”

“None taken. I don’t understand weddings. At all.”

When they entered the church hall with her mother, the buzz of conversation stopped. A pin drop would have sounded like a bomb it went so quiet.

“Yeah, not awkward at all,” Carter whispered.

Josie jabbed her elbow into his side. “Behave.”

“You married the wrong man for that,” he answered.

Beside them, Deborah smiled. She’d had her doubts, but hearing that exchange told her everything she needed to know. They were easy with one another, comfortable in a way that could only happen if they were meant to be for one another.

William walked forward, hugged Josie tightly and then shook Carter’s hand. Behind them, the congregation began to talk again, the roar of it deafening.

“We’ve definitely given them all something to talk about,” Josie said softly.

Carter grinned. “It won’t be the last time. That I can promise you.”

THE END

A
uthor’s Note
:

T
he little town
at the end of this book where Carter and Josie elope is based on an actual place… my hometown. It never failed that wherever I have gone in this world, someone I have met has either gotten married there or knew someone who had. We did honestly have a Justice of the Peace who performed marriage ceremonies in the grocery store on Main Street. Both the grocery store and the Justice of the Peace are gone, but I wanted to incorporate those elements of my home town and its history into this book because Carter and Josie just seemed to fit that mold.

Also, in regards to Josie’s adoption, that plot point was one I debated putting in there. But after communicating with people who have adopted children internationally and hearing so many tales that are just like Josie’s, of it being perceived as a completely charitable act as opposed to just another way to add to your family, I felt that I made the right choice.

If it isn’t reflective of your experience, then I’m incredibly happy for you. If it is reflective of your experience, then I apologize for all the people in this world who simply don’t understand that family is so much more than just blood.

R
ead
on for an exciting sneak peek at the next book in the Bourbon & Blood Saga,
Quentin
, coming September, 2016.

Q
uentin eased
out of his car in the parking lot of The Kicking Mule. It was the only bar within thirty miles of Fontaine and it only existed because a sliver of Woodford County butted up against the main road into town. It was the very definition of a dive bar—sawdust on the floor, a chain link fence around the stage, and glass crunching under foot with every step. But he needed a drink, and he needed it to be somewhere his family wasn’t.

When punches are thrown before Thanksgiving dinner is even served, you know it’s a bad day. Holding his ribs, hoping they were just bruised instead of broken, Quentin limped toward the door of the bar. The crowd was light. Even hard core drunks would spend the holiday with their families.

Opening the door, Quentin stepped into the darkened interior and moved towards the bar. There might have been five people in the whole place, including him and the bartender.

“I’m getting ready to close up,” the bartender said, tossing he words over her shoulder without looking in his direction.

“I know you are. I’m very familiar with your schedule.”

She did turn then, but her blue eyes were positively glacial. “We’re already closed to you.”

Harlow Tate had every reason to hate him. He’d dicked her around, bailed on her, kept her at arms length, and generally been a giant raging ass. The fact that she hadn’t pulled out the shotgun she kept under the bar was a miracle.

She frowned then. “What happened to your face? I thought I was the only one who hated you that much.”

A smile started, but quickly morphed into a wince as it pulled his split lip. “I have a gift for pissing people off.”

“Especially women,” she said. “But I don’t think a woman did that much damage to you unless she outsourced.”

“A family disagreement,” he explained, easing onto one of the bar stools. Fuck, his whole body hurt. And it was only going to get worse. “You think maybe I could get a drink?”

“You think if I give you one you’ll get the hell out of my bar and never darken my door again?” she shot back. Even as she asked the question, she’d pulled a bottle of bourbon off the shelf and was filling a glass for him. It was not Fire Creek. She reserved that for people she liked.

“I can’t make any promises.”

She set the bottle down with a thud and pushed the glass toward him. “That’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

He sipped his whiskey. It burned like hell. It didn’t even deserve to be called rotgut. “Son of a bitch.”

Her gaze raked over him coldly, enough that he felt a chill in its wake. “I’d say that’s just about right… You’ve had your drink. It’s time for you to go.”

“Lowey—.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said stiffly. “That name is reserved for friends, family… for lovers. You don’t fit it into any of those categories.”

“I did once,” he reminded her gently.

“And if it had meant so goddamn much to you then you wouldn’t have walked out on me the way you did. Leave, Quentin. You’re good at it.”

Quentin placed the glass back on the bar. There was nothing he could say to her that would change anything, and there was nothing she’d said to him or accused him of that wasn’t true. Coming there had been a mistake. Seeing her up close and in person, remembering the texture of her skin, the sweet scent of her hair, and the way she felt beneath him… there wasn’t a word in existence that could describe how much of a fuck up that was.

As Quentin turned to leave the window imploded. Flying glass hurtled toward the air at them. It was instinct more than anything that had him diving over the bar, taking her to the ground with him. It was fear that kept him there, shielding her body with his own, as the sound of gunfire filled the bar.