Drunk on You Page 3

  “Would that have been good or bad?” Did she really want to know? Did he see past the dorky teenager she’d been to the hopefully more sophisticated woman she wanted the world to see?

  “I don’t know, babe.” His low chuckle sent a thrill through her. “You’re probably safer if I remember you’re off-limits.”

  “Why am I off-limits?”

  Her heel caught in a space between two stones, but she thought she heard him say something about “difficult promises” while she wobbled and tipped forward, her body pressing more fully against his and her face tipping up. “Whoa!” She was caught by his gaze, direct and deep.

  His eyes reflected the midnight sky, and something else…desire. But was it just a mirror of her own want? Off-limits, he’d said…

  They weren’t turning to the music anymore. Standing still, breath foggy in the dark, bodies aligned, his lips were close. Too close. She shifted, and felt—oh God—his erection, pressing against her belly.

  And he was still looking at her.

  Her lips parted, tongue darting out to touch her suddenly hypersensitive lower lip. His eyes telegraphed his intent before he bent his head toward her, brushing his lips against hers, lighting a fire in the cold spring night. A small kiss, barely a touch, but she felt it all the way to her core—not just between her legs, but somewhere farther inside, deeper, somewhere not on any anatomy chart.

  She gasped as he took the kiss deeper, his lips coaxing hers apart, his tongue sliding in against her own. He tasted of Blue Mountain bourbon, heat, and need.

  Allie felt a wall at her back; somehow they’d maneuvered themselves close to the building. Rough brick caught at her skirt when he pulled at the silky fabric, sliding his thigh between hers.

  Moaning, she leaned into his leg, the firm muscle only increasing her need to press against him. The ache rose, fast and high, and her legs began to tremble, to tighten.

  She reached between them and ran her hand over the front of his pants, feeling him hard under her stroking fingers. He groaned and thrust into her hand. She wanted to reach for his belt buckle to release all that power, but there was a roomful of family just a few feet away. If they took the time to find somewhere more private, this moment would end—this moment that had been a lifetime in the making.

  He whispered something against her skin and she clutched him tighter.

  “Oh my God, Justin, I’m going to— I’m about to—”

  “You’re so fucking hot. Jesus.” His kiss traveled away from her mouth, over her jaw to her neck, muttering, “That’s my girl, ride my leg.”

  The words hit Allie like a burning glass of rotgut, sending remembered shame and humiliation coursing through her veins. She’d misconstrued those words—“my girl”—once before, and then heard them directed toward someone else.

  “No!” She pushed him away.

  “What the hell?” Confusion was quickly replaced by horror. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. That was so out of line. I can’t believe I—we—”

  She held up a palm to forestall any more discussion.

  He ran a hand down his face, then rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the ground. He didn’t look at her, panting.

  Pulling at her clothes, she straightened her skirt and tucked a few bits of hair behind her ear. There was no way she was going back into the party like this. A stairway led to a lower-level terrace and the parking lot beyond that. She was too tipsy to drive home, but one of the valets would call her a cab. She just needed to get away right now.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, starting for the stairs.

  “Wait. Babe, I’m sorry.”

  She stopped and looked at him for a moment.

  “I just got carried away—it’s been so long since—and I’ve had a lot to drink, so—”

  “Yeah, Justin, that’s not helping. Go back to the party.” She reached the top step and her damned heel caught again, pitching her forward. Just before she toppled over the top step, Justin caught her arm, pulling her back. She regained her footing, but he began to fall forward.

  He twisted partially around in midair, but not far enough. His right shoulder slammed against the railing before he bounced headfirst toward the landing below.

  …

  It was surreal—this was completely different from Afghanistan. There was no gunfire, no screams of pain from burned marines, no fucking dust—not a speck. The ambulance was clean and white and everyone called him “sir.” But that patch—MEDIC—and those gloves—those blue plastic gloves. Justin was afraid to look at the empty cot on the other side of the aisle, afraid to see Dave’s bloodied remains still beneath a white sheet.

  Through a haze of pain, Justin saw his mother hike her fancy dress up to her knees and clamber into the back of the ambulance. He tried to smile at her, but was afraid he’d only produced a grimace. She didn’t smile back, but sat down in the seat indicated by the EMT and took the hand that didn’t have an IV needle embedded in it.

  His leg throbbed—okay, sent daggers of excruciating pain through him—steadily, and there was some concern about a head injury, he thought someone said. It was more likely that his confusion and slurred speech were a side effect of booze, but he wasn’t going to beg for pain relief, knowing that might lead him to do something stupid. Like call out to Allie.

  Before the doors shut, Justin noticed her standing a few feet away. She was pale and trembling, lips pressed together as she stared at him. He forced his lips into something closer to a real smile for her, because the sight of her furrowed brow—over him—did something to his insides that he couldn’t bear to examine. A combination of shame at his own behavior and a desire to touch her again—and to go further next time.

  Brandon appeared behind her, raising his chin in Justin’s direction, indicating that he’d take care of her. Of course he would; Brandon was the big brother. The responsible one. But as the ambulance ground into gear and the siren began to wail, Justin wondered what vibe he’d given off that made his brother think he needed to take care of Allie for him. But that’s what Brandon did. Took care of the things everyone else couldn’t, wouldn’t, or just plain didn’t do.

  As soon as they were under way, Justin’s mother pulled her hand from his and smacked him on the arm. “What were you thinking?”

  Oh, shit. Had his mother seen him molesting Allie on the patio? He’d thought they’d been in the shadows before he kissed her, but—

  “I can’t believe you drank so much. I hope you have a hangover that hurts more than your leg.”

  Oh. Well. Overindulgence was something he was well acquainted with. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “Yeah. Well…” She started to cry.

  The EMT handed her a tissue and went back to writing something on a clipboard. Crying mothers were probably just part of a day’s work for him.

  “Ah, hell, Mom. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t eat any lunch today, and—”

  She smacked him again. “Don’t bullshit me. I saw how much you drank. I just wish…I wish you would talk to me instead of trying to self-anesthetize. Or, if you can’t talk to me, because I just don’t ‘get it,’ talk to your dad. Or your brother. Or one of those veterans support groups.”

  Oh, fuck. This wasn’t about getting drunk at Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary party. And there was nothing he was going to say that would satisfy her belief in the power of the all-knowing psychotherapist.

  So he just took her hand, and said, “I love you too, Ma. I’ll be okay.” Somehow. At least, he’d learn to fake it better.

  “You can talk to your dad, you know. He loves you very much, and it hurts him that you won’t give him a chance.”

  Justin couldn’t suppress the snort that rose from somewhere below his pancreas. “I’m pretty sure Dad would’ve been much happier with identical Brandons.”

  “That’s absolutely not true. He pushed you more when you were younger because he knows how much you’re capable of. Brandon…pushed himself.”

  “See? I
t would have been easier to have two Brandons.” Justin was rethinking that plan to forgo begging for morphine. Where had that medic gone?

  “If only you had a special someone here to settle down with,” Mom said. “I suspect you noticed what a lovely young lady Allie’s grown into.”

  If she only knew how much he’d noticed, how much Allie was already fucking with his drive to get the hell away from Blue Mountain and everything about this place that fed his personal hell.

  Mom smiled. “Maybe you should spend some time with her before you decide definitively about your future.”

  “Oh God! My leg is killing me! Medic, I need drugs!”

  …

  “That Morgan boy always had a knack for ruining things.” Lorena sighed as she folded her elegant limbs into the passenger side of her silver Lexus.

  Since Eve was driving, Allie was left to scramble into the backseat.

  “Mother, I don’t think he fell down the steps on purpose.” Eve put the car in gear and guided them along the winding driveway.

  Allie wasn’t so sure. Once he’d realized he was kissing her, he’d seemed completely disgusted and might have been willing to jump off a bridge to get away from her, but she wasn’t going to share that with anyone.

  “Well, at least he’s going to have to stay put for a while longer. Perhaps a month or two of convalescence will give his brain time to catch up and make him realize that he would be an idiot to turn down the position we’ve been holding for him. The rest of us can’t continue to divide the responsibilities for managing the new brand indefinitely.”

  The blood in Allie’s head sizzled and popped. “Things have been pretty slow down in the mail room, you know. I’d be more than happy to step up and participate.”

  “Here we go,” Eve muttered, taking a hard left onto the main road.

  Lorena’s long-suffering sigh this time was worthy of a Daytime Emmy. “Sweetheart, you know you’re not just the mail girl. You’re the social media specialist as well, and in today’s world, that’s as important as being the CFO.”

  Allie managed to catch her snort in time to morph it into a cough. She caught Eve’s cautionary glance in the rearview mirror, but as usual, ignored it. “You know, Mom, it would be important if more of Blue Mountain’s drinkers were young enough to know how to use Facebook and Twitter. I bet most of them haven’t even heard of Instagram. I think we need to work harder to attract younger drinkers.”

  From the driver’s seat, Eve didn’t even gasp, she just kind of gurgled.

  “Allegra Louise McGrath. Trying to dismantle the status quo is no way to work your way up the ladder of success.”

  The rickety ladder to the moldy hayloft, more like it. “Blue Mountain needs some oomph. Some youth. Some…oh, I don’t know…moonshine action.”

  “We’re not going to have this conversation again. We’ve explained how your cute little idea doesn’t fit with the traditional, elegant image of Blue Mountain bourbon. Moonshine capitalizes on the redneck hillbilly stereotype that we here in the Bluegrass have been trying to overcome for decades.” Lorena turned in her seat to give Allie the “I’m your mother and you will hear me” face.

  Allie heard—and saw—but barreled ahead anyway. “I get that, but I’m not going to sell actual moonshine, and you know that. I want to sell white dog. Raw whiskey. Baby bourbon. It can be fun and hip, kind of like moonshine is right now, but not as, I don’t know…illegal-sounding. More snazzy bootlegger, less toothless, shoeless shotgun carrier.”

  The car swerved, and everyone grabbed their seats. “Sorry. Uh, I saw a possum on the road.” Eve’s jaw was tight.

  Poor Eve. Allie had been trying for years to convince her to get some brass ovaries and cast her lot with Allie, but she refused. Eve was the peacemaker; Allie was the rebel.

  The hardheaded, stubborn, relentless rebel. She got that from her dad, she knew. How many times had she heard, over the years, “Just like your dad. Get an idea in that head of yours, and you’re going to follow it to the end, aren’t you?”

  She may have reached the point where she recognized that she wasn’t going to get Blue Mountain behind her white dog idea, but she hadn’t given up on the concept. She just needed to go at it from another direction. Lorena was right about one thing—Allie couldn’t give up. Apparently not even after she’d had her heart stomped on and ground into the ashes of childhood melodrama. Damn that Justin Morgan!

  After seeing him tonight, it was clear that her heart wasn’t quite done with him.

  Which Justin was she mooning over? The one she’d been in love with so long ago? The flirty boy in the cloakroom? The forlorn warrior, still grieving the loss of his best friend? Or was there a whole different Justin in there that she was attracted to?

  Her chest tightened, reminding her that it didn’t matter. He was planning to leave as soon as he could, so she had no business getting attached to him again. Whoever he was, he wasn’t the boy she’d grown up with, the one who’d jumped in to participate every time she came up with a new moneymaking scheme when she was ten.

  Though this scheme wasn’t that of a little girl. Rainbow Dog Whiskey had a well-thought-out business plan. And she was going to make it work.

  “You can put lipstick on the plow horse, but it’s not going to be the thoroughbred image we want associated with Blue Mountain Bourbon,” Lorena said. “Evelyn Marie, slow down, or you’re going to kill us all.”

  And that was the end of that conversation. Again.

  …

  “I can’t just go on a cruise and leave you here.” Justin’s mother all but wrung her hands over his bedside. “You’ve got a severe sprain. That’s almost worse than a break! How are you going to get in and out of bed? The bathtub? Who’s going to feed you?”

  “Mom, I’ve been feeding myself for almost thirty years now. I know how to work the microwave and call the pizza place.”

  “You’ve got that huge brace and all those wrappings. What if something rubs and you get a bedsore that gets infected?”

  “I’m not bedridden. I promise to send you leg selfies every day.”

  Justin’s dad leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his massive chest. “It will be fine, Cathy. Justin will have plenty of time to catch up on the business and go over our ideas for 8-Ball, and come up with some plans of his own.”

  “That’s not what—” He stopped himself. He’d fight that battle later. First he had to get rid of his parents. The idea of spending the next however many days lying on the couch sounded like hell. Having his mother hovering over him 24-7? Hell with sugar on top.

  “I’m worried you’re going to find a way to sneak onto a plane and go do that forest fire parachute thing before you’re healed.”

  As appealing as that sounded, those plans were on hold. But not indefinitely. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you get back. I promise. I don’t want you to miss your vacation.”

  His father smiled. “Come on, Cathy. We’ve had this trip planned for two years. Who knows what kind of trouble my parents will get into if we let them go without us?”

  She scowled at her husband. “Brandon, Eve, and Lorena will be on the boat to keep an eye on them.”

  “Oh, no,” Brandon protested from the windowsill where he sat in Justin’s hospital room. “I’m not gonna be in charge of taking Grandpa to bingo. He cheats. I’ll stay home with Justin.”

  Mom patted him on the arm. “Grandpa promises to behave. He’s looking forward to taking you on some excursions while we girls have spa treatments and your dad plays shuffleboard.” She tilted her head. “Tell me again why Allie isn’t going?”

  Clyde shrugged and looked at Brandon.

  Brandon stood and fiddled with the remote for the TV. “I’m not sure. She said she’s taking a class, I think.”

  “What kind of class? She’s got more degrees than we’ve got barrels,” Clyde said.

  “I don’t know,” Brandon said. “But maybe if you guys would give her something more to do aroun
d Blue Mountain than play on the internet, she might use the education she’s got and stop trying to overachieve.”

  “She’s got plenty to do around Blue Mountain, she just doesn’t want to do it,” Clyde stated, his arms crossed. He turned his eye toward Justin. “Just like there’s plenty for you to do.”

  “Not now, Clyde,” Mom said, tapping him gently on the arm.

  Justin couldn’t wait for his parents to leave so he could grill Brandon about Allie’s real reasons for skipping the cruise. He wasn’t known for his intuitive abilities, but he’d shared a house with Brandon for the first nineteen years of his life, so he could tell with 99 percent certainty when his brother was lying.

  His father opened his mouth to say something, but Mom cut him off. “That’s it!” she said, her smile brighter than the day. “Allie can come stay at our house and keep an eye on you!”

  Oh, hell.

  “That’s a great idea,” Brandon said, straight-faced. That innocent look hid double-crossing trouble. Justin could feel it. If he were the suspicious type, he might suspect that Brandon had put his mother up to this. Some subtle, “Gee, Mom, it’s a shame that Justin’s going to be home alone, his poor, lonely, single self. And poor, lonely, single Allie is going to be right down the hill.”

  It really didn’t matter if they’d cooked up a plan or not. No way was Allie going to stay at his house while he was helpless. “I’ll be fine. Caleb can take breaks from managing things down at the distillery and check in on me. I promise to carry my cell phone everywhere I go. I’m just going to lie around and watch TV and do physical therapy. You don’t have to get Allie to come.”

  Oh, but he’d like to get Allie to come. The memory of her in his arms last night was enough to stir him even through the fog of pain and Vicodin that clouded his brain. She was so fucking hot. And when she’d pressed her heat against his thigh, he’d nearly lost it himself.

  What had he been thinking? She must have been totally wasted to have let him get her so wound up. Thank God she’d come to her senses and pushed him away, or he might have fallen to his knees, hiked that tight little skirt up and tugged the lace of that red thong aside, and—