Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Jack stopped in his tracks the moment he saw Maisie emerging into the hallway. He’d noticed her before—hell, how could he not? She was loud and confident and didn’t take crap from anyone. Sure, he’d found her attractive the first time he’d seen her, but she was River’s friend, and there was no way he was getting in the middle of that. He and River hadn’t gotten off to a great start with the brewery—admittedly Jack’s fault—and even though things were better, it didn’t feel like they were on solid footing yet.

But…holy shit.

She was all legs in that green dress that brought out the green of her eyes, glittering like emeralds. Her red hair was slightly more contained than usual, but her curls still spilled everywhere. The silky material clung to her curves—and damn, did she have curves—but his gaze was drawn back down. Her shoes didn’t exactly match the dress, but who cared when she had legs that went on for miles…

“So you’re a leg man?” she asked in a wry tone, her hand propped on her hip, which only drew the hem higher.

Busted. He grinned, dragging his gaze from the newly exposed skin to her face, which now wore a smug expression.

“I appreciate every part of a woman’s body,” he said in a tone that bordered on cocky, which wasn’t usually like him.

“Ah, you’re a politician, then.” Her voice had a hint of sharpness, and he knew she was testing him.

He took a step toward her. “Because I didn’t directly answer your question?” he asked with a lifted brow. “You’re asking me to choose a specific body part, which is impossible. But when you wear a dress like that…” His voice trailed off, letting her fill in the rest, because he was busy imagining that hem going higher… “After our near-death experience, I feel like I need to buy you a drink.”

Because against his better judgment, he really wanted to continue this conversation.

She studied him for a moment. Then her mouth twisted into an amused grin. “Okay, goose whisperer. As long as it’s not some of Lurch’s punch. The name changes, but the hangover stays the same.”

“Not to worry. I’ve been warned,” he said, gesturing for her to head down the hall.

She turned and started for the living room, and his gaze landed on the swell of her butt, the silky fabric hitching up slightly as she walked.

He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to stare at the back of her head, which was only slightly better. Her mass of curls made him wonder what they’d look like spread out on a pillow as he…

Shit. No. This was Maisie . River’s friend. Hell, she was one of Adalia’s best friends too. If they started something and it didn’t work out, it would mess up everything , and Jack was tired of watching the world blow up around him.

Hell, he was digging himself out of a trench hole at that very moment.

No, no thinking about Iris tonight. He’d spent the past six months worrying about Iris—make that the past seventeen-odd years—and there was nothing he could do for her right then. He’d deal with his sister’s issues tomorrow.

Still, he found himself following Maisie like she was the Pied Piper, because while his head told him that continuing this was a very bad idea, his hormones strongly disagreed.

She stopped in front of the fridge and opened it, scanning the contents while he stood on the other side of the open door.

“Dottie has some of River’s new IPA out back,” he said. “I brought it over and put it in a bucket of ice.”

She made a face. “Didn’t you see Lurch put his head in that bucket? Anyway, I’m not in the mood for beer.”

He released a chuckle. “Is it possible to be a member of the Buchanan family, honorary or otherwise, and not be in the mood for beer?”

She turned to look at him, her eyes dancing. “So you’re telling me you want beer 24/7?”

He grinned. “I like to brush my teeth with Hair of Hops, and I pour Cesspool of Sin in my Cheerios for breakfast.”

Her smile spread as she rested her forearm on the fridge door. “So you’re a Buchanan through and through?”

That sobered him. While his father was Prescott Buchanan, Jack’s last name was Durand. A stipulation his father had made when his attorneys had worked out the child support arrangements. He wasn’t a Buchanan, and although he’d thought that working with his siblings at their grandfather’s brewery might change that, he felt like more of an outsider than ever. It wasn’t his half-sisters’ fault. It was his past that held him back, reminding him that sharing DNA with someone didn’t ensure any kind of relationship.

“Hey,” Maisie said, worry filling her eyes. “What that woman said was wrong.”

It took him a second to realize she was talking about the goat lady—Stella?—calling him a bastard. Strangely, that part of being the product of an affair didn’t bother him, but he saw no point in correcting her. He forced a smile. “I’ve heard plenty worse. So if we’re not drinking beer, what are you searching for?”

She leaned back down, searching the fridge. “I was hoping Dottie might have a pitcher of margaritas or sangria or something.”

“Sounds a lot like punch. Maybe you’re not so averse to Lurch’s drink after all,” he said with a laugh.

“News flash,” she said as she stood upright and closed the door. “He makes it from beer.”

“Rumor has it there were other ingredients in it at the last party,” Jack said. “Beet juice and dandelion wine, to name a few.”

Her face scrunched in disgust, and she went from looking fierce to unguarded in the blink of an eye. “That’s gross.”

He shrugged, still grinning like a fool. “I’m only reporting what I heard. I wasn’t there, and if I had been, I wouldn’t have been first in line to try it. But I only recall seeing beer and Lurch’s punch out back, so if you’re in the mood for something else, I’ll see what Dottie has in her liquor cabinet and make you something.”

“You’re gonna make me a drink?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think I saw this play out in a Lifetime movie once. The guy made the girl a drink, and when she woke up, she’d been sold into some sex cult.”

He laughed as he looked in the cabinet over Dottie’s fridge, where most people kept their liquor. “That doesn’t sound like a Lifetime movie to me,” he said, pleased when he saw several bottles. Vodka. Gin. Rum. Triple sec. “And I used to be a bartender. I take it you like sweet and fruity drinks?”

Her brow shot up. “Are you judging me, Mr. I-Watch-So-Many-Lifetime-Movies-I-Can-Spot-a-Fake-Plot? Seems like I should be judging you .”

Turning to face her, he shook his head. Damn she was prickly, and for some bizarre reason he liked it. “Judge me all you want, but I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out what to make you.”

Her face froze and her irritation faded. “Oh.”

He laughed, then spotted some lemons on the counter. “How about a lemon drop martini? I’m limited on a few key ingredients, so it won’t be my best, but I guarantee it will be better than Lurch’s punch.”

An appreciative look filled her eyes. “Okay, then. Wow me.”

He laughed again, and damn it felt good. His life had been serious for far too long, but Maisie brought out a playful side of him that had been buried forever. Tonight he wanted to pretend that he didn’t have a narcissistic mother and a seventeen-year-old sister who felt like the world was caving in on her. He was going to pretend he wasn’t creeping up on thirty without much of an idea of what the hell he was doing. Tonight, he was just a man who was captivated by a beautiful woman.

After slicing the lemon, he pulled the bottles of vodka and triple sec out of the cabinet. He rooted around the kitchen and found a mason jar and lid, plus a bottle of agave nectar since he didn’t have any simple syrup. He added the ingredients to the jar and shook it up with some ice, while Maisie watched him with an amused grin.

“Were you like those bartenders in Coyote Ugly who took their shirts off?”

“Sorry to disappoint. That would violate many health code standards.”

“So you’re a rule follower,” she said, studying him more intently.

“Why do you feel the need to label me?” he asked, searching for an appropriate glass to pour the drink into and only finding a wine glass.

But Maisie must have realized his dilemma because she snatched the mason jar from his hand and took the lid off.

“You’re supposed to pour it into another glass.”

She looked up at him with a smug expression. “See? Rule follower.”

Then she took a sip.

Was it wrong that he watched her lips as they cradled the rim of the jar? Or that his gaze drifted to her bare neck as she swallowed? Shit. That should not be turning him on, yet here he was, shifting uncomfortably and grateful his boxer briefs had shrunk in the dryer, binding him more tightly than usual.

“I don’t follow all the rules,” he found himself saying in a husky voice.

She lowered the jar and stared up at him. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

Jesus. What was she doing to him? Was she insinuating what he hoped she was? He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around her back. When she didn’t protest or knee him in the balls, he slowly pulled her flush against him.

“Was this what you had in mind?” he dared to ask.

Her emerald eyes were staring up at him, hooded with lust. “Not exactly.”

He started to let go of her, because while every signal she was sending him said yes, not exactly constituted a no in his book.

“Don’t you dare let go of me,” she said, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place. “When I asked you to break some rules, I figured you’d just run with scissors or hang the toilet paper upside down.”

Despite himself, he laughed, because even though that had to be the least sexy thing she could have possibly said, it was so her. “Do you think I’m so uptight that I’d get all twisted over how to hang toilet paper?” Then he added, “And it’s over, not under.”

Her eyes lit up with mischief, and she reached up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his.

It was a tentative kiss, a questioning kiss. Was this what he wanted?

Yes. This was definitely what he wanted.

His arm tightened around her, and he deepened the kiss with a hunger he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt for a woman before. He’d blame it on alcohol, but he hadn’t had a drink all night.

Voices filtered into his brain and he lifted his head, knowing he should step away from her in case anyone walked in on them, but he wasn’t ready to let go of her yet.

“Wow,” she said softly. “Did they teach you how to kiss like that in bartending school?”

A slow smile spread across his face as his stomach twisted. “I didn’t go to bartending school. On-the-job training.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

Then she took a step back, her drink still in her hand. His eyes tracked her lips as she took another sip.

He was either going to have to go to the bathroom and deal with his down-south situation or take her home, because just being next to her was sending his hormones into overdrive, and right or wrong, he wasn’t ready to walk away.

“Well?” he asked. “Is it better than Lurch’s punch?”

Her eyes lit up. “I thought you didn’t care if I judged you.”

“I don’t, but you have to admit, it would have to be pretty bad to fall below Lurch’s standards.”

She laughed. “It’s better than what I get at Prohibition.” He’d been in town long enough to know that was a Roaring Twenties- style cocktail bar. A popular one. Then she added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

He put the bottles back in the cabinet, then motioned to the back door. More people had filtered into the yard, and miracle of miracles, the goats were still contained. He’d left Diego in the bedroom, and he suspected Dottie was going to come back to a situation. Still, he’d done as he was told. “I feel like I need to make an appearance out there. Would you mind being my bodyguard?”

She gave him a puzzled look. Then understanding filled her eyes. “Because they’re staffers and you’re Buchanan management?”

He shrugged, not wanting to explain. There was a fine line between getting along with your employees and earning their respect, between being their friend and letting them take advantage of you. He wanted the Buchanan employees to respect him, but he also wanted them to feel comfortable coming to him if they had a problem. Which involved out-of-the-office interaction from time to time. He hadn’t wanted to come tonight, especially since he was literally picking his sister up at the airport tomorrow, after which his life would be devoted to getting her settled in. To making up for all of the things their mother had failed to be. But now…

Thank God he’d come.

“As for a bodyguard,” she said, “it seems like I need you more than you need me. Goose whisperer. ”

He grinned. “I was thinking about the goat lady. I need you to be my harridan.”

A saucy grin lit up her face. “Oh, I can do that with one hand tied behind my back.”

An image of Maisie with his silk tie around her wrist sent his blood pooling south at a rapid rate, and he started to conjugate Spanish verbs in his head, a trick he’d learned in high school. It usually served him well, but for some reason it wasn’t working.

Maisie walked out the back door, leaving him to follow.

And he did, like before, only the pull was stronger this time.

At least he had the sense not to reach out and hold her hand or wrap an arm around her back like he was sorely tempted to do. Instead, he kept a small distance between them.

“So what does this mingling entail?” she asked as they passed a few people and stopped a few feet from the food table, which was all but destroyed. Jack hadn’t eaten much at lunch and had skipped dinner. He suddenly realized he was hungry.

“You know, the usual. Small talk.” But that seemed nearly impossible with Maisie next to him, and he’d sooner cut off his foot than walk away from her now.

“So should we approach someone?” she asked. Then her guard went back up. “Unless you think you should talk to them alone.”

“Don’t you dare leave me,” he said, and it took everything in him to keep from reaching out for her hand. “I need you to protect me.”

“From Stella?” She nodded across the yard toward the older woman, who had gotten out yet another canvas and was painting a naked Lurch riding a goat. Thankfully, Lurch was posing with only his shirt off, several feet to her side.

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “What if she finishes the painting and decides she needs a new model?”

He was about to lead her over to a small group of employees when River and Georgie walked through the back gate, looking happier than ever, if that were possible. He’d seen the spark between them before anyone else, on the night of the will reading. Of course, Adalia and Finn were now running neck and neck for the happiest couple distinction, and while Jack was happy for his sisters, he realized there was a tiny spark of jealousy too. Some people took him for a loner, but that was more because he’d had to be alone most of his life than because he preferred it that way.

“Say,” Maisie said, “you want to get out of here?”

He glanced down at her in surprise. “You want to get a bite to eat somewhere?”

“No,” she said, her voice husky. “I was thinking my place. I have food…and other things.”

Those words were like music to his ears, but this was dangerous ground.

“Don’t think so hard, Jack,” she whispered. “There’s only one rule: this is just for tonight.” She tilted her head up, her eyes glimmering with mischief and lust, her full lips slightly parted. “Deal?”

She was right. For once, he was going to stop thinking with his head and think with his… “Deal.”