Chapter Seven

L ivia woke up all alone. Hot damn. Could she ask for a more perfect end to her night with Wolfe?

She would never be able to express her appreciation that he let her have the bed to herself. She did love to sprawl.

The intimacy of sleeping together was dicey. Waking up and trying to hold an awkward conversation was the worst .

As she swung her legs over the bed and stretched, she felt small twinges in her overworked thigh muscles.

Another bonus—she didn't often get a workout of that caliber.

Then she remembered the red mark on her ass.

Twisting toward the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, she stared at her skin.

Her pale skin.

The mark was gone.

Was that a flip of disappointment deep in her belly? She needed a good shaking if she was sad that Wolfe's handprint had faded from her ass.

Time to get her life together, starting with a shower to wash his scent off her.

But he did smell yummy, a sharp musk laden with spice.

Oh lord. She'd never been that woman. She had a big life with big responsibility. Now was not the time to go soft.

After a cursory shower, she dressed for work at the bar again in her usual uniform of jeans and a Badlands T-shirt. This time she mixed it up with a white tee instead of black.

When she walked out into the living room, she spotted Wolfe standing at the window, arms folded, staring out.

He was fully dressed and his clean, sandy hair was slicked back off his forehead.

"When did you get a shower? I didn't hear—"

He turned from the window, the sight of what he held in his arms cutting her off.

Angel. Her cat.

What. A. Traitor.

Her pet hated strangers. She hid for hours and hours when Livia brought men home. She even hid from Livia's sister.

Now she wasn't only curled up in the crook of Wolfe's arm but lying on her back like a baby.

Livia shook her head. "How is she letting you hold her that way?" She narrowed her gaze on him. "What did you do to my cat?"

He bent forward and let the cat slip out of his arms. Angel immediately began to weave in and out of his legs, claiming him as her own.

"I didn't do anything to her. She's all over me. I woke up with her on top of me again."

She glanced at Angel still swishing her tail like a kitty hussy for the big, hot SEAL, and then back up to Wolfe's face.

"Livia, about me leaving the bed this morning—"

She threw up a hand to stop him. "You don't need to say anything. I prefer waking up alone."

His shoulders relaxed.

Did he have to look so relieved? Now he was bordering on rude.

He raked his long, tanned fingers through his hair. "I want to sleep by the door. In case."

She darted a look at the door and saw that he hadn't placed the jug of daisies there as an alarm system again. Probably a good thing since Angel did enjoy knocking things over.

"Are you wearing that to work at the bar?" His gaze roamed from her loose hair, down to the tiny white tee she wore. He flicked his gaze back up, eyes burning with desire.

She nodded. "That's the plan. Why?"

"Your top's a little…small. Isn't it?"

She waved a hand. "It shrank in the dryer. I admit to buying a batch of cheap T-shirts last year. Besides, wearing it earns me a lot of tips, and even though I'm the owner, it's still nice to come home with a pocketful of cash."

As she jabbered, she walked past him to the entryway to locate her boots. But she didn't get far before he grabbed her by the arm.

He went dead still as he stared down at her. "I don't like the idea of men giving you tips because of how you look in a top."

Twisting her head, she met his stare with a defiant tilt of her chin. "You don't get a say in that."

She meant for her response to come out with the strength she usually used…but the words were raspy.

Breathy.

"You're right—I don't." He released her, masking his expression with a neutral one that got under her skin.

She withdrew her arm from the clasp of his warm, callused fingers. "Let's just get to the bar. I need to clean up before the lunch rush."

He grunted and opened the door, annoying her more by checking that the coast was clear before allowing her to walk to the car—with him half a step behind, of course.

The same routine took place at Badlands. Wolfe did a sweep of the interior, while she got straight to work. She began to clear away the empty beer bottles and glasses on the tables left from the previous night while stealing looks at the man who'd been in her bed.

He stood with his back to the wall. He swiped his long finger over the screen of his phone, scrolling through what was probably the security camera footage. But she couldn't quit thinking about what those long, callused fingers could do to her body.

How he lifted her onto the counter and ate her pussy.

A shiver coursed through her, and she battled to fill her lungs with air that had been sucked out of the bar.

When she started dragging the full trash can across the room, Wolfe looked up from his task and saw what she was doing. Without being asked, he walked over and took the can from her, hoisting the heavy, full bag up in one hand like it weighed nothing.

He started toward the back door to place it outside.

She admired his strong, straight back and the carved lines of his ass in a clean pair of jeans. "Thank you," she remembered to call out.

He tossed her a look over his shoulder. "No problem."

Maybe she should do something nice for him. After all, he wasn't getting paid to pretend he was her bouncer, and she never hired him on as a bodyguard either. Attempting to press money on him would only insult the man, she knew.

Inspiration struck. She'd make him lunch. Nobody could resist her special sandwiches. Guys came in for the lunch special just to eat her sandwiches and watch sports on TV.

Since her father's passing, she'd remodeled the kitchen, updating old fixtures and streamlining so food could be prepared faster. Her business had tripled over the past three years, and she just knew if she could launch the rum side of things, she could finally start up that retirement account she always wanted.

As much as she appreciated having Badlands, she didn't want to still be slinging drinks when she was sixty. She needed to keep her exit strategy in sight.

While she pulled out all the ingredients for one of her famous pastrami and pickle on rye sandwiches, she hummed along to the music that always played through the speakers. The country tune was one of her favorites. For the three minutes it played, her worries over the break-in and even how things had gone so far with Carver faded to the background.

On the surface, she downplayed the trouble in her bar and with the man she shot, but how could she ignore the events? But she'd worry about them later—right now, the music filled the space.

By the time the song finished, she had one sandwich whipped up and another on the prep board. Then with a plate in each hand, she carried them out to the bar.

Carver looked up at her, and she twitched her head toward the stools for him to take a seat. Once he did, she settled next to him and pushed one dish his way.

"What's this?" He rested his forearms on the worn bar. The thick ropes of muscles wrapped around each sent a small thrill through Livia's lower belly.

"My specialty. Pastrami and swiss on rye with crispy pickle."

He looked into her eyes. "Nobody's fixed me lunch in years."

"Well, I hope you like it." She picked up half of her sandwich and brought it to her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him do the same. When he bit off a huge chunk and let out a moan, she smiled.

"Good?"

"Very good." He took another bite. "I've never been a huge fan of pickles, but these make the sandwich better."

"Mmhmm. People come from all over the tri-county area for one of my sandwiches. I have a few options, but this is my personal favorite."

They ate, with the music and TVs breaking the companionable silence. When she reached for a potato chip on her plate, she sent Carver a sideways glance.

"What brought you to Eden?"

He finished half of the sandwich and reached for the other. "My men. I had to make sure they were okay."

She studied him. The carved line of his jaw gave nothing away about the inner workings of his brain.

"You fought with them? You were SEALs?"

He nodded. While she wouldn't call his expression closed off, she couldn't read it either. "There was a huge attack. It took out most of our friends."

"Forest Gracey was one."

He gave her a penetrating stare. "He lost his life before that attack. But both events changed all of us… brought me back together with Colton and Hunter. When I learned they'd come to Montana, I knew I had to be here to make sure they weren't fucking up their lives."

The heavy statement hung between them. Livia was the first to admit that she didn't do well with emotional stuff, so her tactic to deflect was the first thing that popped into her mind.

"Jeesh. And you think I'm controlling. Colton and Hunter aren't even under you anymore."

His gaze wandered over her face as if searching for things she tried to hide from anyone else. "You are controlling. I'm concerned about you, but in a totally different way."

She dropped the chip she nibbled onto her plate. "How so?"

"My need to be in control comes from the military, discipline, brotherhood. Yours comes from childhood trauma where you felt like every bit of your life was out of your control, so now you must control everything."

Stunned, she stared at her plate. Damn. Shots fired.

"What makes you think that?"

He pointed to a photo behind the bar, a framed print of her father and his daughters.

She rolled her eyes. "Everybody has daddy issues. I bet you do."

"I don't have any issues. I have a good family."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Two years ago."

She hiked up her brow. "And you say you don't have issues with them? If that's the case, why didn't you visit them when you left the SEALs?"

"They just don't understand me like my guys do."

She stilled, feeling his emotion wash over her.

"My family always says I've changed. That's why I love my SEAL family. We just know. We don't have to say it."

She processed this for a moment, nibbling on her potato chip again. They resumed eating their meal, which helped ease his obvious discomfort at speaking about his feelings, and she recovered from his stab about her father.

Looking at the photo, she felt an admission she'd never said aloud before—to a single soul in the world—slip onto her tongue. "I think my father liked his regulars more than his family."

Carver turned his full attention on her.

"He liked to drink with them."

His nod felt like the most validation she'd ever received in her life. She knew that he understood and she didn't have to say a word—just like his brotherhood.

Time to lighten the mood. Livia brushed the crumbs off her hands. "I need to go check the distillery."

He slid to his feet before the words were out of her mouth. "Not without me."

For the first time, she truly appreciated having the bodyguard along for company.

* * * * *

Carver caught Livia by the shoulder. Standing at the door of the distillery, she tossed him an annoyed glance.

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat and angled his jaw toward the door.

She rolled her eyes. "If that grunt means I should let you go first…" She waved a hand at the closed door.

Reaching around her, he punched the key code into the alarm system. With one hand on the weapon riding along his spine, he opened the door. The few windows high on one wall shed a dim gray light over the space.

On red alert for any threat, he took a step inside.

Suddenly, all the overhead lights snapped on.

With a groan, he shot Livia a look. "You just can't let me do my job, can you?"

She offered him a sweet smile. Damn, the woman had charm for days but enough spark to burn down a forest. He was beginning to question if he was the right man for this job.

"Mind closing the door?" He tipped his jaw toward it.

She did as he asked—shocker—and watched him prowl around the space.

He'd done a daily security sweep of the distillery, but he hadn't spent any time investigating this side of Livia's business. He had to admit, he was intrigued. A female brewing rum in small-town Montana was far from any norm.

After making a circle of the room, he returned to Livia's side.

She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. "All clear, Commando?"

"Ha-ha," he stated in his driest tone.

To his surprise, she shook her head on a giggle. "I'm going to check the latest batch of rum. If that's okay with you."

He stepped aside, sweeping an arm out for her to lead on.

In long strides, she crossed the room. The huge tanks and copper piping looked like a futuristic creature with extra arms of iron and steel. She walked to the long wall and reached overhead to pull down a glass jug.

When she moved to one huge tank, Carver watched her with hooded eyes. Damn, the woman had enough bounce to lure any man close enough to touch her curves. In her business, she was probably targeted much more often than she realized.

His fists curled at the thought of that asshole breaking in and destroying her property. If she happened to be in the bar at the time…

Livia bent over, cutting the synapse in his brain and creating another pathway that ran straight to his cock. Since touching her, he could barely focus whether she was right in front of him or in the other room. Half the night, he lay aching for her, head swirling with thoughts of digging his fingers into that mass of red hair, pulling her lips down to his as she rode his cock.

She twisted the top of the spout, and rich amber liquid flowed into the clear jug. She let a small amount flow in, then shut off the spout.

Long after she straightened, his gaze was glued to her round ass. God, what a woman. She was a little badass. She ran a bar. She brewed rum. Badlands was a fantastic name for the place, and she'd made everything neat and tidy, with sharp, modern branding and just enough rustic edge to appeal to the country locals.

She strolled to a wooden table at the far corner of the room. A single light hung over it. The things that bare bulb reminded him of would make weaker men curl up in the fetal position, but he was a trained SEAL. He knew how to compartmentalize all the torture he'd endured in his life and stow it away deep inside, in dark recesses.

Wandering over, he watched her draw two shot glasses closer. She filled each with a splash of rum and sent him a look.

"This is the raw state. It hasn't been aged in the barrel room yet."

He'd been in the barrel room during his security checks and been equally impressed with the setup. All those oak barrels stacked on metal racks from floor to ceiling was evidence of Livia's hard work and dedication.

She lifted one glass, and he took up the other. She raised hers in tribute. "Bottoms up."

He took a slow pull of the liquid into his mouth. Flavors mingled on his tastebuds.

She polished off her shot and set the glass on the table with a small clink. "What do you think?"

"You've got a good product here."

"But you said it needs to age longer." She pulled out a chair and sat. Once he was seated across from her, he took a moment to glance at their surroundings.

"How did you ever afford this? I got the idea your father drank too much. Usually bar owners tend to drink all their profit."

She cocked her head in an inquisitive fashion, seemingly unfazed by his direct jab at her dad. "The bar was actually paid off when I inherited it. That meant I could put the profits back into the business."

He touched the empty shot glass with a fingertip. The last drop of amber glimmered in the bottom from the light of the industrial lighting. "Why rum? Don't tell me—you love a good rum and Coke."

She waved a hand. "This is an artistic endeavor."

His lips quirked. "I bet you put that on the label."

"You bet I do."

They shared a laugh. She really was lovely when she smiled. As if she could hear his thoughts, a light pink flush climbed into her cheeks.

He stared at her for another long heartbeat that felt like it was going too hard, too fast. "So this is your dream."

She tilted her head again, an action he was quickly beginning to see came with her process of thinking, just like her dimple appeared when she was riled.

Finally, she drew a deep breath. "I'd rather have a brewery."

Her revelation came with a deeper red flush from her and made him blink.

"So why are you making rum?"

"It was always my father's dream. But the people in these parts are beer drinkers. Do they look like they crawled off a pirate ship to you?"

He laughed again, loving how her mind worked, and her wit and humor definitely kept him on his toes these past few days.

She directed a thick wave of hair over her shoulder, which pulled her top tighter across her breasts, flattening the letters making up the Badlands logo.

"I'd love to make Badlands Beer. It just has a ring to it… I've never admitted this to anyone—not even my dear friends Meadow and Ivy—but my heart isn't really in the rum."

"I think Badlands Beer sounds brilliant, Livia."

"Oh, it would be!" Excitement caught hold of her, and her eyes gleamed. "I'd make a few varieties of craft beers to start with. I wouldn't get ahead of myself. I'd perfect each recipe before working on another. I think it would really take off around here—with tastings and game nights."

He could envision her vision, and he had to admit he caught her excitement. "You could offer it at local restaurants through a partnership."

"What a great idea!"

"A few tweaks to the rum label and you'd have one for beer."

"I've already worked up a couple designs!" She pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped a finger over the screen. When she passed the device to him, his cock jumped at the warmth of her flesh clinging to it.

He studied the two designs side-by-side on the screen. He almost didn't want to pass the phone back to her. Knowing where she stowed it against her round ass left him with a deep desire that no amount of rum would be able to kick.

"They're both really good designs. I prefer the one on the right, though. It's—"

"Clearer," they said at the same time.

He returned her phone, and her hand brushed his. Unwilling to let her move away too fast, he covered her fingers with his own, trapping them.

Livia sucked in a breath. For a long heartbeat, their gazes locked.

Damn, this woman was going to be the end of him.