Billionaire With a Twist 3 (6 page)

“Mmmmm.” Hints of caramel,
a touch of cinnamon, and was that…nutmeg? I licked my lips.
“Tastes like autumn.”

“Next,” Hunter said softly.
There was a clink as he set down the bottle, and another as he picked
the second one up. Then that cool glass was against my warm mouth
again, and I shivered as I felt his breath ghost against the back of
my neck. I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body
behind me. A drop of condensation slipped down the neck of the
bottle, rolling down the fevered skin of my neck.

Oh, right, the beer. I took a gulp,
hoping the cool liquid would calm my disordered thoughts. No such
luck—but it was delicious, strongly hoppy this time, notes of
lime and orange and vanilla, with a peppery finish. “Damn,
that’s good. It’s like spring!”

“I’m glad you like it,”
Hunter murmured. His arm encircled my waist—no, he was just
reaching for another bottle, no, that was his other hand, this one
was definitely resting on my waist, lightly, just above my hipbone.

I didn’t dare open my eyes, for
fear I would find I was only dreaming.

“Another?” Hunter invited.

“Yes please.” My voice was
a whisper, hoarse with desire I hoped he couldn’t hear.

And there it came, his gentle hands
guiding it to my mouth, the smooth glass with its beads of moisture
kissing my skin, and that ambrosia sliding slowly down my throat:
brown sugar and anise and a hint of…chocolate.

“Ooooooh,” I moaned in
appreciation. I licked my lips.

And heard a sharp intake of breath from
Hunter. “You like that?” he whispered.

“So much,” I replied,
feeling the heat in my body gather itself tight and low.

Even with my eyes closed I was vividly
aware of how close he was standing to me; I could smell him, hear
each breath he took. His hand on my waist seemed to grip a fraction
tighter, wrinkling the fabric of my dress—the hand holding the
bottle seemed to tremble slightly, I could feel his breath ruffling
my hair as he bent closer, those warm lips only inches from—

My eyes burst open and I almost leapt
away from him. We didn’t have time for sexual tension! That was
what had gotten us into trouble in the first place. My mind fluttered
rapidly over possible topics of redirection.

It was difficult. It mostly wanted to
think of Hunter shirtless.

Maybe pantsless too.

Yeah….definitely pantsless.

Focus, Ally!

“Well, I could just sit here
sipping these all day, but I’m not really qualified to help
choose the official flavors,” I said, trying to sound practical
and not at all like my panties were on fire. “How about we set
up a tasting event to help pick the best?”

Hunter grinned, giving no indication
that he was aware of my inner struggle to not bang him on the floor
of his janky distillery shed. “That’s perfect! I could
invite—”

He started pacing and rattling off
names, only a few of which I recognized, but which were probably all
off some insider’s list of Who’s-Who in the liquor
industry. His face glowed with delight, with the joy of setting a
plan in motion.

I just gazed at him, happy to see that
energy lighting him up again. That power, that passion. All the
things that made him Hunter Knox, the man I—

“What are you smiling about?”
he asked, stopping and turning to look at me, a puzzled expression on
his face.

“What, starting a brand-new
company isn’t enough?” I asked with a little laugh.

I shrugged and looked down at the
floor, scuffing my feet in what I didn’t realize ‘til
after I’d done it was an unconscious imitation of his own
movements.

“I’m just…really
happy for you.” I looked back up at him, wanting to make him
understand. “Do you see? This is what they can’t take
away.” My voice grew impassioned. “Chuck and all his
cronies think that Knox is just a name on a label, but it’s
your passion driving the company, and that’s why it’s
failing without you at the helm. So let them keep the name. You have
everything you need right here.”

Hunter enfolded me in a hug that warmed
me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, his strong arms
crushing me against his broad chest. I basked in the sensation of
being held by him. I wished it would never end.

But then he let go, and his face looked
worried again. That furrow was back, wrinkling that perfect brow.

“I’ve been thinking about
selling my shares in the company,” he admitted. “The way
Chuck’s running the business, I don’t want any of my
finances tied up in it, not to mention my public image. But I can
still exercise some control with those shares, and I’m worried
that if I give that up…”

“He’ll put out even more
terrible ads?” I said. “Don’t worry, I don’t
think that’s physically possible.”

“If only it were just terrible
ads,” Hunter said dryly. “I’m more worried about
what Chuck will do to try to recoup the losses he’s incurring.
Some of our employees have been Knox Liquor workers for
generations—some towns owe their entire existence to our
factories—but that won’t mean anything to Chuck. He’ll
slash the budget with a machete and outsource everything as fast as
he possibly can if he thinks it’ll buy him more time to get out
with a golden parachute.”

That definitely sounded in character
for Chuck. “So selling your shares is out of the question,
then?”

He sighed. “Probably. What I’d
really like is to be able to hire all the old employees away and give
them job security. Before I ran away to the fishing cabin, that was
practically every message Martha was taking for me—will there
be job cuts? Will salaries stay the same? What about the employee
benefits package? Everyone’s nervous about losing their work
now. If this beer thing really takes off, then maybe…”
He sighed. “I don’t know, Ally. This was just a hobby
‘til half a second ago. Can we really pull this off? There’s
so much on the line.”

I grabbed his shoulder, forced him to
look me in the eye. “Hey. You can do this. Chuck doesn’t
know shit. This is going to be absolutely amazing.”

A smile ghosted over his features. “And
how do you know that, Miss Bartlett?”

I smiled back, wider. “Because I
know you, Mr. Knox.”

Our eyes met, and I saw my desire
reflected in the deep dark pupils of his. I barely had time to draw
in a sharp gasp before he surged forward and kissed me, his warm
mouth avid against mine, hungry as he nibbled my lower lip. His
strong hands pressed me firmly into his chest in an embrace I
couldn’t have escaped even if I’d wanted to. I moaned
against his hot mouth, opening mine wider to take his tongue in
deeper, my hands grasping roughly at the fine fabric of his shirt—

And then his phone rang. We both froze.

This was getting to be a habit with us.

Hunter swore, and I giggled. “You
should probably get that.”

“Probably,” he admitted
softly, his fingers tracing figure eights on the sliver of bare skin
at the nape of my neck. He gave me a slow, rueful smile, and then
released me and took his phone from his pocket. The fingers of his
left hand traced along my lips as he answered the call, only slightly
out of breath. “Yeah, Martha, we’re heading back now.
Pizza should be fine, get the anchovies. Yes, I know that’s
gross, but Ally likes it.” He winked at me. “Okay, yes,
but keep the pineapple on one side only.”

All I could do was smile up at him, my
head spinning from the kiss and from the feel of his fingers stroking
my lips. So warm. So gentle.

Damn, but I was hopelessly in love.

Hunter hung up the phone and closed it
with a snap, taking my hand. “Shall we head back? Sounds like
Martha’s putting the order through right now.”

“Sure,” I said, biting back
all the things I wanted to ask:
Does this mean you forgive me?
Does this mean we’re back together? Does this mean anything at
all?

I knew what that kiss had meant to me.
But what had it meant to him? And how long until I could find out for
sure?

“Try this one, it’s got
this nutmeggy taste—”

“Now, this is a quality brew!”

“—my personal favorite’s
the—”

“—can’t believe this
is what Hunter’s been hiding in that shed out there!”

I jotted down some notes from my
unobtrusive position nearby, sipping from my own bottle of the blend
we were tentatively branding ‘the Genevieve’ after
Hunter’s great-grandmother. It was refreshing and cool with a
lavender aftertaste, and in my opinion, perfect.

Though approximately seven percent of
the attending partygoers disagreed, with opinions ranging from “too
fancy” to “too plebian” to “I can’t
even tell what I’m drinking.” Hence the discreet
note-taking, to try to see if any themes emerged or if the nitpicking
was negligible.

The scent of barbecue wafted across the
lawn, mixing with that of the beer and the fresh-cut grass and the
sunscreen of our three dozen guests. It was the perfect scent of
summer, and I inhaled it almost as greedily as my drink. A lovely
green-and-golden smell that made me believe that this happiness just
might last forever.

I caught a glimpse of Hunter. He was
laughing and chatting and looking more relaxed and at ease than I had
seen him in a long time as he greeted people and directed them
towards the tasting table. On the other side of the lawn, Paige
handed out barbecue ribs to an ever-growing line of hungry
customers—who then headed back to the tasting table for a
little something to quench their thirst.

My hunger must have shown on my face,
because as soon as Paige spotted me, she handed off her apron and
tongs to Martha before loading up a plate and bringing it on over.

“You’re a lifesaver,”
I told her, before my chowing down in an exceedingly unladylike
manner meant that talking was no longer a possibility. The meat was
flavorful and indescribably tender, practically falling off the bone,
and drenched in a sweet and fiery barbecue sauce. As I licked the
last of it off my lips, I caught Hunter’s eye. His gaze tracked
the path of my tongue, and my heart stopped for a second, heat rising
in me as if we were the only two people there.

We weren’t, though, and Paige
definitely noticed. “Damn, girl. I know you two are talking
again, but are you two…”—she hesitated—“you
know, a thing again?”

I sighed, setting my plate down and
taking another swig of beer to buy time before I replied. “I
don’t know. Not really. I mean, we did kiss—”

Paige made a noise like someone had sat
on a parrot.

“No, but then we got
interrupted,” I said quickly. “So it was romantic, but
maybe also sort of not? Like, maybe it was just a thing, like, we
were just both excited or something? And, er…I don’t
know. We haven’t really talked about it. Still.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Well,
what’s stopping you? I hope you’re not just hanging on
until one of you develops telepathy, because that could be a long
wait.”

“We only just recently got back
to being civil,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not sure
I’m willing to risk that. He’s been so charming and
great, and I…I don’t know. I want to hold onto that a
little longer before I try for anything more.”

“Well, I hope he’s worth
all this second-guessing.”

“Paige—” I started
reprovingly.

“Sorry!” she said with a
laugh. “Your big sister worries, that’s all. Didn’t
you know that’s in the contract too?” Then her laugh died
down and a slight frown creased her brow. “I’m glad to
see you looking so happy, Ally, and I don’t want to rain on
your parade, but…well, you put a lot of time and effort into
this. What do your bosses in DC think about you jetting around on
their time? And isn’t
Chuck
technically your client
now?”

I looked down, drew a line with my toe
in the dirt. “Well…”

“Ally…” Paige said
in a ‘you’re-not-getting-away-with-anything’ tone.

“I’ve been faking a family
emergency,” I confessed in a rush. “I have to get back to
the office the second this shindig is over or they’ll suspect
something’s up.”

Paige shook her head disapprovingly.
“Ally, you know that’s not going to work forever. They’ll
figure it out eventually.”

“It doesn’t have to work
forever,” I said. A pleading note crept into my voice, as if I
were once again the little girl who wanted her big sister to assure
her that Santa Claus was real. “It just has to work for a
little while.”

Paige probably would have said more,
but then an oh so familiar and shrill voice called out through the
idyll.

“Ally!”

A real family
emergency: my mom had shown up.

#

I took a deep breath as my parents
crossed the lawn towards me at a rapid clip. My mother was wearing a
dress that looked like she was still taking fashion tips from Jackie
O., and it appeared that my father had been bullied into his best
pinstriped suit too. They were both perspiring under the hot sun, but
grinning.

Mom greeted me with a brief spasm of a
hug before pulling back and immediately launching into a lecture: “Is
that really what you’re wearing, Allison? It’s entirely
the wrong color for spring, what can you have been thinking? You
can’t let the little things slide like this, you’ve only
just got Hunter back in your clutches again, you need to lock this
down before he—”

Without warning, my anger bubbled over,
a pot left on boil for far too long. “This is not the time for
this, Mother!”

Mom stopped mid-sentence. What was
this, someone questioning her interpretation of reality? “Allison,
I know this is hard to hear, but you do have an unfortunate tendency
to squander perfectly good opportunities. Now, I’ve brought a
nice selection of pastel skirt-suits in the car that should fit you,
so you can change quickly and discreetly and it probably won’t
be too late—”