Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3) (6 page)

He dismounted before her parents could see him, eager to get
home, take a shower and get to the brewery for a few hours of work. His dad
would be calm by then. His older brothers working, or shooting baskets or with
their girlfriends, while his younger, annoying brother, Aiden, did something
nerdy and bookworm-ish.

Diana joined him and pressed close, her breasts mashing
pleasantly against him. The sudden concept that this lovely girl would be his
to do with whatever he liked for the duration made him a little dizzy. He
disentangled her arms, kissed her lightly and chucked her under the chin.

“Later?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and he had the very first
sensation of separating from this, detaching this nice Dominic—with a pretty
girlfriend who put out—from another, darker one. One eager to see what he could
get up to with the enticing and sexy Renee, and maybe even with the helpful Jen
again.

A grin spread across his face and remained stuck there all
the way home.

Now

At nine o’clock that night the temperature still hovered in
the mid-eighties. Diana blew the hair off her forehead and flopped onto the
large chaise lounge on the side screen porch, shoving the dogs away.

“Too hot. Get off me.” She set a bottle of beer and another
one of water on the old trunk that served as a table in front of the lounge.

Soreness in her neck and shoulders, thanks to all the energy
she’d put into deflecting her mind away from Dom, blocked the primal fury over
the fact that he’d not shown up yet. The kitchen had been scrubbed down, the
racks of boar’s ribs, plus the tenderloin and the chops, had been coated in her
special seasoning and sat curing in the fridge, ready for a long day in the
smoker tomorrow. She’d even weeded the garden, put flowers in all the vases,
then taken Pepper out for a ride.

The water bottle cooled the skin on her neck and chest. The
beer was her third, or maybe fourth, she’d lost count. Sounds of a baseball
game from the radio, mainly for background noise floated through the heavy air.
Late-season insects hovered and hummed. She gazed at the screen she’d repaired
after the cast-iron skillet mishap and toward the driveway, willing Dom to pull
up on that stupid Harley.

“You are pitiful,” she blurted, gulping down the rest of the
beer. “Pitiful, lame, and weak.” She flipped around so her feet were propped up
and floated off to la-la land with the help of exhaustion and alcohol.

She woke with a snort, dislodging two of the dogs that had
piled on top of her. Sweat beaded her face. The silence in the absence of
insect noise made her realize how late it must be, the only sound the creaking
overhead fan, its squeak-wheeze one that Diana sometimes heard in her dreams.
The inside of her mouth tasted like it was coated in slime.

She cursed and swung her feet to the worn wooden treads,
rubbing her face and trying to decide if it were worth the trouble to go inside
for the rest of the night. Having to pee helped decide it. She rose and
stretched.

“Hey,” a disembodied voice called from behind her.

She exhaled in relief as the dogs bounded toward the dark
silhouette at the door.

“Well, at least somebody’s glad I’m here.” Dom emerged from
the gloom.

Diana turned and took in the black eye, the dried blood
under his nose, the horrific scrape along his left cheek that shone in the
light from the open kitchen door. He blew out a breath and the distinct odor of
bourbon enveloped her.

“What in the hell time is it,” she demanded, stepping away
and smothering her compulsion to nurse-maid him.

He shrugged and stuck his fingers in his belt loops, looking
so much like the teenage Dominic she’d fallen for, she had to catch her breath.
When she saw the drops of blood at his feet, she frowned.

“Oh hell, Dom, you’re really bleeding.” She snagged his arm
and pulled him into the kitchen. He dropped into a chair with a loud
exhalation, spewing blood across its scrubbed surfaces. “I just cleaned in
here,” she muttered, rooting through the stuff under sink for whatever first
aid she could find. “Keep it contained, willya?”

“Sorry.” The fact that he had no rejoining quip was a real
concern. Dominic never passed up the opportunity to be a smartass.

She squared her shoulders as she pulled him to his feet.
Unsmiling and standing way up in his space, purposefully intimate, she
unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He didn’t move. Didn’t even raise his arms
or really blink.

“Well gee, honey cakes, if you want in my pants, just ask.
Don’t gotta manhandle the merchandise.”

She frowned and dropped to her seat, focusing on his thigh.

“Ow.” He winced when she tugged the ragged denim away from
what had to be the ugliest road rash she’d ever seen.

“Jesus. You’re a mess.” She reached for the antibiotic
cream, keeping her gaze averted from his underwear-covered crotch—not an easy
feat, as it was mere inches from her.

He yelped when she started smearing the stuff on the wide
expanse of raw skin. “Shit! Goddamn it!”

She probably could have been gentler. But she didn’t feel
like it. Fresh sweat beaded his brow, giving her a thrill of guilty
satisfaction.

“Okay, there’s that.” She yanked his jeans up, leaving him
to zip and button. “Sit.” She shoved him into a chair, knowing she shouldn’t
like how much he winced, but liking it anyway.

Fifteen minutes later he sat with an ice pack over his face
and a big cup of her mama’s secret-recipe mountain tea steaming away on the
table. Diana stood still a minute, noting how his nose still dripped blood no
matter how long he pinched it.

“Hang on.” She ducked into the small bathroom her father had
added years ago to alleviate the stress of three females using a single
second-floor shower. She emerged, unwrapping what she’d been seeking and
holding it in front of him. “Here.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Stick it in your nose, dummy.” She waved the tampon at him.
“It’s a super absorbent version. Very useful, these.”

He scoffed. She grabbed his chin, tilted his head and shoved
it up his left nostril. He glowered at her but stayed still, then propped his
feet on the seat next to her. She shoved them to the floor without comment.

“Bitch,” he muttered, leaning over the tea. She shot him a
dirty look. His grin gave her pause. Diana forced her frown to remain fixed in
place.

“Drink up. I’ll get you some pain killer. Jerk.” She moved
away from him before she gave into the urge to yank him up and fold him into
her arms for a hug. God knew she’d done it plenty of times before—saved him
from himself. But those days were absolutely, undeniably over.

He heaved a huge sigh, but she stayed facing away from him.
After shaking a couple of the tablets out of the bottle, she poured a glass of
water. “Take these.” She plunked it all on the table in front of him.

“Thanks.” He grunted, not moving. “This stuff is amazing. I
forgot.” His palms cradled the mug, his nose stuck down in it. “It’s naturally
fermented, you know?”

“Whatever.” Diana got busy tidying up. She knew how good the
tea was and that it had a bit of alcohol content. But it remained the one
recipe of her mother’s Diana wanted to keep for herself. If Jen and Dale
figured out she had a nearly perfect
Kombucha
tea in her fridge, it
would be one more thing to add to their menu of goodies from the boonies. Which
would translate into one more thing she’d have to figure out how to make in
massive quantities. “Finish up. Go to bed.”

As she reached across him to snag the first aid cream, he
grabbed her wrist, turning it over slowly.

“Let go of me.”

“You still have it.” He ran his thumb over the entwined
letter Ds surrounded by tiny stars.

“It’s too expensive to laser off.” Her skin tingled where he
touched her, pissing her off to no end.

He held on tight, and put his arm next to it, wrist side up,
exposing a matching one on his darker skin. “It’s one of my favorites.” His
voice was soft, as if he actually possessed the capacity for real, grown up
emotions as he kept his eyes on their arms, side by side across the table.

“One of the many you inked in honor of pussy, I’m sure.” Jen
hated how her voice broke, betraying her. She tried to wrench out of his grip.
He let go and dropped back in the chair, so completely pitiful she had to
stifle the urge to laugh.

“How long do I gotta keep this in.” He gestured to the
tampon string hanging out of his nostril. “And for your information, Miz
Brantley, no one else’s pussy inspired me to ink their initials. So there.”

“At least five minutes. And believe me it makes zero
difference who else’s initials are on your precious skin.” She curled her
fingers into fists to keep from leaping at him, holding him, erasing that
blank, lost expression on his face.

“Hmph.” He gave the string a tug. “These
are
pretty
useful, I guess. In more ways than one.”

“Don’t touch it,” she said as she wiped blood off the floor.
The silence formed a wall between them. Anxiety that she honestly believed
she’d cast aside long ago filled every empty space in her body. Once she’d set
the room to order, she crossed her arms. “All right, take it out slowly and put
it here.” She held out a wad of paper towels in front of him, giggling when he
seemed alarmed. “Jesus. Let me do it.” She pulled the string and tossed the tampon
into the trash. He touched his nose.

“Whaddaya know?”

“I do know a few things.” She headed for the sink to wash
up. “You could probably use a shower. Here, take these with you.” She plopped a
bottle of aspirin in front of him.

“You’re a regular Florence Nightingale, aren’t ya, Di?” He
smiled, which did its usual number on her gut. She gripped the counter behind
her. “Thanks. Seriously.”

“I assume you were counting on that when you decided to drag
your sorry ass out here after you wiped out.” She started cleaning off the
spotless counter and bit her lip to keep from asking him about the Love family
reunion. His messed-up face and shredded leg told her plenty.

“Busted.” He gulped more pills with a swallow of the tea. He
smacked his lips and help up the empty cup. “We should make stuff this
together.”

She burst out laughing, which sounded more than a little
hysterical after a while. By the time she wiped her eyes, Diana realized to her
horror that she’d been crying. “Oh, Lordy, Dominic. I can’t imagine a single
activity I’d want to do
together
with you. You’re obviously smoking
again.”

“Just a thought.”

“Here’s another one—go get a shower.” She pointed to the
downstairs bathroom. “You can sleep on the couch tonight. I’m going to bed.”

Stomping upstairs, she had to acknowledge that her skin was
on fire with remorse over how much of her life she’d wasted on the man in her
kitchen right now. The man she’d give almost anything to kiss again—right now.
Halting halfway up the stairs, she fought the urge to tell him to get the hell
out of her kitchen, her house and her life.

“I’m goin’ back up to the hay mow. It suits me better. Don’t
ya think?”

Diana clenched her eyes shut, then opened them and turned to
find him standing at the foot of the steps, gripping the banister. “Don’t come
to me fishing for compliments, Love. It’s a dry pond.”

“Yeah, guess so. Listen, is it all right if I hang for a few
more days? Until I….” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. She remained
quiet. “You know, I gotta find a new job now, I guess.” He flopped down onto
the bottom tread.

“A new job?” She got a few steps closer to him, then backed
away, cursing her Dominic-shaped weakness. “I mean, why?”

“I would call me ‘fired.’ Permanently.”

“Oh.” She dropped onto the step next to him in spite of her
better instincts, keeping about a foot of air between them. “But it’s your
family.”

“Not anymore.” He kept his gaze trained on his shoes. “I’ve
been disowned, stricken from the Love family record books.”

“Oh,” she repeated, cursing internally for sounding like an
unhelpful dolt.

“Yeah. That.”

“So, um…you told him?”

“Didn’t have to. Anton is pretty quick on the uptake. I
guess Kent….” He glanced over at her, a strange expression on his face. “That’s
his name, the guy I was…with for a while. Anyway, my father figured it out,
kinda in front of a church full of people there for a wedding. Remember Cara
Cooper? Kieran’s ex-girlfriend from high school? She was supposed to marry him,
Kent, that is. It was Love family drama at its highest and best, I assure you.”
Dom threaded his fingers together, elbows on his knees. “So, that went over
about as well as you might think. My daddy is nothing if not a hide-bound,
dyed-in-the-wool heterosexual—the homophobic kind who believes that anyone who
isn’t is a freak of nature. Hence, the final, Dominic-disowning scene
yesterday.”

“Oh, surely he just has to cool down, you know? Y’all never
did get along, at least until recently.”

“Not sure that’s gonna happen.”

She reached out to touch his clenched jaw, like she used to,
when he’d show up after the latest Dom and Anton blow out, red-faced furious
and eager to work his frustration off between her legs. She hesitated, but he
caught her with her arm dangling in the air between them. Before she could
blink he had grabbed it, tossed it over his shoulder and had her close, his
lips hovering over hers.

“Quit it,” she ground out, shoving him away and nearly
coming apart at the seams at the familiar heft and contours of his body.

“I can’t,” he said so softly she barely heard him. “I’m an
idiot, I know it. I should never have left you.”

She struggled, but admittedly not with her full strength. He
felt too good to her and now that temptation hovered, her resistance was
toppling in slow motion, like so many dominoes one by one by one.

“Which time?” she ground out, using everything she had to
rally, to shove him to the floor, step on his busted nose, kick him out. “Oh,”
she gasped before he kissed her, blotting out everything else in her mind.

She opened her lips to him, gripped his hair, and let him
enter her soul, a place he’d never truly exited. As he started to sneak his
fingers up under her shirt, she gasped and jerked away from him, still gripping
his biceps. Mesmerized for a split second by the tattoo stretching up one side
of his neck, she blinked.

“No,” she said, quietly at first. “No,” she repeated,
stronger as she stood, clutching her elbows. “You don’t get to have me
anymore.”

He sat, propped up in the space she’d just vacated, using
the same puppy-dog eyes she’d seen way too many times. It steeled her resolve.
She helped him to his feet without another word. When he leaned into her as she
knew he would—Dom was nothing if not predictable when he wanted to get laid—she
slapped him so hard her shoulder ached.