Just This Once (The Kings)

I stared at his outstretched hand, his wide palm and long fingers waiting for me to make a decision.

Do I do it? Oh my god, this is so unlike me.

A squeal threatened to tear out of me when I placed my hand in his. Whip gave it a gentle squeeze before standing and hauling me up with him. I flashed a quick smile to hide my nerves. Hand in his, I followed Whip through the deserted general store and out into the cold night. I shivered, and he dropped my hand to slip his coat off his shoulders. Before I could protest, he wound the large jacket around me and pulled it closed.

“You’ll freeze,” I argued, appreciating the way his biceps strained the long sleeves of his Henley.

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I was built for the cold.”

Whip towered over me—all broad lines and hard edges—as we walked. He was most definitely built and had the kind of body that screamed promises of warmed skin and protective embraces.

I swallowed hard as Whip led me down the sidewalk toward the muted sounds of music and neon lights. I shook away my wandering thoughts when my feet stopped short. “Shit! I forgot to pay for the chocolates!”

Whip grinned. “My cousin owns the general store. I’ll be sure to square up with him before he starts printing the Wanted posters.”

I sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him as he smiled. “Thief.”

My laugh rang out into the crisp winter air with a puffy white cloud. Excitement danced under my skin as we walked.

My whole life I’d made the right choice. Been the good girl. It was exhausting, and for once I wanted to spread my wings—stop thinking twelve steps ahead in any scenario and live.

“I know a place just up this way.” Whip continued up the sidewalk, shifting his position to be on the side closest to the roadway, and I followed, reveling in the subtly protective gesture.

When we stopped, I glanced at the neon sign next to the heavy wooden door. A jaunty skeleton grinned back at me.

“The Grudge Holder?” I asked. The muscles in Whip’s arm rippled through his shirt as he leaned forward to pull the door open. I slipped past him as he held it for me. “Cute name.”

He slid in next to me, and the warmth of the bar wafted over us. “Yeah, it’s kind of an inside joke in this town.”

I had started toward an empty high-top table when Whip’s long fingers gently wrapped around my hip bone, stopping me. No man had ever touched me in such a benign way while exuding such raw masculinity. I willed my knees not to buckle.

His breath floated across the shell of my ear. “This way.” With his head he gestured toward the opposite end of the bar. “My family only sits on the east side.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Oh.”

Whip helped me into the stool at a high-top table and rapped a knuckle on the wood. “Can I get you something to drink? My brother owns a local brewery, and they sell it here. It’s pretty good.”

“A beer would be great. Thanks.”

Whip sauntered toward the large bar in the back, and I used the opportunity to stare incessantly at his ass. No man had any right to look that effortlessly put together in simple jeans and a long-sleeved Henley. Totally unfair.

I tore my gaze away from him before I got caught and took the opportunity to look around the bar. Music spilled from a jukebox in the corner, and posters announced various bands for the upcoming weekends. A pink-and-red banner was strung across the stage with loopy, romantic font. Love is in the air—try not to breathe. I laughed and soaked up the friendly, inviting atmosphere.

Curious, I looked across the dance floor toward the west side of the bar. A few wary glances were cast my way, and it seemed as though everyone really did keep to their own side. Curious.

Whip sidled up next to me and set down two beers, one light and one dark. “I wasn’t sure of your preference.” He pointed to the dark one. “Vanilla porter, one of my favorites.” His finger moved to the other. “Hefeweizen with malty, caramel notes. Lady’s choice.”

My eyes danced with delight. “You really do know your beers.”

He shrugged. “It’s really Abel’s deal, but I’ve learned a thing or two.”

I smiled as I slid the porter in front of me. “Thank you.”

Whip winked, and butterflies tangled in a riot inside my stomach. I took a sip to settle my nerves. “So you weren’t kidding, were you?”

He slid onto the stool next to me. “About what?”noveldrama

I deepened my voice and leaned forward. “My family only sits on the east side.”

He chuckled at my impersonation. “Oh. No, definitely wasn’t joking about that.” He swiped a hand down his thick denim-clad thigh. “The name of this place, the Grudge Holder, comes from a long-standing feud between two families in town—the Kings and the Sullivans.”

I leaned forward on the stool, resting my chin in my hand and widening my eyes. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

The rumble of his deep laugh had heat pooling between my thighs, and I gently scissored my legs beneath the table to keep from squirming.

He shrugged. “Run-of-the-mill, small-town bullshit. Ages ago our families decided they hated each other, and now we spend ridiculous time and effort out-pranking each other. I guess we’ve never gotten it out of our systems.” He paused, his beer halfway to his mouth. “Though my sister Sylvie has come the closest. She’s with Duke Sullivan, so they sit in the middle now.”

“Oh, I bet your parents loved that.” My laughter died when Whip’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of his parents. I also didn’t miss the subtle twitch at the corner of his eye.

Apparently talking about parents is a no-fly zone. Noted.

I quickly redirected, grasping for the lighthearted mood we’d been enjoying. “So if your families hate each other so much, why not just go to separate bars? Avoid it altogether.”

The mischief was back in Whip’s piercing slate eyes. “Well, that would kind of take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”

I laughed before taking a sip of my beer, letting the subtle vanilla and malt flavors melt over my tongue. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

I looked around the bar once more. If you didn’t know about the feud, an outsider would likely see a typical dance hall, but upon further inspection, the divide in the crowd was pretty obvious.

“Okay, so give me an example.” I sat up straighter. “Tell me about a prank that you’ve pulled.”

He eyed me carefully, his lips gently pursing as he considered my question. “Hmm,” he hummed. “How do I know you’re not a Sullivan spy? Using your charm and beauty to unravel all our secrets?”

My cheeks warmed at his subtle compliment, but I feigned shock, letting my fingertips drag across my collarbone. “Me? A spy?” I blinked innocently.

Whip shook his head and scoffed. “You may not be a spy, but you damn sure are dangerous.”

Pleasure thrummed through my veins. When was the last time I’d been so at ease in a man’s presence? I had almost forgotten what it was like to flirt and let go for a minute.

I honestly couldn’t recall the last time I’d felt so free. Whip was confident and sexy. Funny. And somehow his attention made me feel as if we were the only two souls in that run-down bar. He made me feel at ease. Comfortable in my own skin. Electric.

When the music changed to a popular country song that had been playing on repeat over the radio, I clapped my hands together and hopped from the stool. “Dance with me.”

Whip took a sip of his beer before setting the glass down in front of him, but he didn’t stand. I held up my hands. “Or does dancing go against some cool-guy code I don’t know about?”

He chuckled and stood next to me, letting his fingertips drag from the inside of my elbow to my palm in one smooth movement as he leaned in. “Trust me. Being seen with a woman like you makes me the coolest guy in this shithole.”

I laughed as Whip twirled me toward the dance floor. My feet stumbled, but he managed to guide me into a rhythm, and our unlikely two-step wasn’t half bad. He held one hand out, the other banded around my waist as we moved with the music. As we danced, Whip whispered town secrets in my ear, sharing stories of the regulars—townies, he called them—as we wore a path on that old oak floor.

I wondered whether he would have a funny story about my parents if they had been there.

The music changed again, and a moody, bluesy number crooned from the speakers. Without missing a beat, Whip pulled me closer. His hard body pressed up against mine, and I stared up at his chiseled jawline. He rested my hand in the small space between our bodies, holding it close over his chest. His heart thudded against my fingertips.

Did he feel this too?

His warm, calloused palm grazed mine, and tingles swept across my skin. Minutes melted into hours, and I was drowning in this mysterious stranger.

Something about him was so familiar and comforting, yet all together exciting and intoxicating. By the time I came up for air, the bartender announced the last call—our drinks, long abandoned.

Whip offered me the extra warmth of his coat, and this time I slipped my arms into it without hesitation. As I followed him out of the bar, I stared at his chiseled back and pulled the collar to my nose, filling my lungs with his masculine scent of soap and sage.

Once outside, I pointed in the direction of my car, parked only a block or so away. His arm banded around my shoulders, helping to ward off the February chill.

I shivered. “Are you sure you’re not cold?”

He looked down at me, his eyes flicking to my lips for only a fraction of a second. “I’m perfect.”

The walk was too short, and my stomach muscles tensed as I gestured toward my car. “Well . . . this is me.”

Whip walked me to the driver’s side, and I slipped off his coat before handing it back to him. “Thank you. I think this might have been the best, most surprising Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

Whip scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and the grin he shot me wobbled my knees. “Better than Dickie Johnson?”

I grinned at him. “Dickie who?”

Intensity darkened Whip’s eyes as he leaned in close, wrapping me in his heat. “Emily, do you think I could call you sometime?”

My insides were screaming. The last thing I wanted to do was go home to a lonely, still-unpacked apartment. Whip inched impossibly closer. I lowered my lashes, then gathered every ounce of courage before looking into his steel blue eyes.

I’d wasted so many years doing the good thing. The right thing with the wrong men. Whip may not have been the right man, either, but there was something about him that was pulling me in.

I didn’t give a damn if it was wrong.

I wanted it.

Craved it.

“You know, I really appreciate you not calling the cops on me. I’m thinking I can thank you for that . . .” I swallowed hard and willed my voice not to tremble. “Maybe at your place.”