Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance Page 3

  Mom scoffs. “You’d have to, growing up in a family of five kids. And four of them being boys? Mercy.”

  “I can’t fathom it.” As an only child, I mean that.

  We pass several other buildings along the way as I follow the signs to Sugarhill Cottage. I glimpse numbered signs on each of them, leading me to believe they’re guest accommodations. More porches, more people on rocking chairs.

  I put the car in park in front of the sign we’re looking for. I gape at the view outside my window.

  “This can’t be it,” Mom blurts. “That is no cottage.”

  I scoff, feeling the prick of tears again, but this time for a different reason.

  “Goddamn it, Beau,” I say under my breath. I shut off the ignition.

  The “cottage” is really a gigantic, gorgeous two-story modern farmhouse. It looks brand new, and it must be at least five thousand square feet. Rocking chair front porch, big steel windows, and views of the Great Smoky Mountains for days. It’s surrounded by a wide lawn and beds of lush greenery.

  It’s so lovely that for a full heartbeat I can’t breathe.

  “Wow,” Mom says. “Is this all ours?”

  I know. I just know. “Yes.”

  “Wow,” she repeats. “I knew Beau would put us up in a nice room. But this…”

  “Is way too much.”

  Maisie starts to fuss. I get out of the car and unlatch the car seat, squeezing her tiny socked feet. Then I grab the top handle and begin to swing the car seat. An old trick the pediatrician taught me.

  Maisie goes quiet.

  Hank materializes at my elbow and holds out his hand. “Want me to take that? Looks heavy.”

  Maisie only weighs twelve pounds, but for some reason, she feels twice as heavy in the car seat.

  “Thank you,” I say, handing it off to him. He coos at the baby, smiling, and she smiles back.

  I blink hard, a tear slipping out of my eye, but I quickly wipe it away. Disbelief, relief, gratitude, the pressing, almost painful need for a nap—

  Jesus, when am I going to stop being such a mess?

  When am I going to feel like myself again?

  Taking a deep breath, I follow Hank to the house. I’m vaguely aware that a small army of guys is unloading my car behind us. But my gaze catches on the front door of the house as it opens.

  Beau steps out onto the front porch. His piercing blue eyes find mine from beneath the bill of his baseball hat. I may have seen two other sets of the Beauregard eyes in the past few minutes, but nothing really prepares you for the magnetic pull of Beau’s.

  I’m hit in the backs of my knees by that thing.

  The happy, achy, homey thing I feel whenever I’m around him.

  He’s wearing dark jeans with a crisp button-up. Boots, grown-out scruff that’s turned into a beard, and biceps for days and days and days. He’s got an athlete’s build, tall and broad—six three and, at the height of his pro football career, two hundred fifty-five pounds—and even though we’re just friends, I’d have to be dead not to be aware of just how handsome he is.

  Today, though, that handsomeness hits me like a force field. There’s a hunger in his eyes as they search my face. As if he’s needed me as much as I need him. As if he’s been starving for something only I can give.

  For a split second, I feel a confidence rise inside me. Like I’m capable of giving that something, whatever it may be. Like I’m capable, period. And wanted. And just right, just as I am.

  Heady stuff for someone who feels like she keeps falling short.

  He smiles. “Hey, Bel.”

  He’s big, and he’s familiar, and he’s here.

  I can’t help it.

  I launch myself into his arms with an anguished laugh and let out the sob I’ve been holding in for a hundred miles.

  A hundred long, dark days.

  Chapter Three

  Beau

  I don’t realize I’ve dropped my clipboard until I hear it clatter to the floor.

  Curling my arms around Bel, I can’t help but drop my face into the crook of her neck and inhale the smell of her skin. She smells like girl. No perfume, just shampoo and soap.

  She smells like Annabel.

  My own skin wakes with a new awareness. My heart making itself known inside my chest.

  My body comes alive the way it always does around Bel.

  This sexual tension, the physical chemistry we’ve always had, is nothing new, but it’s usually easy to control. Today, though, I’m struggling to keep it in check. It’s all I can do not to let my hips melt into hers and give in to the need to run my fingers through her hair.

  Nothing and everything has changed since she got pregnant. Now that my world’s been turned upside down, maybe what I want has been turned right side up, too.

  I’m desperate. Desperate to feel normal again. To feel like everything’s going to be okay.

  The one person who always makes me feel that way?

  Bel.

  Her body heaves as she sobs into my chest. I tighten my arms around her, feeling all kinds of anguish at seeing my girl so upset, and turn my head to murmur in her hair.

  “Hey. You’re here. Thank fuck you’re here.”

  She scoffs. “Thank fuck I have rich friends who invite me to their five-star resorts.”

  “Aw, sweetheart, I’ve been begging you to use me for my money for years. I’m glad you finally took me up on my offer.”

  “For the love of God, don’t tell me you bought me another—”

  “The Mercedes was a one-time thing.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. I did, however, take the liberty of stocking the wine cellar here at the cottage with some good stuff.”

  “Good stuff,” Samuel says with a shake of his head as he passes by, hands full of luggage. “It’s better’n good, Annabel. It’s the best we got. And that’s saying something.”

  Annabel pulls back to spear me with a look. “Really?” she deadpans.

  I try my best to ignore the fact that her hands are still on my shoulders. Just like I’ve been trying not to think about the fact she and I are both single at the same time for the first time…well, ever.

  I shove the thought from my head because it doesn’t matter. I missed my chance with Bel.

  She has her own little family now. And I know how fragile family can be.

  “Where’s Miss Maisie?” I ask, stepping back a little so her hands fall. Her thick, wavy blond hair is longer than usual—over the past few years, she’s kept it short—and she tucks it behind her ear.

  She’s crying. She’s flushed.

  Good Lord, is she beautiful. She’s got these gorgeous green eyes with long, pale eyelashes, and even longer legs that are hard not to stare at in those fucking skinny jeans she’s wearing.

  The only sign of the banker in her is her cashmere sweater. Other than that, she’s in white sneakers and a Barbour jacket. No jewelry, no makeup. A little preppy, a lot pretty.

  And that dimple in her left cheek that shows up when she shoots me a smile—

  “Don’t be a wierdo and imprint on her, all right?” Annabel says, taking the car seat from Hank and setting it on the bench beside the door. Maisie’s eyes, the same shade as her mama’s, peek out from a cocoon of blankets.

  “Please.” I unbuckle the car seat straps and tickle her tummy. She giggles, and I grin. She’s got Bel’s dimple. “Everyone knows only shirtless, shape-shifting werewolves imprint on babies, Annabel.”

  “Who made you the Twilight expert, Beau?”

  “You did, when you made me read all seven books during our Tropical Storm Michael Word Porn meeting.” I lift Maisie above my head and give her a smile. “Your mommy went through a strange phase in her early thirties where she crushed on teenage supernatural creatures, didn’t she? It was terrible for Uncle Beau.”

  “There were only four books.”

  “That’s all? Welp. Sure felt like seven.”

  Annabel gives me a gent
le shove with her elbow. Then she leans her head on my shoulder, and the two of us look at the baby. Annabel sighs.

  She sounds tired. I hate it.

  “House is yours,” I say, “for as long as you want to stay. You’re gonna tell me it’s too much—”

  “Because it is.”

  “And I’m gonna say I want you to get whatever it is you need up here, and a lot of it. Sleep, food, a break from the baby with a good book—there’s no better place for it.”

  Annabel sighs again. “Thank you. Sincerely. I’m not even sure what the hell I need anymore, but I’m gonna try to figure it out.”

  Her mom steps onto the porch, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. Taking in the three of us together, she smiles.

  I don’t miss her meaning. Lots of people—Lizzie included—have wondered aloud why Annabel and I never ended up together.

  Because.

  It’s a shit answer. But there are a million reasons we’ve remained good friends, and only that.

  “Mrs. Rhodes!” I cradle the baby in one arm and loop the other around Annabel’s mama. “Thank you for coming to Blue Mountain and for helping Annabel. You look better than ever, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

  She smiles—it’s Annabel’s smile, and now Maisie’s, too.

  “You know you can call me Lizzie. And you look good too, Beau. Your farm is beautiful.”

  “So is your grandbaby.”

  “She’s such a doll, isn’t she?” Lizzie holds out her hands, and I pass her the baby. “I’ll take her so you two can catch up.”

  I bend down to pick up my clipboard, my knees cracking. I glance at the note I have scrawled across the yellow legal pad. 1 PM. Good. I remembered the right time. The therapist was onto something; writing shit down is helping.

  “I’ve actually gotta run to a meeting with my marketing team,” I say. “But we’re hosting a bonfire tonight down by the lake at sundown. Hank will be playin’ guitar, and Samuel is serving up whiskey-spiked cider. Y’all are invited if you’d like to join. My mama’s offered to babysit, if you’re okay with that. Lizzie, she’s so jealous you’re a grandma. She’s been waiting quite a spell for one of us to give her grandbabies. When I told her y’all were coming, the first thing she said was she wanted to meet Miss Maisie.”

  “Tell your mama to come over, then,” Lizzie says. “She and I will hang with the baby while you two go have some drinks.”

  “You sure, Mom?” Annabel asks.

  “Positive.”

  Annabel looks up at me. “I don’t know how long I’ll last tonight, but I’d love to come.”

  Searching her eyes, I know she’s hurting. She’s been humbled. I know that. I feel it. Recognizing myself in her pain knocks the wind out of me. Like I’ve been taken out midair by a six-six offensive lineman and left for dead on the turf.

  I wish knowing that kind of pain, seeing it, didn’t scare me so bad. Makes me feel like a coward. I just—

  I’m lost.

  But I cannot lose myself in Annabel. I may want her, but she needs me. Everyone needs me to keep it together. For as long as I’m able to, anyway.

  “The bellboys’ll help you unpack,” I say gruffly. “See you tonight.”

  I tuck my clipboard underneath my arm and hightail it out of there.

  I hope coming to Blue Mountain Farm helps Annabel.

  I hope her coming doesn’t crush me or the friendship I value so much.

  The friendship I need now more than ever.

  I feel Samuel’s eyes on me as I drive the golf cart to the barn, my wrist resting on the top of the wheel. Guests meander down the path beside the road. We wave, and they wave back with a smile.

  A few stare openly at the three of us. It happens less often now that we’re retired, but three big dudes piled into a tiny golf cart is not a sight you see every day. Especially when those three dudes come from a famous football dynasty.

  “Annabel doesn’t know, does she?” Samuel says.

  I glance at him. He’s got one arm raised above his head, holding on to the roof of the cart as we round a bend.

  “No.” A flush of warmth crawls up my neck. I scratch myself there, my beard chafing against my fingers. “I want to keep it that way. I’ll tell her eventually. I mean, I’m gonna have to. But she’s going through her own shit right now, and I don’t want to add to the pile.”

  “It’s none of my business. But I’m just saying, keeping secrets from your best friend is usually a recipe for disaster.”

  “Agreed,” Hank says from the back seat. “It’s not like she’s gonna judge you, Beau.”

  I turn into the next bend a little too sharply, making the cart jerk. “No, she’ll want to help.”

  “So let her,” Samuel says. “You can’t do this on your own. No one can. Just look at—”

  “No. Goddamn it, y’all, can you just listen to me for once? I said I’d tell her, just not now. Got it?”

  Hank wiggles a finger against my cheek. “Aw, she’s got you blushing.”

  “I am not,” I reply, swatting him away. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

  “That you and Annabel are just friends.” Samuel gives me a hard pat on the shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that, brother.”

  “Is that why you broke up with Gretchen?” Hank asks. “Because you knew Annabel would eventually be coming up to the farm?”

  The warmth in my face flares. “I broke up with Gretchen because she deserves more than I can give her. And Annabel isn’t into me like that. We’ve been friends for seventeen goddamn years. Don’t you think something would’ve happened by now if she wanted it to?”

  Hank shakes his head thoughtfully. “Not necessarily. Y’all are both busy people. You were married to your career for a while. She was, well, actually married. And let’s be real, you guys are a little intimidated by each other.”

  “Agreed,” Samuel says. “She was too smart for you, and you were too…you for her. If you know what I mean.”

  “No, I actually don’t know what you mean.”

  “You were the jock with the pierced Johnson—”

  “Don’t make me stop this cart, y’all.”

  Samuel’s shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re cute to think that’s a fight you’re gonna win. Anyway. You were this idiot with a piercing in the wrong place, and she was this gorgeous, genuine, accomplished—”

  “You know what’s not cute? Y’all thinking you know better than me.”

  Here’s the thing, though: they’re not wrong. Well, not totally, anyway. What kept me from making a move wasn’t that I was intimidated by Bel. It’s that I’ve always had a deep appreciation for her awesomeness. She deserved the world. Deserved someone who could make her wildly ambitious dreams come true.

  I’ve worked hard to become that man. But now that I’m finally there, it’s too late.

  I all but screech to a stop in front of the barn, making my brothers pitch forward.

  “Ow,” Samuel says, rubbing his elbow where he hit it against the windshield. “What is with you today?”

  The barn doors are thrown open to the spring afternoon. I can see the tables are already set for dinner service with crisp white tablecloths, heirloom silverware, and vases of flowers from the flower garden up the hill. The smell from the smoker on the other side of the barn fills my head. Chef Katie is doing her brisket tonight. The high/low combination of down-home cooking and fine dining is what we’re known for.

  I take a deep breath, then let it out, gathering the moment inside my chest. I’m damn fucking proud of this right here. The years spent planning and saving, then working. The millions raised and invested. The hundreds hired.

  It was all worth it. I’m just glad I get to witness the resort in all its glory.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it?” Samuel asks as he climbs out of the cart.

  “It does,” I say. “You’re both killing it. I’m proud of you, brother. Even if I do want to beat your ass.”

  Samuel gri
ns, shooting his cuffs. My brother was always equally at home in a custom Brioni suit as he was in scuffed-up work boots and a flannel. “I’ll take both those things as a compliment.”

  “So, listen.” I climb out of the cart, and Hank stands beside me. “I mean it this time, Samuel. Do me a favor and don’t sleep with Emma, all right? I know you’re not crazy about hiring a sommelier, but if we want to take our wine and food programs to the next level, we need someone like her. Got it?”

  Samuel looks away. “You really think I’d sleep with a potential employee? C’mon. I know better than that. Plus, I have a girlfriend.”

  “No, you don’t,” Hank says.

  “Shut up,” Samuel replies crisply.

  “I’m serious, Samuel. I’ve been after Emma for years. She’s the best of the best. Don’t fuck this up.”

  While working at Blue Mountain Farm is a draw for employees, living in a small town pretty much in the middle of nowhere isn’t. The booming foodie scene in nearby Asheville has made hiring chefs, line cooks, servers, and bartenders a little easier, but I’ve had trouble finding a top-tier sommelier.

  “I know my way around wine.” A muscle in Samuel’s jaw clenches. “No one’s collection beats mine, despite what Forbes says.”

  Each of us Beauregard boys has our own indulgence. For me, it’s cars. Hank loves watches. Rhett has become a mini real estate mogul. Even Milly has her own collections of bonds and bags.

  But Samuel? Samuel collects girls and wine. In fact, part of his massive wine collection became the foundation for our wine program here at the resort.

  As director of food and wine at Blue Mountain Farm, he wanted to continue to oversee the wine program. But it’s a big job, and I know our guests expect a certain caliber of professional knowledge Samuel just doesn’t possess.

  “Fine,” Samuel groans. “By the way, did Milly tell you about Nate Kingsley? He’s coming up to the mountain tomorrow to make a delivery for that big wedding she’s doing in April for John Bevin and Celeste Loo.”

  John Bevin is a famous R&B star. His fiancée, Celeste, is an even more famous Thai-American model. Landing their wedding was a huge win for the resort. It’s our first celebrity wedding, and we hope it won’t be the last.