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Ava Grace Landy’s music career is humming along until a shakeup at her label jeopardizes her recording contract and curses her with the world’s worst boss. Determined to satisfy him, she partners with Trinity Distillery to access a larger male audience. To her surprise, she’s the one who’s satisfied—by none other than Jonah Beck, the gorgeous, yet gruff man behind the bourbon.
No doubt about it, bourbon runs in Beck’s blood. But it’s audacious Ava Grace who makes it run hot. When she signs on as the spokesperson for his craft distillery, he doesn’t plan on hoisting her onto an oak barrel and rocking the rickhouse. Though he’s convinced their lives don’t mix—like a terrible cocktail—he can’t keep his hands off the alluring country star.
Ava Grace and Beck try to keep their intoxicating relationship private, but the glare of her fame is too bright, revealing secrets they both want to remain hidden. With a spotlight shining on his tumultuous past, their future is at risk. Now they must decide if being together is worth sacrificing the career she loves and the company he’s poured his heart and soul into.
Beck’s marshmallow had turned a nice golden brown, so he pulled it from the fire pit and carefully removed it from the skewer. Hot to the touch, the melted marshmallow oozed over his fingers as he placed it on the chocolate and graham cracker stack.
“What kind of s’more are you making?” Ava Grace asked.
As he pressed a graham cracker on top of the marshmallow, he thought about ignoring her question. He didn’t want to be drawn into conversation with her. It was bad enough he had to sit next to her and pretend not to notice the lacy waistband of her pastel pink panties when she leaned forward to toast her marshmallow.
Good manners eventually prevailed. “I’m a traditionalist. Plain graham crackers, milk chocolate, and vanilla marshmallow.” He sucked the marshmallow from his fingers before asking, “What about you?”
“I’m a non-traditionalist,” she answered with a smile, rotating her skewer over the fire pit. “Chocolate graham crackers, dark chocolate, and peppermint marshmallow.”
“That’s adventurous,” he gibed.
She glanced at him, the flames of the fire bringing out the gold in her eyes. “Under the right circumstances, I can be very adventurous.”
“Hmm,” he replied noncommittally while his cock demanded to know two things: what were the right circumstances, and how adventurous was very adventurous?
He looked toward the fire pit, and when he noticed her marshmallow was getting a little too done, he tapped her forearm. “Your marshmallow’s burning.”
She immediately pulled it from the flames and began to ease it from the skewer. She hissed when gooey marshmallow got all over her hand.
“Dang, that’s hot,” she murmured, raising her fingers to her mouth.
As she licked the pink stickiness from them, blood rushed to his groin, his cock throbbing with every beat of his heart. He mentally reminded himself to avoid situations that involved Ava Grace and sticky or creamy foods.
In fact, he needed to avoid all situations that involved Ava Grace. Period.
He couldn’t think straight with her around. Earlier this evening, he’d almost kissed her, and a crazy, stupid part of him—his dick—wished he hadn’t pulled back. His dick wanted to know if she tasted as good as she smelled … if her petal-pink lips were as soft as they looked.
Trying not to think about her mouth and all the adventurous things she could do with it, he took a big bite of his s’more. As he chewed, he tried to recall the last time he’d eaten one. Probably back in high school, before everything turned to shit.
“You seem to be an expert marshmallow toaster,” Ava Grace noted, a teasing lilt in her husky voice. “How’d you gain that experience?”
“I went camping a lot when I was little, and we always toasted marshmallows over the fire.”
The memory made him a little sad. Even after all these years, he still missed his dad. Nothing could fill that void.
“So you learned by example,” she said as she built her s’more.
“I guess you could say that.” He leaned back in the Adirondack chair and propped his ankle on his knee. “Did you go camping when you were a kid?”
“No. I’ve never been camping. But I’d like to go someday. Sleeping under the stars sounds so romantic.” She flashed a teasing smile at him. “Maybe you can take me.”
Strangely, the thought of taking Ava Grace camping sounded like fun. He had no doubt she’d have plenty to say about the outing, and she’d deliver those observations in that sexy, wry tone that both amused and aroused him.
And after the sun went down, he’d build a blazing fire and stretch out under the stars. He’d pull her on top of him and watch her as she rode him, her head thrown back, her eyes shut, and her thick hair streaming behind her.
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