Home > Crave (The Gibson Boys #3)(13)

Crave (The Gibson Boys #3)(13)
Author: Adriana Locke

I tug open the door. Cool air rushes against my skin as my stomach tumbles at Machlan’s energy pummeling me from somewhere close. My eyes adjust to the light.

Machlan is standing at the end of the bar, wearing a pair of jeans and a black collared shirt stretched over his body. The sleeves are short enough to display the end of the colorful art decorating the top of his right arm. It’s only when the person beside him turns to face me do I even realize he’s not alone.

“Hadley?” Spencer Eubanks’s face breaks into a smile. “Is that you?”

“Mr. Eubanks,” I say, hoping I’m covering my confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Machlan stands behind Spencer. His hand motions between me and Spencer and ends with a shrug. I give him a subtle shake of the head.

“I was talking with Machlan about a business proposal,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

I ignore his second question and, instead, focus on the first. “A business proposal? This sounds interesting.”

“It’s not.” Machlan flashes me a look. “What do you need, Had?”

Climbing on a barstool a couple of seats down from the end to leave plenty of space between me and the men, I smile. “I wanted to talk to you about a proposal of my own.”

There’s a glimmer in Machlan’s eyes that tells me he took that the wrong way. My thighs pull together in an ill-fated attempt at dulling the combustion at the seat of my core.

The fucker somehow reads this, or at least predicts it, because the corner of his lip flickers toward the ceiling. I glare at him for good measure.

“Do you know each other well?” Spencer asks. His question feels like someone just walked in on me dressing, and I actually jump.

I laugh. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you know each other well.”

“I’ve known Mach since I was fourteen,” I tell him. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Machlan shakes his head, walking around the bar and positioning himself between Spencer and me. My focus starts to waver as the intoxicating mixture of his cologne and energy wallops me from head to toe.

“Friends,” Machlan repeats. His lips twist in amusement. “That’s us. Friends.”

“Maybe that’s too strong of a word.” I flip my gaze back to Spencer. “We’ve been acquaintances for a long time. My brother and Machlan are best friends. We’re just in the same circle, I guess.”

Machlan completely ignores Spencer’s presence. He pierces me with his gaze. I shift in my seat and try to block out the questions Machlan is burning into my brain.

I take a deep breath and try to redirect this mess. “How is your mother?” I ask Spencer.

“Oh, she’s good. She and Dad are leaving for their end-of-summer vacation next week. It’s all I hear about.”

“Did they pick Oregon or Maine?” I ask.

Spencer starts to answer, but Machlan cuts him off.

“How do you two know each other again?” he asks, obviously perturbed.

“Hadley has worked in my mother’s dental office for quite a while now,” Spencer says. “Mom thinks a lot of her.”

My cheeks heat. “Well, your mom is pretty amazing.”

Spencer releases the handle to his briefcase. His arms cross over his chest as he looks at me, then at Machlan, and finally back at me.

The feeling in the room changes, shifting from an easy banter to something more serious. Machlan feels it too because he takes a step toward me.

“Hadley …” Spencer takes a deep breath, looks briefly at Machlan, and then rests his attention back on me. “Do you come here a lot?”

I have no idea what’s going on. The way he asks this question makes me immediately uncomfortable, and Machlan’s reaction to it worries me. He stretches his neck like he does when he’s frustrated, and that’s never, ever a good thing.

Suddenly, I’m curious. Probably too curious for my own good.

“I do,” I lie. “Why do you ask?”

Machlan mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t make it out.

“How much do you know about this business?” Spencer asks.

“Let’s leave her out of this,” Machlan says.

“Um, let’s not.” I lean against the bar and settle in.

Spencer sighs. “I know Hadley. I trust her judgment.”

“That’d be your first mistake,” Machlan says.

I rise up. “Excuse me?” Not that I particularly care what this is all about, but I’m not about to be excluded from it now. Not after that little comment. “I know a ton about this business.”

“You do, do you?” Machlan asks.

Spencer smiles. “Have you ever worked here?”

My heartbeat quickens as I see my opening. Machlan sees it too. His lips part to interject before I can say something stupid, which I’m about to do. But, lucky for me, I can talk faster than him.

“Funnily enough, I’m starting here this week.” The words come out in a rush—almost as quick as the glare from Machlan. “I have a couple of weeks before I start my new job, so I told Mach I’d come by and help out.”

“Oh my God,” Machlan groans.

Spencer picks up his briefcase. With a distinct nod of his head, he turns to Machlan. “I’ll have a contract sent to you tonight.”

“What?” Machlan’s eyes grow wide.

“I don’t know.” Spencer laughs. “Not that your presentation wasn’t compelling, but I feel better about this knowing Hadley knows you. You know how it is in this day and age. Who do you trust?”

“You can trust him,” I say, softer than I intend. “You can trust Machlan.”

The rise and fall of Machlan’s chest matches mine—in and out in such rapid succession that it makes it hard to actually even breathe. Spencer says something about faxing the contract again, and Machlan nods. I wave without looking as Spencer says goodbye.

Before I know it, it’s just me and Machlan. And Machlan doesn’t look happy.

Machlan

“What the fuck was that?”

My words are ringing through the air as the door slams shut behind Spencer. There’s a bite to my tone, a jagged edge to each syllable that’s delivered with precision. I wait for Hadley to react. All I get is a slight roll of her eyes.

“What’s what?” she asks.

My head spins, the events of the last few minutes tumbling through my mind and clamoring against each other. I can’t make sense of any of it.

“You don’t trust me,” I say. “So what was that all about? Why did you lie for me?”

“I didn’t say I trusted you.”

“You just told Spencer he could.”

She jumps off the stool and places her hands on her narrow hips. “That’s Spencer.”

She’s inches away, close enough for me to actually hear every breath she takes. Each soft intake of air feels like an invisible arm pulling me toward her.

Everything inside me is screaming—from the elation, and relief, of getting the building. From the irritation of Hadley intervening. From the proximity of her body to mine and from the smug look she’s flipping my way.

“Did you want this or not, Mach?”

“Clarify this.”

“Fuck you.”

I grin. “Is that an offer?”

Her arms cross over her chest, but the posture is muted by the way her lips part. “Clearly not.” She flushes. “But thanks for going there.”

“It was your mind that went straight to the gutter.”

She drops her arms at the same time she pulls her lip between her teeth. She’s definitely not doing it for my benefit because she has no way to know how hard it is for me not to reach forward and run my thumb along her jaw and free it. There’s no way she knows this is the exact look, complete with the lust in her eyes I’m scared of never seeing again, that I replay as I lie in bed alone and get off to memories of being entangled in my sheets with her.

“You could’ve just said thank you,” she points out.

“I could’ve.”

“You should’ve.”

“I would’ve if you hadn’t sidetracked me.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Whatever. You’ve never thanked me for anything in your life.”

I step toward her until her back is pressed against the bar. Her eyes are wide, her breathing as heavy as mine, but she makes no indication this isn’t where she wants to be.

“I can think of a few times I’ve thanked you,” I say. My voice is as thick as the air around us, gritty with the pent-up frustration I’ve had since she walked her tight little ass into Crave. “Are you going to pretend you forgot?”

“I never pretend.”

“So you remember when I thanked you for making those cupcakes up here for my eighteenth birthday?” The memory of what we did with that icing hits me in the groin.

Her pupils widen. “Yes.”

“And you remember when I thoroughly thanked you for picking me up the night Peck and I got caught throwing corn at the sheriff’s cars out by Bluebird?”

Whether it’s intentional or not, I don’t know, but she angles her body subtly toward me. Her breath is hot against my skin with every little gush of air that escapes her lips. Every move she makes floods me with the scent of her floral perfume and the sweet smell of her skin.

She swallows. “Yes. I remember that. Very well, actually.”

I don’t move. I’m rooted in place by her stare. It’s for the best because I’m not sure what I want to do first—shove my face into the crook of her neck or twist her around and bend her over the bar. Neither of which is probably a good idea if I really think about it. Good thing that not thinking things through is one of my best qualities.

My arm raises until my hand cups the side of her face. She gasps before a full-body shiver slides across her delicate skin. Her eyes are wide, glued to my lips, as I lower them to her.

   
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