A Taste of Temptation

Book 3: Honeywilde Romance

by Heather McGovern

Genres: Women's Fiction; Siblings

Synopsis

Nestled in the lush green mountains of North Carolina, the Honeywilde Inn will be a romantic’s dream getaway, if only the Bradley siblings can keep it running. It will take a combination of hard work, good luck, and the kind of love that dreams are made of . . .

Sophie Bradley can always count on Wright. He's not just her brother’s best friend, he's practically part of the family. His honesty and willingness to listen are a constant comfort, and his culinary skills are a huge selling point for the inn. But when a casual moment in the kitchen turns electric, an impulsive kiss leaves her weak in the knees—a kiss Wright dismisses as “temporary insanity” and insists will never happen again.

How could he have done it? Wright feels like a big enough jerk, disappointing his parents with his career choices—plus he's secretly entertaining job offers from restaurants coast-to-coast. He's betraying everyone. . . and now he's kissed his best friend's sister. The only option is to hit the brakes, hard. But once Sophie's been kissed, she can't be unkissed, and as things start falling apart around him, Wright wonders if a momentary lapse might be the beginning of something extraordinary.

Release date: April 25, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 352

Sample

“What’s that smell? Is something on fire?”

Sophie cut her eyes at Devlin. “Do you mind? I’m mid-order here.” She needed their bartender’s wish list so she could place a call to the vendor tomorrow. Then at least one thing would be off her to-do list. “I don’t smell anything.”

She went back to leaning on the bar, writing down what Steve wanted. At the end, she added a few extras, just in case.

One could never have enough swizzle sticks.

“You seriously don’t smell that?” Her brother got up from his usual spot at a nearby table.

Like her, Dev preferred doing all of his paperwork after hours, in Honeywilde’s restaurant. He claimed it was the only time he could work without interruption. Yet here he was, doing a fantastic job of interrupting her.

He walked past the bar, scowling and sniffing as he went.

She and Steve shared a look.

All summer long, Dev had been slightly left of center. Dev lived left of center, but this summer, even more so. In the weeks since he’d met and fallen in love with Anna, he swung back and forth between being completely distracted by love or totally fixated on random things. To the point that nothing could derail him.

Like right now, and his insistence he smelled smoke.

“I’m telling you, something is on fire.” Dev headed toward the kitchen.

He’d always had a flair for the dramatic as well, but Sophie eased off her stool to follow him anyway.

Even on her tippy-toes, she could barely see through the swinging doors’ small windows into the restaurant’s kitchen, but there were no flames or smoke that she could tell. Only Devlin being Devlin.

She rolled her eyes as he pushed open the double doors that led to the back. “You’re imagining things. The kitchen is not—Holy shit, the kitchen is on fire!”

Sophie bolted through the doors. She pushed past her brother to find the stove engulfed in smoke and white clouds, Wright standing in the midst of it as he doused the open oven with a fire extinguisher.

Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. She opened her mouth to say his name, fear choking off any sound.

Steve rushed in and skidded to a stop beside her.

“I’m okay.” Wright turned toward them, answering her unasked question. “Kitchen is okay. I saw the flames in time.” He cursed and sprayed the oven with the fire extinguisher one more time, though it did appear any fire was completely out. “That damn thing catching my oven on fire is all.” He jabbed his finger toward the racks of the oven.

Sophie couldn’t make out what damn thing he meant because the inside of the oven was all foamy white.

Dev moved closer and glanced inside. “What is it?”

Wright took a step back and slammed the extinguisher down on the prep table. “It was a pie. Jesus. About gave me a heart attack.”

Him?

Her chest aching, Sophie braced her hands on the other side of the prep table, trying to catch her breath. Her mind hadn’t had time to fully comprehend the scene before her. All she knew was Wright and fire, deadly flames, thoughts of him being injured, or worse.

She’d had enough loss for one lifetime. She couldn’t handle losing anyone else.

With a steadying breath, she loosened her grip on the table.

Now was not the time or the place to crack up. Wright was fine. A little kitchen mishap.

For almost two months now, they hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other, and even then, only if it was necessary for their jobs. She’d frozen him out, with good reason, but the idea of him getting hurt . . .

No. Just no.

“Are you all right?” Dev grabbed Wright’s shoulder, looking him over.

There was a time Sophie would’ve done the same. Without a trace of self-consciousness, she would’ve put her hands on Wright, reassuring herself he was unharmed, still there for her, unwavering and steady. Her Wright.

But those days were gone.

“I’m fine. Adrenaline kicked in, damn heart is racing and I’m pissed off, but fine.”

She managed to make her way to the shelves of glassware, plucked a short tumbler from its spot and, with shaking hands, got water, straight from the tap. Mouth dry, if she spoke now, her shakiness and concern would be obvious.

Wright couldn’t know how rattled she was. Their friendship embargo was her choice and her doing. Falling apart in front of him, all because she thought he was hurt, would demolish the walls she’d put up.

Those walls were there to protect her. They had to stay.

But she had to do or say something. Dev had already given her the inquisition about her and Wright not speaking. If she remained silent after a kitchen fire, he’d be all over her again, wanting to know why.

She refilled the glass again. With a nod, she placed it on the prep table, near Wright.

He stared at her as Dev kept talking, but she was not going to make eye contact.

“What were you baking?” Steve asked.

“The goal was bourbon-soaked cherry pie.”

Dev clapped him on the back. “Man, if you’re soaking shit in bourbon, you might be asking for a few flames.”

Before, Sophie would’ve given Wright hell about causing a fire too—or taken any chance to tease or pick at him, as he would with her. She’d have done so out of reflex and never thought twice.

Now she overthought every interaction, and there’d be no way she could tease him. The loss twisted the empty spot inside her into a knot.

Too much had happened; too many things said between them. Hurtful, angry words that couldn’t be taken back. They couldn’t return to the role of buddies who joked around, nothing heavy, no real weight, between them.

And instead of saying the sight of his kitchen, thick with smoke, filled her with fear and panic, she said nothing. Her hands on her ribs like her heart might suddenly break through, she simply stood there. Silent.

Wright lightly shoved Dev, muttering a curse. “It wasn’t the bourbon. The butter dripped out of the pan and hit the coils. I made one without any issues, so I wasn’t hawk-eyeing the second one.”

Dev turned to the unsinged pie, cooling on the counter. “I vote you keep trying. I’m willing to be the guinea pig if you need one.”

“I’ll keep at it. Minus the flambé.” Wright glared at the stove, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists.

He was clearly shaken and more than a little angry at himself, no matter how much he joked about flambés. He always joked more when something bothered him, and right now he was rattled.

Whether she was mad at him or not, it was her unofficial job in the family, and at Honeywilde, to soothe raw nerves. If she didn’t calm the waters, no one would.

She clicked into operations manager mode. “Dev, Steve? We don’t want to use the good kitchen towels to clean up once everything cools. Why don’t you grab some of the housekeeping towels in storage downstairs.” If she could send Steve and her brother on a task, it’d give Wright a few minutes to bounce back.

“Good idea. You sure you’re okay?” Dev checked on his best friend one last time.

“Yeah, man. I’m great. Irritated, but great.”

With a laugh and another pat, Dev left, with Steve right behind him.

A moment passed before Wright turned to her, yet didn’t meet her gaze. “Thanks for that.”

Suddenly, the privacy of the moment was unmistakable. She was alone with Wright, in the kitchen.

A million times they’d been in here, chatting or commiserating, nothing new or unnerving—except for the one time it was.

Lifting her gaze, she studied the top of Wright’s bent head.

He was turning the fire extinguisher around, probably berating himself for what he believed was some great failure.

Wright took his work very seriously, and no one was a harsher critic.

“It’s a pie. No one got hurt.” She pointed out the facts that they both needed to hear.

Wright jerked his chin up, their gazes colliding. “I know. But they could’ve. I’m a better chef than that. I wasn’t paying attention because. . .”

Because of things like what’d happened between them in this very kitchen, over a month ago? Or things like breaking up with his girlfriend immediately after?

“So stupid. I’ve made dozens of pies.”

She hated feeling sympathy for Wright, especially after all that’d happened, but she did.

It wasn’t stupid for him to have a lot on his mind after the breakup, and toss in how much his parents probably flipped out about it . . .

Holy wow, they were hard on Wright. She could imagine the hell he caught for not making things work with a girl as perfect as Katherine Hurst.

No, woman. Katherine was not a girl. She probably hadn’t been a girl since she was ten years old.

Sophie didn’t want to ask. Shouldn’t ask, but the ugliest part of her—the dark place where she carefully hid her jealousy and resentment, any bitterness or other unattractive feelings—had to know.

“Were you thinking about her?”

“No.” His answer came quickly and Wright chuffed, startling her. “I have more important things to worry about besides all that.”

More important things?

Wright’s breakup with Kate had come fast and hard. Not a friendly parting of ways or even a consolatory “Let’s still be friends.” Their relationship got nuked in one day, and it’d stunned everyone.

The consensus around town, and the inn, was Kate might be the one for Wright. Pretty, sweet, wealthy family to keep his parents happy. Then Wright straight up dumped her.

Some tiny, nonenvious part of her actually felt bad for Kate.

Wright had his flaws, and he’d been a complete asshole to Sophie last month, but her family excluded, he was still ten times better than every other guy she knew—which might not be saying much, now that she thought about it. Most of the guys in Windamere were dicks.

“Kate and I are old news.” Wright jerked his gaze away before picking up the extinguisher and placing it back on the wall. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m not worried about you.” She crossed her arms as she lied.

Of course she was worried about him. She worried about everyone under this roof, but this was Wright.

They’d known each other since the Bradleys adopted her. He was one of her closest friends, and they’d hardly spoken all summer.

But he was so aggravating. And talking to him again jumbled her nerves, tilting her off balance. The silent treatment had sucked, but not talking at all was still easier than this.

Before, they could talk about anything. Dates, guys, girls, sports, food, her brother Dev. Nothing was off-limits and nothing was uncomfortable.

Until Wright went and ruined it all.

During the planning of the Blueberry Festival, when Dev was completely consumed and distracted by all things Anna, and everyone was busy planning, she and Wright had taken a sharp left turn into terrain neither of them could navigate.

Now here they were. Wandering. Lost, and off track. And it was all Wright’s fault.

Two months earlier

Sophie swung her feet, her heels bumping the cabinets under the kitchen’s side counter. “Matt might win worst date ever. He didn’t get my humor, I could tell he wasn’t into me, but he still tried to kiss me. No.”

Wright hopped up next to her, ready to run color commentary on her ill-fated love life, same as they always did. “This is your third date. He must be a little into you.”

“How do you know it’s our third date?”

With a pop of his eyebrows, he shrugged. “I . . . I don’t know. Probably because you complained about the other two as well.”

And there was the tone; the judgment in Wright’s voice when it came to her dating life and her awful track record.

He wasn’t wrong. She had a long list of failed second dates, and a guy would have to be nuts to want to be with her, but still, Wright could’ve dialed it back a smidge.

“Matt isn’t into me. He’s into getting laid. There’s a difference.”

“Then screw him.” Wright bumped his arm against hers. “I mean figuratively, not literally. If he’s that big an asshole, you’re better off finding that out now.”

They sat close enough together that their arms kept bumping, even when Wright didn’t do it intentionally. She could easily rest her head on his shoulder, if she considered doing such.

Which was only every other day.

With a heavy sigh, she admitted the truth. “He wanted me to be someone I’m not.”

“Why would he want you to be someone else? That doesn’t make sense.”

She asked herself the very same question all the time, but digging for the answer would be too painful to bear.

“I don’t know.” She tried playing it off. “I could just tell. He wanted a certain kind of girl, and I’m not it.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

The kind no one really wants.

“I don’t know.” She bristled at his concern. Wright had his own girl. A perfect paragon of charm and sophistication, who probably had sex with him every night without a single hang-up or ounce of neurosis.

Kate was everything she wasn’t, but Sophie wasn’t jealous. Their happiness gnawed at her insides, but that wasn’t jealousy.

“You don’t know?” His question dripped with sarcasm.

“Forget I said anything.”

“I thought you wanted to talk about it.”

“It’s just . . . I don’t know. I’m burned out. I’m better off alone anyway. I have my family to worry about. That’s enough to deal with.”

His arm brushed her again. “You’re not better off alone. Everybody needs someone.”

“I wouldn’t mind being alone.” Now that her brothers had someones of their own, she might get a little lonely, but she’d survive.

“Hey.” Wright leaned in before turning toward her. He waited quietly until she met his gaze. “You won’t be alone unless you want to be. You’re great. Matt is the one with the problem.”

She had no response. Not only because she vehemently disagreed, but because he was so close. Looking at her like he sometimes did, soulful brown eyes, seeing something special in her. She forgot how to speak.

Her brothers loved her, but as far as romantic relationships, she was terminally solo. A few dates followed by long stretches of a singular existence. Her solitude was her choice. It had never bothered her until this year. The rest of her family was moving on, finding love and happiness.

Sometimes she wanted someone in her life. More and more, she found herself longing to be with someone. And that’s what scared her.

Being with someone meant letting them in. Too often, letting them in meant losing them.

In the silence, Wright eased closer, putting his arm around her, trying to comfort. “Soph, I mean it. You aren’t meant to be alone. Don’t say that.”

“I’m fine. Probably hormones or something. I don’t know.”

“Maybe because it’s summertime? July fourth isn’t so far away.”

She turned to him. “How did you—”

“Come on.” His gaze was tender, eyes soft with sympathy. “We’ve lived in the same small town our whole lives. I remember when the accident happened. Everyone remembers.”

Her parents’ car accident. Her accident. Except she was still here, and they were long gone.

“Every year about this time, you’re a little off. Not really yourself. It’s understandable.”

Except this was herself. She was always a little off. Beneath the managerial efficiency and enthusiasm, she was uncertain and unsure. She might be able to run an inn and wrangle her family, but when it came to handling a personal life, she hadn’t a clue.

“I was so little when they died.” When she’d loved and lost them. “I don’t know why this time of year still messes with me. It’s stupid.”

He tightened his arm around her, tucking her close. A comforting hold that soothed her ragged nerves. “No, it is not. They were your parents.”

She pressed in close, refusing to cry. The anniversary of their death was coming up on twenty-two years. What the hell was wrong with her that this time of year still made her nuts?

Wright’s warmth and closeness were both things she desperately needed but would never ask for.

With him, she didn’t feel alone.

Theirs wasn’t the kind of togetherness she had with her brothers. Never had been. There were times she’d dreamt of them being more than friends. When she was a teenager, again in college, then most recently before he started dating Kate.

Then reality would kick in.

They could never be more than friends. Her family would be shocked, and his family would have a conniption. Toss in that, to Wright, she was first and foremost the Bradley brat sister—romance was never going to happen.

Her consolation was Wright chose to be her friend; he didn’t have to be. He chose to be with her late at night, fixing the world’s problems, and she chose him. It was nice to know that somebody, somewhere liked her for her, and they could be together without fear of everything falling apart.

He rubbed her shoulder, his touch light against the top of her head as he brushed over her hair. “You’re going to be okay. You’re having a bad run of dates and it’s a shit time of year, that’s all. And you insist on going out with these losers.”

A puff of laughter escaped her, jostling both of them. Didn’t he see these losers were the only ones interested?

“Sorry, but it’s true. You could do so much better.” He kept his arm around her, touching her.

“No, I can’t.”

“Hey.” He leaned away, making her look up. “Yes, you can. I don’t want to hear that kind of stuff from you. Got it?”

Then she wouldn’t say more. Didn’t mean she wasn’t still thinking it.

Wright tucked her back against him, his hand warm on her shoulder. “I’ll find you someone. I know some decent guys . . . I think. Who aren’t your brothers.”

As they sat there, Wright trying to think of someone for her to date, the energy between them began to shift.

The change was so slow, so subtle, that she didn’t recognize the difference until it was already upon her.

Wright moved his hand to her hair, threading his fingers through the waves to the ends, caressing her back. And she didn’t stop him.

His touch was nice. Gentle.

No, it was more than nice. Her skin tingled, warmth spreading from her scalp, down her neck, and over her limbs. She craved touch. His touch, and their closeness, even as she knew this wasn’t what friends did.

She didn’t stop him.

As a matter of fact, her thirteen-year-old self was jumping for joy.

What if?

What if she and Wright could be more than friends?

As foolhardy as the thought was . . . what if?

But Wright had been dating Kate for months now. In Windamere, that was grounds to be called a potential fiancé. The women who Wright dated were always sophisticated, stylish.

Sophie felt more like a girl than a woman. Half tomboy, half spastic kid sister. For god’s sake, she had freckles and only owned one pair of heels.

Wright didn’t want someone like her. His track record proved it.

She risked a glance up. He was so close, gaze hooded and his face even more handsome than usual.

She wasn’t oblivious to Wright’s good looks. Since she’d come home from college, she’d been even more aware of how truly attractive Wright was.

Good-natured, even-tempered, always steady Wright. Capable of being as goofy as always, but he’d grown into a man. With a rough baritone voice and more rugged features to match, the lanky boy she once knew was gone.

In the four years she’d been consumed with college, Wright had been consumed with culinary arts—and catching a severe case of hotness.

Yet he was still Wright. Like a brother to her, and her brother’s best friend. Thinking of him in any way other than platonic . . . it knotted her up inside.

But not necessarily in a bad way.

A thrill rippled through her body.

He touched her hair again, weaving his fingers through the thick waves. He cupped the back of her head, his palm warm and wide against her skull. Then, so gently she almost missed it, he scratched his nails near the nape of her neck.

A shiver shot across her skin and she bit down on her bottom lip.

She wanted to lean into the contact, let him touch her that way everywhere. Softly drag his nails down her back.

Oh god, she was leaning into his touch. Leaning into him.

His hand drifted lower, to the small of her back, as he leaned slightly toward her.

She wanted him to kiss her.

For years, she’d wondered about Wright’s kiss. How would it feel? How would he taste?

As he leaned in, she was frozen by her longstanding curiosity, held in place by her desire to have a guy like Wright as her own, but knowing she could never actually have him.

Wright brushed his lips against hers, tentative at first. Her pulse thumped, her heart doing back flips within her chest. When she didn’t stop his gentle exploration, he covered her mouth with his, and she whimpered.

He was as warm and sweetly solid as she’d dreamed. Her little noise of need spurred him on, and as he deepened the kiss, all she could manage was to hang on.

She opened to him and Wright swept his tongue inside her mouth, brushing against hers. He sucked at her bottom lip before dipping in again, and Sophie was like putty.

Pressed against him, she gave herself over to the kiss.

This was really happening. It wasn’t a daydream or something she conjured up. Wright was kissing her.

He touched her face, fingers dancing across her cheek, then down her neck. He brushed past the buttons of her Honeywilde polo and cupped her breast.

Her begrudgingly small breast.

But he moaned against her lips. A greedy, carnal noise of appreciation, and heat coiled between her legs.

Wright wanted her.

He wanted her.

Eagerness and need bolted through her, followed quickly by fear. And guilt.

Wright wasn’t hers. He was with someone else. He had a girlfriend. A decent girl. And Sophie was the other woman. She was screwing things up; behaving like some kind of home-wrecker.

Her muscles went stiff as she jerked away. “What—What are you doing?”

Wright flinched, taking his hands off her like he’d been burned. In a blur of movement, he was off the counter and on the other side of one of the prep tables. “I don’t . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t know?”

Wright had a serious girlfriend. He was not that kind of guy, and Sophie wasn’t that kind of girl. He was one of the good ones. In her mind, he would never.

But he’d kissed her.

Since when did Wright McAdams kiss her?

Sophie slid from the counter and followed. “That was . . . what were we doing?”

“Nothing.” Both of his hands went up. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were doing something.”

His face drained of color, his eyes going wide before he blinked. A lot. “No, I didn’t.”

A honker of a lie if she’d ever heard one, and her brain zigzagged between excitement and disgust, elation and devastation.

If Wright wanted to kiss her, she couldn’t be a total loss. He dated these perfect women and he was pretty close to perfect himself.

Except . . . if he wanted to kiss her, then really, he was far from perfect. Guys with girlfriends didn’t kiss other girls. They especially didn’t kiss their best friend’s little sister.

There was no winning ticket here, no matter how she looked at it. Either he hadn’t planned on kissing her and she did it, and she. . .