Three Reckless Words: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 3)
Three Reckless Words: Chapter 10

God fucking damn.

How is she sweeter than that purple honey?

This woman is a human drug.

Small, yet all-consuming.

Shy, yet brave enough to make demands.

Broken, yet still boiling with passion.

When she opens her mouth, tongue sliding against mine, I react on instinct, pulling her closer, stealing another moan from her lips.

Yeah, fuck, she tastes as good as she feels under my hands.

I swear I want to maul her.

My hands sweep lower, grabbing her ass. I don’t care how hard I squeeze those cheeks.

I’m already drunk on this Sugarbee, devouring her one messy kiss at a time, both of us breathless and making noises that aren’t human.

Her body kills me.

Lush hips and full, heavy breasts that seem strange on her small frame. I’ve been seeing her naked in my head since the first day we met.

And since that first almost-kiss? I haven’t jerked off so much in years, throwing myself under ice-cold showers, only to have Winnie’s pussy invade my mind. Fucking hounding me until I fist-pump ropes of come from my cock.

Now, those ropes may wind up where they belong.

What the hell is wrong with me?

This sickness, it isn’t me.

It’s just making out, one long mistake we should stop any second, as soon as we come to our senses, but my entire body burns.

I rub a thumb along her breast and she gasps in my mouth. Her soft arms cling to my shoulders, pinning her to me.

I sink my teeth into her bottom lip, biting her again.

It’s like she doesn’t know how mad she makes me, how fucking sexy she is.

In hindsight, there’s no way I could’ve resisted the way she bit her lip as she watched me leave. A guarantee with another billion dollars, ten more years of life, and three more inches on my dick couldn’t have turned me away.

Resisting Winnie in the garden was a feat alone.

I don’t know how I managed.

She shreds my self-control with a single green-eyed glance and she doesn’t even know it.

That’s the best kind of seduction.

My favorite kind.

The kind where she’s oblivious to her own vixen power. It’s spontaneous, natural, and so fucking potent I worry I’ve lost brain cells in charge of my reason.

No, it’s not just the fact that I haven’t had so much as a quick hookup in years. Living like a monk for Colt, for my business, that’s been the norm.

It’s not this earthquake rippling through my life that’s taking me apart.

It’s her.

I forgot what pure, unfiltered woman feels like, and Winnie reminds me with every whimpering kiss, every caress of her round tits against my chest.

Holy shit.

I’m snarling hellfire through my teeth as I press her to the wall, shifting my hips so we’re aligned, my cock throbbing so hard it wants to knock me out cold.

We’ve been kissing for two minutes—hell, maybe two days for all I know—and I’m ready to rip right out of my pants.

If we don’t stop now, we never will.

It’s the uncontrollable nature, the feral animal inside me, that makes me breathe like my lungs are torn.

Her leg sweeps around mine, just enough to push her pussy against my thigh, so hot and slick even through the fabric.

“Archer, please. Anything you want,” she whispers. “Anything.”

That last little promise with her voice shaking, so brittle and helpless, jolts me back to my senses.

I throw myself back before I can’t, breaking free from her siren clutches.

We both stare at each other for a second in disbelief, our chests heaving.

Her green eyes are wide and dark.

Her lips look like they’ve been stung by one of those bees out there.

Somehow, I’ve done more damage than any hornet ever could.

I kissed her.

I fucking kissed her.

I fucked her lips with my tongue, promising one new obscene disaster after the next.

More than anything, I fucked myself, sending my soul—or at least my conscience—straight to hell by treating her like a toy.

Archer Rory, you colossal jackass.

It doesn’t matter how bad I want to kiss her again. I’m about to lose my mind and what tiny thread of self-control I’ve gotten back.

“I should go,” I grind out.

Her mouth drops like she wants to say something, but I can’t wait to hear it. Because the instant she asks me to stay, I’m going to march over and strip that shirt off over her head, and then—

No.

No, I can’t take advantage, even if she’s absolutely willing.

So I wheel around and storm back through the front door, damn near panic running to my SUV and setting off fast enough to kick up gravel.

When I dare to look back—big mistake—I see her standing in the doorway, all haunted eyes.

Dust finally obscures her face. Thank God.

I don’t need more heat or confusion or blinding lust.

Not now.

My hard-on jerks uncomfortably against my jeans, cursing me to my grave. I have to adjust myself, wondering if my balls are bluer than Papa Smurf.

Holy fuck, I need a cold bath or three to get her out of my head.

Then I need to forbid myself from ever winding up alone with Winnie again.

In the two days since I kissed her and signed my death warrant, I’ve held three Higher Ends meetings, signed more contracts and stupid damn documents than I can count, and dreaded seeing Rina at this lunch at Mom’s.

Any one of those things should be on my mind. Especially Rina and all the bad memories she brings, along with stale suspicion.

The divorce was messy.

The marriage was hardly any cleaner, and although I wouldn’t change a thing about Colt, I have enough regrets to fill a mountain.

Failing that, this new project in St. Louis should be taking up some grey matter. Dexter is determined to push on, and I know a lot of this is due to Junie and that brotherly rivalry we’ve got going on, but still.

It’s a big deal. We can’t jump the gun and wind up making errors.

Usually when these plans come up, I’m the guy who stops that from happening.

I’m not doing that today.

Instead, my brain stays glued to the bee-obsessed honey trap who’s living rent-free in my property and in my head.

This fucking blows.

Mom grins at me from the other side of the living room as Rina babbles over how tall and handsome and smart Colt is. He’s too old to enjoy anyone fussing over him, but I guess because it’s his mom, he takes it in stride.

“You’ve gotten so big. You’re going to be taller than your dad in another year or two,” she tells him for the fifth time.

“Uh, we’ll see. I’m still growing.”

“You’ll make it. Your uncles are tall guys too. If you want a break from trying to blow yourself up in labs, you should try modeling.” She reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“Mom, stop. Jeez. I wouldn’t be caught dead doing a runway walk.”

I force a smile even though the sound of her voice feels like a cheese grater on my soul. The sooner we’re done with this farce, the better.

“Did I tell you about my carvings?” he asks, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his camera roll. “Dad helps me a lot.”

Rina shoots me a look like she can’t believe I’d help develop his passions. I glare back at her flatly.

He’s my son. For him, I’ll stand around at the most boring-ass art fairs all day.

Thankfully, wood carving is far from dull. It keeps the mind and hands busy, and I have to admit Colt’s gotten pretty damn good.

“Oh, wow! Colt, honey…” She takes the phone and looks at the screen. “You made all of these birds?”

“Those are my early ones, yeah. Look, here’s one I finished last week.”

It’s a small wooden fox. The ears were the hardest part; the boy was in a panic for two weeks thinking they’d break off if he shaved them too thin.

Her eyes widen, and her reaction sets something off in my gut.

It could’ve been so different.

If she’d just been here, taking an interest in his life before now, she would have known about his art.

Just like she’d know he plows through advanced math well beyond his grade and he eats up everything related to science. She’d know he’s a regular at Mom’s art shows and we even started hiring out a table to sell his carvings in the summer.

People buy his stuff, too. I let him keep most of the profits for a little spending money and throw the rest into his college savings account.

I may be rich enough to make his future education a rounding error in my accounts, yes, but a kid should always have some of their own skin in the game.

Also, this is all new to Rina because she’s been an absentee mother for almost his entire life, only popping in when she feels like it with a gift and an unfulfilled promise of more to come.

More presents, more pop ins, more her.

To no one’s surprise, it never happens.

“Is that a cardinal?” she asks, beaming from ear to ear.

“Yep! I made it for Grandma.” Colt smiles too, all pride as he glances at Mom, who watches with the usual indulgent smile she reserves for her grandkids.

“Lucky Gram,” Rina says, keeping her smile pinned in place. “Do you think you could make something for me?”

For a second, he hesitates.

This is actually pissing me off, the chance that this could be some new head game.

“Uh, sure. What would you want?”

“Maybe one of you? Can you carve people?” She smiles. “Photos are nice, but having my boy in 3D would be pretty sweet.”

Why? Because she’s about to fuck off until he graduates high school?

I tense but keep my tongue in check as Colt considers her request before nodding.

Of course, he does.

There’s no way my kid will turn down a special request like that. Not from his mother, who he still loves like the good boy he is, even when she’s the last person alive who deserves it.

Eventually, he sits back and looks at the blue sky wistfully. He needs a break from all the coddling and unexpected praise.

I don’t blame him.

“Hey, why don’t you head outside, bud?” I suggest. “Looks like a beautiful day out there and Grandma could use some help with those weeds in her garden.”

“Okay, no prob. Is the trampoline still up?” he asks Mom. He might be thirteen, trying to be all mature, but he’s still a kid at heart.

“Not right now, but I can get it out for you.”

“Mom, don’t—”

“I can handle it, Archer,” she tells me, pulling her silk scarf off and tossing it on the sofa. “I might be old, but that doesn’t mean I’m too over the hill for a little exercise. Come on, Colt, let’s go.”

She gives me a knowing look that tells me I’m free to talk to Rina privately.

And maybe, despite the fact that she invited Rina here today, she wants me to talk to her, too.

“Have fun,” Rina whispers. There’s clear disappointment on her face as he sprints outside behind my mother.

Guess she didn’t get the memo. Active, healthy teenage boys don’t want to sit around and gab all day with moms who barely acknowledge their existence.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Okay, Rina, cut the crap. Why are you really here? I want answers.”

“Huh?” She looks at me, familiar antagonism written on her face. “Archer, don’t talk to me like that.”

“Is it money? Do you need some help again? You know I’m reasonable.” Or maybe it’s some inner angst, another relationship with some fuckboy gone to pieces, realizing her own mortality. Wouldn’t put it past her.

“Oh, please. I hate groveling for money, especially to you. I only ever asked when I had nowhere else to turn. Energy work and art don’t pay like real estate,” she spits. “It’s more like you pay me to get rid of me. I never got together with you for your money, Archer. You know that. I’m not here because of it now.”

“Yes, you’re a saint. You don’t give a fuck about the money.” I have to admit, it’s half-true.

She only comes calling when she’s in a bind, realizing she can’t support herself off erratic art gigs and astrology consultations alone.

I’ve always topped her off generously when she needs it, despite no obligation.

It’s for the family. I won’t have Colt worried sick about his mother, broke and living out on West Coast streets or wherever the hell she’s living now, dodging violent junkies and rusty nails or whatever.

“Can you give me a little credit?” She holds up two fingers with a sliver of space between them.

“Not with this. You haven’t given two shits about Colt since the divorce, and now you’re here fawning all over him. Why?”

She huffs loudly, rolling her eyes like a scorned teenage cheerleader.

“So this is how it’s gonna be?” Rina asks. “We can’t discuss this like adults? I see some things never change.”

Fuck her discussions.

I said I wanted answers.

I also hate that something about Rina’s presence brings back the hotheaded young man I used to be in my past life. Back before Colt, when her wildness attracted rather than repulsed me.

Back before I thought it would be anything serious. Back before I wanted anything serious and only gave in because we made a kid.

That’s not who I am anymore.

I’m better than Old Archer, who wanted to keep playing with fire after his dad died and he saw how short life could be.

I need to be better for my son.

That’s the whole-ass reason why I dragged myself away from an epic romp with Winnie Emberly, isn’t it?

“Fine. Talk,” I growl. Rina blinks sadly. Well, that makes two of us. “Should we rehash the facts? You moved to Portland with that art collective and you never came back for him. You never put in effort. Forgive me if I’m skeptical if I think a tigress never changes her stripes.”

Rina takes an angry breath. I think she’s going to bawl me out, but she just releases it then, long and slow.

“We were so young, Archer. We made so many mistakes,” she whispers, sounding genuinely sad. Like she isn’t just saying it for the sake of flapping her mouth.

Can’t disagree with her there.

One of the biggest mistakes was being together in the first place—and that’s a fuckup I would never change since it’s the reason Colt exists.

“We did,” I say. “Look, I won’t deny it. I’ll be the first to admit I made mistakes. We both did. But Colt, he’s my son. Our son. I had to figure out my shit and fast to look after him alone.”

And you didn’t.

I don’t say it, but the words hover over us like a sword.

Her fingers braid the knitted shawl she’s wearing over an oversized yellow shirt. “Yeah, you’re right. I know. I kept fucking up after he was born.”

Not just after—basically his entire life.

Thirteen years of mistakes.

The biggest was not being there to see how she’d perform as a real mom.

“I want what’s best for Colton. Simple as,” I tell her. “If he wants his mom, I won’t hold him back. But that also means you have to be his mom, Rina.”

“I know! I’m not stupid.” Agitated, she stands and paces across the floor, her shawl falling to the floor. For the first time, I get a good look at the sleeve of tattoos across her right arm.

And there, smack in the middle, I see the word Colt in cursive script. Bold and decisive. That’s definitely new.

The sight swings a hammer at my heart.

She just had to go and do that shit.

Get her son’s name tattooed on her arm. I’m not against tattoos when I’ve got a few myself, but I’ve always made it a rule to never wear anyone’s name.

People are too transient, fading in and out of life.

If I’d tattooed Rina’s name on my flesh, I would’ve carved it off rather than keep staring at the bitter reminder.

Back when we were together, I know she felt the same way. My name’s nowhere on her body—I can guarantee that.

But now she’s gone and branded herself with Colt’s name permanently.

“You of all people should know how hard it is to swallow your pride and admit you screwed up,” she snaps. “But here I am, doing it. Trying to, anyway. Doesn’t that count?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Why you’re actually here, swallowing your pride. The motive matters. It depends what you want out of this, Ri.” I stand in front of her, appreciating for the first time how small she is.

Winnie, she’s short too, but the coppery red hair and her boundless energy somehow make her seem taller.

Rina has folded in on herself, her eyes drilling through me. She stands like one more wrong word could break her.

“I’ve done a lot of growing up over the past few months, you know,” she says quietly, looking up at me like I can see the truth in her face. “A lot, okay? The last few years were rough. There’s a ton I regret. I just want to know my son before he’s a grown man. Before it’s too late… Is that really such a crime?”

Fuck me.

She’s saying all the right things, plucking the old heartstrings like a banjo. But there’s still that muddy ball of distrust she built over years of disappointment. I can’t just blink and shove the dirt aside.

If I believe her, if I give her another chance, it’s too likely she’ll let me down again—and more importantly, let Colt down, too.

I can’t let that happen.

My boy isn’t a grown man yet. He’s still a kid, susceptible to heartbreak and bad decisions. Having his mother abandon him for the fiftieth time when he’s old enough to understand it might scar him for life.

Fuck that.

Colt deserves better than a part-time parent who ghosts in and out of his life whenever she pleases. A parent who says the right words but doesn’t follow through.

A parent who only loves until she gets bored.

Yes, I get it.

Being a parent of any kind is fucking hard.

I learned that lesson better than anyone, and even though I’ve tried my best, I’ve made my mistakes. Now, I just don’t want to open him up to more hurt.

Only, the way Rina looks at me, all big eyes and that wounded expression, makes me think maybe I’m misjudging the situation.

She’s spent enough time away from us, living her life. What if she has come to her senses?

What if she just wants to be a positive force in his life before it’s too late?

Part of me thinks it already is.

Then again, if it was too late, Colt wouldn’t be hanging out with her like this. He wouldn’t answer her questions so gently, so freely, chatting up his accomplishments and smiling at her stories about beautiful beaches in Oregon and California.

He wants a mom.

Before I can say anything, or even figure out what the hell to say, Mom comes strolling back in the room.

“Trampoline is up and he’s jumping his heart out,” she says, all smiles and pleasantry.

It’s insane how she manages when she might just hate Rina more than I do.

Back when we first got together, she told me not to go through with it. The marriage, the counseling when the relationship was hanging by a thread, the everything.

The past is the past, though, and Mom’s mature enough to figure maybe there’s something more going on.

Adelaide Rory is a forgiving woman. She always gives people the benefit of the doubt, even when Rina Desmona only ever lets people down.

I guess that’s why I’m so damn protective over her, trying to keep away people who might exploit her generosity. It happens every year at her art shows and it pisses me off.

I’ll be fucked if Rina will be one more of those people.

She gives me another glance and smiles awkwardly at Mom. I think she knows as well as anyone that Mom doesn’t like her standing here, barfing up her heart.

“I’ll head out and replace Colt, then. Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

We don’t speak until after she leaves the room. Then Mom sits on the sofa and looks at me.

“This could be a good thing, Archer,” she says.

“You really think so?”

“Yes. Rina moving on and getting her act together means a lot for Colt. He’s at such a tender age. More importantly, it gives you a chance to move on.”

I snort impulsively.

Rina coming back won’t help me move shit—not that I need to move on, anyway.

If we weren’t psychoanalyzing my love life, it wouldn’t be a visit with Mom.

I’ve dated other women since Rina left. Even if those dates were more like coffee and a quick fuck. Enough to scratch an itch a few times a year when Colt goes away overnight with Mom or friends, never enough to mean anything, and that’s exactly how I like it.

It’s not like I’ve been celibate for a decade, pining away after my demented ex.

“Archer—”

“Mom, we’ll see,” I say. “Time will tell. I don’t trust a word she says.”

“I’m not just talking about Rina, honey.”

“Then what?”

“Why, the lovely young woman who’s been staying in your cabin. I heard you had a dessert date with her.”

Oh, shit.

This day just got better.

Damn Junie and everyone else who’s been leaking my personal crap to my mom of all people. Will I ever catch a break?

But Winnie dredges up the thought of what happened last time we met.

Try like hell, I can’t escape the memory. It stabs me in the head every time I have a spare second. Sometimes even when I don’t.

A three-minute make-out kiss never affected me like this.

It never wrecked me before.

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think I can still smell her.

“Colt showed me the honey,” Mom explains. “It looks very special and very sweet. It was nice of her to give him some.”

Yeah, because in the brief time I’ve known her, Winnie hasn’t learned how to be anything but ‘nice.’

Maybe if she was meaner, bitchier, and more selfish, she would’ve avoided this entire mess. She could’ve told the dickwad who chased her away to take a hike, and she could’ve stood there in that pretty wedding dress with a worthy man who cherished her.

Still, I’d never change shit about that woman.

I just don’t want to think about her honey-sweet, sunshiny personality and the way it goads me into wanting to defile her.

“Yes, well, she knows what she’s doing with that. The girl’s obsessed with bees and honey harvesting.” I fold my arms, trying to steer the conversation away from how nice she truly is. “And for the record, it wasn’t a ‘date,’ Mom. It was business, plain and simple.”

“Oh? My, that’s too bad. Junie said you two looked cute together.”

I shake my head ferociously.

“It’s Junie we’re talking about. She lives for gossip and matchmaking. Do you remember that girl three months ago she tried introducing me to?”

“I do. She gave up after you turned her down three times for a date. I think you scared the poor thing away,” Mom says soothingly. Like that changes the hard fact that my scheming sister-in-law, roughly ten years my junior, thinks I need her help setting me up with women.

Bah.

“That’s not the point, Mom. I don’t need Junie’s help, or anyone’s. I can handle my love life just fine, thank you. And for the last time, Winnie is not part of it.”

“Ah, Winnie, yes, that’s her name.” Mom snaps her fingers. “I couldn’t remember.”

“You don’t need to,” I bite off. “There’s nothing going on.”

But Mom just smiles back like the happy mind-reading elf she is until I want to groan and hide my face.

Fucking hell… is it that obvious?

Am I that honey drunk, hung up on a woman who’s every kind of wrong?

The ever-widening smile on Mom’s face tells me that’s a big fat yes.

I fight the urge to start punching the wall.