Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove Page A

mine, like the weight is too much to bear right now.
    “Would
it be too nosy of me to ask what you argued about?”
    “He
blames me for Ells’ death. It came up again.”
    “He
blames you?”
    She
stumbles on the uneven sidewalk and I catch her.
    “Sorry,”
she says.
    “It’s
okay. These sidewalks are tricky, I’ve noticed.”
    “Yeah,
they are. Have you been on Chalmers Street yet?”
    “No.”
    “You
need to go. It’s pure cobblestones. Super tricky. Don’t go after you’ve had
more than a couple of drinks. Sprained ankle for sure.”
    “I’ll
keep that in mind.” She’s diverting the conversation. “So Carter, why does he
blame you?”
    “Simon
blames me for everything. Hell, I blame me too.”
    We
are getting close to my carriage house so I make a quick decision. “Do you like
old movies?”
    “I
guess.” Her voice is heavy as though she carries the weight of the world. I
suppose in some ways she does.
    “Good.”
    I
steer her toward my little place and she asks where I’m taking her. When I
unlock the door, I say, “Welcome to my temporary home.”
    She
scans the place and says, “This is nice.”
    “We’re
going to watch an old movie.”
    “Okay.”
She eyes me warily. “Which movie?”
    “The
original Star Wars.”
    She
huffs, “That’s not old. I thought you would say, ‘Gone With The Wind’ or
something.”
    “Carter,
I’m many things, but not a romantic. Sorry.”
    “But
Star Wars isn’t even old.”
    “Yes,
it is. It’s from the seventies. That’s old.”
    “No!”
she insists, laughing. “Old is from like the forties or fifties.”
    “Let’s
say we agree to disagree. Can I get you something to drink?”
    “I’ll
have whatever you’re drinking.”
    “Scotch?”
    “ Ew ! No! Wine, please, if you have it.”
    After
I fix our beverages, the movie starts playing and we sit on the sofa. She’s at
one end and I’m at the other. She chatters incessantly during the film about
R2D2, C3PO, Chewbacca, and Han Solo, until the second half when she is
completely silent. I glance at her and find she’s sound asleep. It’s almost one
in the morning, so I decide to let her stay here. My bed is a king, so there’s
room for us both and if she finds that offensive, I’ll deal with it in the
morning.
    After
pulling the covers back, I carry her to the bed, take her shoes and glasses off,
and then cover her up. When I start to undress, I rethink it. It goes against
my better judgment for her to wake up to a naked man, so I hunt down some
boxers and a t-shirt and then get in bed. As I lay there, a couple of things
cross my mind. One, never has a woman shared my bed for the night. Two, she’s
making weird little snorting noises as she sleeps. If I weren’t so damn tired,
I’d get up and take a look at her. She’s an odd thing, Carter is. As I drift to
sleep, my thoughts are only of her.

 
    Chapter
Seven
    Carter

 
    When
I wake up, a couple of things hit me. My face is smashed up against the back of
something hard. Not hard like concrete, but firm and slightly pliable as I
burrow more tightly against it. Then I notice the smell . Damn, it smells
delicious. I tuck my legs up against it and allow my mind to stray. This cocoon
I’m wrapped in is so pleasant; I don’t ever want to leave. Reality edges the
fog away and I open my eyes. The expanse of a man’s back faces me. Not just any
man. Kestrel. I spent the night with him. He must’ve put me to bed. When I try
to move, it becomes apparent that my arm is wrapped about his torso and he’s
holding on to it.
    Then
I hear a chuckle that’s heavy with hoarseness often accompanied by early
morning. “Sleep well?”
    “Yeah.
I guess I fell asleep during the movie?”
    “Yep.”
    “Thanks
for putting me to bed,” I murmur against his back.
    “You’re
welcome.”
    Damn
he smells good. Even the sheets smell like him. What the hell is that?
    My
unfiltered mouth blurts, “What smells so good in here?”
    “What
do you