Page 35 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

Clay’s hands slid up under her flannel shirt, finding her breasts through the thin fabric of the T-shirt she wore beneath. Reese gasped as his thumbs circled her nipples, her throbbing finger all but forgotten.

She felt the slightest prick of guilt for feeling so good right now with everything going to hell back at the vineyard, but she promptly pushed the thought from her mind.

I deserve to feel good, just for a minute.

She kissed him harder and pressed her fingers into his back, feeling the firm flex of muscle through his shirt.

The humid chill of the room settled over them, with the faint smell of damp soil and old grapes.

Reese breathed it in, savoring the sawdust smell of Clay, too.

His hands roamed hot and eager as they slid under her T-shirt and Reese moved against them, loving the deftness of his fingers against her bare skin.

He slid his palms up, and Reese went dizzy as he stroked her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.

She tightened her legs around him, pinning him against her. His hardness strained against the fly of his jeans.

“God, Reese,” he murmured against her throat. “You feel so good.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

His mouth traveled over the warm flesh of her throat, and Reese went dizzy as she tilted her head back to give him better access. Her eyes focused for a split second on the wedding photo of Sheila and Eric atop a file cabinet, and Reese wondered if Clay had noticed.

“Hello?”

Somewhere in the barn, a door creaked. They jerked apart like they’d been doused by cold water. Clay’s watch caught on Reese’s shirt, and he fought like a trapped animal to free it.

“Hello?” the voice called again.

Clay moved away from her, his hand free, his face frozen in terror.

Eric? he mouthed.

Reese shook her head and jumped off the counter, tugging her shirt down as she moved toward the door.

“Dad? Hey, we’re back here.”

She stepped into the open area of the barn, daring a glance over her shoulder at Clay. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes had locked on the wedding photo, and a guilty look shadowed his face.

Reese grabbed his hand and jerked him forward just as her dad rounded the corner.

“Hey, honey,” he called. “I finished with the insurance guy, and Eric said you might need help out here. What’d you do to your finger?”

Reese held up the bandaged digit and shrugged. “Just a little cut, it’s no big deal. Clay got me fixed up.”

Her dad smiled at Clay, his expression suggesting he knew damn well they’d been doing more than playing doctor. “Good job, son.”

“Sir,” Clay said stiffly. “We’ve got most of the bottles loaded, but there are a few more boxes on those pallets over there.”

“Let’s get to them, then.”

Reese watched as the two of them retreated to the other side of the barn. She flicked off the light in the office, not taking her eyes off the pair as they chatted about bicycle tours and the new brewery opening in Newberg. Clay’s cheeks stayed flushed, but he seemed to have regained his composure.

As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and caught her eye. She smiled.

He gave her a wink that shot straight to her core, then bent to grab the next box.

Clay drove the truck back to the vineyard, conscious of Reese warm and round and beautiful in the cab beside him. God, he’d almost lost his mind back there in that office. What was it about her that made him so crazy, so thirsty for her? It was a little like being a drunk, but without the hangover.

“So tell me about your recovery,” Reese said, and Clay wondered for a moment if she’d read his mind. He glanced over at her, surprised to see her biting her lip. Was she nervous? “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I just thought?—”

“No, it’s great,” he said, and gave her a reassuring smile. “I want to talk about it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“You’ve mentioned the steps, but I don’t know that much about them. Can you tell me more?”

“Sure.” He kept his grip loose on the steering wheel, relieved to feel like he could talk to her about his. That he didn’t have to pretend it never happened. “Examining past behaviors and trying to figure out how you got there is one of the big ones.”

“And what did you figure out?”

“I wasn’t such a great guy when I was drinking,” he said. “I did some pretty dumb things.”

“Like what?”

“There was the time I stole that scooter from the old folks’ home and challenged Axl to a race.”

“You would have won if he hadn’t cheated.”

“Or the time we went to see Sheila at work and I asked them to call a Code Brown.”

“Eric never should have told you that’s hospital speak for a poop-related incident.”

He sighed. “There’s also the time I forgot to wear pants when I went out to buy Cheetos.”

“I think Eric still has that video somewhere.”

Clay grimaced, wishing she hadn’t been a witness to so many of his worst moments. He took a shaky breath, wondering if he should apologize again. He was still deciding when she asked her next question.

“So what made you an alcoholic? I mean—how does it happen, exactly?”

“Well, genetics are a factor,” he said. “My grandpa was an alcoholic, and so was my dad.”

“That’s right, I remember,” she said softly. “It seemed like things got worse for you after he died.”

“They did, I guess. That’s not an excuse, but it was definitely a trigger.”

He glanced at her in the mirror again, expecting to see pity in her eyes. Instead, he saw a mix of curiosity and determination that made his heart feel like it might burst.

“So what’s left?” she asked, shifting a little in her seat. “Are there still more steps left?”

He nodded. “Learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior,” he said. “I’m working on that one now.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

It was the simplest nugget of praise, but his whole body surged with pride. “Thanks. I’m trying.”

She reached over and put her hand on his knee, and the warmth in his belly grew. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“And thank you for your help just now—with the bottles, I mean. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Glad to help.”

They rode in silence for a moment, but it didn’t feel as awkward as it had earlier in the day. He wanted to reach over and brush his fingers over her cheek, but wasn’t sure about the rules in this relationship. Everything felt so new.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Look. I want you to know last night was special. I don’t do that sort of thing all the time. I mean—maybe I had a reputation in college, and obviously I did some dumb stuff when I was drinking and slept around more than I should have, but since I got sober?—”

She turned and smiled at him. “Not so much?”

“Not at all.” Clay downshifted as they turned onto the gravel driveway, then glanced over to watch her face. “Not since rehab, anyway.”

Reese’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh,” Reese said, grinning up at him with those green eyes flashing. “In that case, I’ve gotta say that while you were pretty terrific in bed when you were drunk, you’re phenomenal now that you’re sober.”

A faint roar began to surge in Clay’s ears, and it wasn’t just the sound of gravel under the tires. He felt himself growing dizzy, regretted the words even before they left his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at Reese in time to see her eyebrow quirk. “I mean that night fifteen years ago—” She stopped, her eyes fixed on his face. On what Clay knew was a very blank expression.

She frowned. “Are you kidding?”

Clay brought the truck to a halt in front of the winery barn and turned to face her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t understand.”

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about the time we slept together in college.” The words were slow, clipped.

Clay stared at her. He watched her face for a few seconds, trying to buy himself some time to find the right words. Maybe he could pretend he knew what the hell she was talking about?—

“You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, do you?” Reese demanded.

For a second, Clay considered lying. Of course I remember. It was amazing. You were amazing.

But hell, what if she was teasing him? What if this was all some kind of bizarre joke?

Stick with honesty, his old sponsor used to say. Hurts sometimes, but it’s easier to remember later.

“Um,” said Clay. “No. No, I don’t. There are so many blank spots in those years I was a drunk and?—”

“So what did you mean the other night?” Reese snapped, folding her arms over her chest as the truck engine ticked nervously.

“You didn’t drink when we played ‘I Never’—when there was that whole thing about not sleeping with anyone in the room?

I guess that makes sense now that I think of it—but the next day when I asked you, you said it seemed like the respectful thing to do.

To pretend nothing happened. Isn’t that what you said? ”

Clay closed his eyes and nodded, not liking where this was headed. “Yes.”

“So what were you talking about?”

Clay gritted his teeth, knowing there was no possible right answer here. No way this was going to be okay, no matter what he said next.

The truth. Just tell the truth. Own your mistakes.

“Larissa,” he said. “I was talking about Larissa.”