Snowed In & Set Up Read online

  “My sister, Fern, and I traveled to Japan for work, years ago,” Juney started, “and we went to one of those karaoke room bars as well. It was intense. Each room had a different theme. We got the ‘green’ room. Everything, and I mean everything was green. Even the doorknobs, the microphone, the keyboard. There was a giant Granny Smith apple on the wall behind us. It was sensory overload, and when we left, we were drunk on Japanese wine, and rather than pizza, we were craving apples. We ran to the nearest grocery store and bought a five-pound bag.”

  “It’s the same at the Korean one downtown,” Hunter said with a nod. “I’ve been in the black and white room, the Elvis room, the Michael Jackson room, and the Boyband room.”

  “Libations!” Will announced, sauntering over with two beers and a scotch for himself in hand. Amber was behind him cradling a beer and two glasses of wine. She handed the wine to Juney and Hunter and then took a seat next to Austin. He thanked Will for his beer and quickly tilted the bottle up to drink.

  A man with a clipboard and crisp white T-shirt over what could only be a six-pack beneath walked over and flashed everyone at the table a big toothy smile. Rowan was pulling Juney tighter against him before he even knew what he was doing.

  “Howdy, y’all! Merry Christmas and Happy Boxing Day. Welcome to the Tipsy Moose. I’m Hank, and I’m passing around the sign-up sheet for the karaoke, if any of y’all are interested.” He set a scuffed and torn green binder on the table. “These here are the songs. We’ve got pretty much everything. Take a peek, find something you like, and then sign up on the form here and when you’re done, bring it over to me at the stage there.”

  His eyes roamed around the table and across everyone’s faces, but he stopped and held his stare a little longer when he passed over Hunter, and then again when he passed over Juney. Will was busy nuzzling Amber’s neck, staking his claim like the red-blooded alpha that he was. Shit, should Rowan be doing the same? Should he lean over and shove his tongue down Juney’s throat? He’d have to wait to do that kind of thing once he had a couple of beers down the hatch.

  Hunter picked up the binder and smiled back at Hank. Since that afternoon, something in her had changed. She no longer seemed to care that Austin wasn’t paying attention to her; if anything, she was avoiding him as well. She batted those long eyelashes of hers at Hank and leaned into the table, the edge pushing up her breasts until they practically spilled out of her tight black V-neck T-shirt. Rowan heard Austin gulp next to him.

  “This is great,” Hunter said, thumbing through the binder. “Do you have anything by the Arkells?”

  Austin’s back stiffened to the point where he jostled Rowan. Rowan shot him a dirty look, but the guy seemed oblivious. He was too busy grinding his molars and trying to pop Hank’s head off with his geeky mind power.

  Hank’s eyes were fixated on Hunter’s chest. “We do. ‘Leather Jacket,’ ‘Whistleblower,’ ‘11:11,’ and ‘Ballad of Hugo Chavez.’ ”

  Deliberately making sure to push her breasts up even further, Hunter leaned across the table and reached for the pen. “ ‘Leather Jacket,’ please,” she said sweetly.

  Hank winked at her. “You got it, sweetheart. I’ve got copies of the binder, so I’ll leave it here in case you guys want to make more selections. There are about ten people ahead of you, but when it’s your turn, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  She flipped her blonde hair back over her shoulder, and her mouth stretched out into a big closed-mouth smile. “Sounds perfect,” she purred.

  Rowan and Will both coughed, Amber and Juney averted their eyes, and Austin, well, Austin looked like he was about to suffer an apoplexy or challenge Hank to a duel.

  “There’ll be dancing a bit later too. Save one for me?” Hank asked. He flipped his brown hair back off his eyes and flashed another big smile at Hunter. The rest of the table could have been empty, the occupants naked or all suffering from dysentery, and he wouldn’t have noticed. He only had eyes for Hunter.

  Dear lord, was this flirting? It was awkward to watch. Rowan could only imagine how awkward and forced it felt to those immediately involved. Thank God he and Juney had skipped that. Well, except for his random comments that made her cringe, laugh, and then shut him up with her delicious little lips. She really was the perfect woman. He squeezed her hand again and let his other hand draw light circles on her sculpted shoulder. He had to wonder, though, was Hunter actually interested in Hank, or was she simply behaving this way to piss off Austin? Because either way, it was working like a hot damn.

  Hunter lifted one shoulder and took a dainty sip of her wine, her lashes falling against her cheeks as she savored the malbec on her tongue and swirled it around for a few moments before swallowing. Both Hank and Austin’s eyes were riveted on her face and then her neck as it undulated softly with her swallow. He could only imagine what those men envisioned her swallowing.

  “Maybe. I’ve never been much of a dancer. I have to have quite a few glasses of wine coursing through my veins before I’ll step out on to the dance floor. And even then, I always seem to have two left feet.”

  Hank leaned over, putting his elbow on the table, not giving too hoots that he was popping Austin’s bubble and essentially partitioning him off from the rest of the group. “Don’t worry, darlin’, with me, your feet won’t even hit the ground.” Then he grabbed her hand, turned it palm up and let his lips fall to her wrist. “I’ll come find you when the right song is on.”

  “So, the chicken dance?” Rowan said, before he could stop himself.

  Hank’s eyes left Hunter and fell to Rowan. Both men smiled uncomfortably before Hank stood back up. Well, that seemed to have broken the spell that Hank had cast upon the table. The intruder chuckled softly in his chest as he nodded. “Slower than the chicken dance.” He winked at Hunter again and took off toward the next table.

  Was that the sound of a train? Rowan looked over at Austin. Nope, just steam coming out of the guy’s ears as his face turned bright purple and his eye did this weird twitchy thing.

  Seriously, dude, what the hell is your problem?

  Juney headed off to the washroom to go freshen up. She’d been trying so hard not to break the seal, but in the end it was a futile attempt. Excusing herself, she finished her wine, nodded at Hunter that she’d split another bottle with her and then took off toward the door marked “Does.”

  Two bottles of wine, three shots of tequila, a few hours, and several beers later, everyone was feeling good. Hunter had kicked Will’s ass at pool, twice, and now the doctor was on the hook for picking up the entire bar tab for their group. And it didn’t matter how many wine or beers the rest of them were drinking, three fingers of Will’s scotch cost the same as one bottle of the malbec Juney and Hunter had split. The doctor had expensive taste.

  Besides the awkwardness at the table when they’d first arrived, things had been going well. Rowan was affectionate and sweet, keeping them all laughing, while Amber and Will told stories about work and Hunter filled in the gaps with tales of her time spent backpacking and hitchhiking across the country. The only wet blanket was Austin, and even he, as the night went on and the booze started to flow, seemed to loosen up. He still wouldn’t really talk to Hunter, but she seemed resigned to that fact and ignored him, too. It broke Juney’s heart that the two of them weren’t connecting. She knew how they felt about each other, and they knew it, too, but for some reason, Austin lacked the confidence to even speak to Hunter, let alone woo or pursue. Juney was glad that her match had the cojones to knock on her door that first night. As much as she liked Austin, she wasn’t sure she could be with a man who had such insecurities, when she herself had insecurities up the wazoo.

  She checked herself in the mirror and used a tissue from her purse to blot her forehead and beneath her eyes. It was warm in the bar, and no matter how good of a makeup artist you were, things changed under the fluorescent lights.

  The music outside started up again, and she could hear voices singing to the karao
ke. They weren’t terrible, but they weren’t great, either. You could tell whoever was singing the duet, they had both been drinking for a while. Gaps in the song were filled with giggles and random “ahs” as the singer took a drink.

  She took one last look in the mirror. It didn’t matter that she was in the wine business; a whole bottle of wine and tequila shots in the span of a couple of hours, and she was feeling it. In her toes, her fingers, her eyes, her head. Juney was drunk.

  Grabbing the brushed brass handle to the bathroom door, she swung it open and came face to face with the image of Hunter and Rowan on stage singing. Their arms were looped around each other, each had a microphone, and they were belting out the words to the song at the top of their lungs with enormous, happy smiles plastered on their drunk faces.

  And they looked like the perfect couple.

  Both blond. Both with million-dollar mega-watt smiles. Big beautiful eyes, killer bodies. Where Rowan had pecs, Hunter had breasts. Breasts Juney only ever dreamed of having, rather than the modest B-cup bee-stings she hid beneath the padded push-up she was wearing now. Hunter’s breasts were perfect. Hunter and Rowan were perfect. They were a match.

  How could she have been so foolish to think that Rowan was her match? That Daisy’s algorithm had deemed Juney and Rowan soulmates? She was probably matched with Austin. They were both insecure. Both smart and nerdy. But he looked at her as more of a mother or sister, and despite the fact that he wasn’t acting on it, he only had eyes for Hunter. Did all the men want Hunter? Was Will settling for Amber too? Or maybe Juney was matched with Will? No, he didn’t want kids. Daisy had to have put that into her computer.

  Juney’s mouth went slack and despair chilled her veins to the point of pain as she stared at the couple on stage. She could feel the blood drain from her face. Their smiles were so natural as they glanced at the screen with the lyrics, then at each other, then back at the screen, then out into the crowd.

  Rowan was not her match.

  She wanted to move. Wanted to run back into the bathroom or down the road. Run away so that the tears could fall where no one could see them, but she couldn’t. Fear, despair, sadness, they had cemented themselves inside her, in her feet, in her heart. She was immobile. Forced to watch them until the song was over. And then of course, Rowan, being Rowan, pulled Hunter close and planted a big kiss on her temple before tipping his beer up and draining it. It wasn’t until he pulled it away from his mouth that he noticed Juney standing there.

  Thoughts, so many of them, scattered across his face, along with fear and confusion.

  Juney made to turn away. This time her feet cooperated and left the floor, aiding her in her quest to flee. She couldn’t watch what she knew in her heart to be a match made in blond-bombshell, California beach-bum heaven. They were meant to be. She’d been deluding herself these last few days that Rowan could be her match, possibly be interested in her. Not when Hunter was there and available. No. She needed to leave. Let them discover their attraction organically, without her broken heart in the way. She pushed the bathroom door open again, but before she could duck inside, Rowan was behind her.

  “Juney!”

  “Leave it, Rowan. I’m such an idiot!”

  He pushed her into the washroom and spun her around to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “Why are you an idiot? What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and bit her lip. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and her throat threatened to seize up. “It’s nothing. Just forget it.” Sadness hollowed out her stomach.

  He shook her gently, his eyes pleading with her to open up. “Tell me why you looked so terrified when I saw you standing there a second ago. What the hell happened?”

  Swallowing hard, she continued to shake her head. “I—I’m not your match!”

  “What?” His brows pinched until an adorable wrinkle formed between them.

  “You and Hunter. Up there. You are the perfect couple. Both blond and beautiful. I can’t compete with her.” Oh fuck, now she was a blubbering mess. The tears were coming down, hot and rapid. She bunched the sleeve of her long-sleeved gray shirt in her fist and used it to wipe her eyes and cheeks.

  “What?” he asked again. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Seeing you two up there, I realized I’m nothing compared to her. You’re beautiful people. You’re supposed to be together. Make beautiful babies, live in your beautiful house, have a beautiful dog. I’m not like you.”

  “You’re not beautiful?”

  She shook her head. No. I’m an ugly duckling. Forrest Gump.

  “Juney . . . ”

  The man was at a loss.

  “Y-you’re right, you’re not beautiful.”

  Her head snapped back up to his face from where she’d been looking at her feet.

  “You’re not beautiful. Beautiful is an overused word. Baby, you’re . . . you’re fucking stunning. Gorgeous, breathtaking, striking. You’re not beautiful, because beautiful isn’t a good enough word to describe you. I wish you could see yourself as I see you, because when you’re in the room, you’re all I see. Are you upset I was singing with Hunter?”

  She didn’t know what to say or how to react. Suddenly her head was bobbing. Her stomach hurt, and her temples pounded. No more booze.

  He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. She’d actually asked Austin to go and sing with her. Looks like booze hits us all in different ways. I apparently sing karaoke, Hunter doesn’t give a shit and gets ballsy, and you . . . ”

  “I turn into a jealous, emotional lunatic.”

  “You turn into sweet, adorable, slightly more emotional Juniper Davis. A woman who in only a short amount of time has managed to make me crazy . . . and in a good way. I’m not interested in Hunter. She’s like a kid sister. And I felt bad for her when Austin turned her down. As for the peck on the cheek, well, I give that same kiss to my sister, Annie, when I see her. I’m sorry, though, if it made you second-guess my feelings for you.”

  Her face was on fire, and her throat was raw. But the ache in her heart was slowly receding, and although everything seemed blurry at the moment through all the tears, Juney was seeing Rowan more clearly than ever.

  “And for the record, I kind of like the jealousy.” His grin was wily. “Lets me know how crazy you are about me, too.”

  She hiccupped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “F-for thinking you wanted Hunter simply because you were singing up there. You’re allowed to be friends with her. You’re allowed to sing. I’m not a jealous nut job like that, I swear. It’s gotta be the booze. Stupid Hunter and her shots of tequila.”

  Rowan chuckled as he stepped forward and let his hand fall to her waist. “You’re not a nut job. And I happen to think you’re an adorable drunk.”

  She sniffed. “Even when I’m flying off the handle and turning green with jealousy?”

  He nodded. “Even then, because it happens to be a lovely shade of green. Like romaine lettuce or fresh arugula.”

  A hiccupy laugh bubbled up, and she finally smiled. He always knew how to make her smile. She looked up into his eyes but found no humor there. They were smoldering, lightning hot. The lighting in the bathroom was terrible, fluorescent and almost yellowy, but even then, fire seemed to dance in his soft brown irises as he looked down at her. She bit her lip. That look, it turned her insides to mush and made her heart palpitate so fast she feared it would beat right out of her chest and sprint its way across the floor. Not to mention the tingle that drifted across her skin, down her spine and belly to seat itself between her legs.

  His hand released her waist and shifted up to her face. A knuckle gently ran down her cheek, collecting the last of her tears. His gaze flew to the door, back to her face, then the door again. Suddenly, he released her and stalked the three strides to the deadbolt.

  “Locked or unlocked?”

  She shook her head. “Huh?”

  “Do you want me
to fuck you in this bathroom with the door locked or unlocked?” His eyes darkened to the color of warm bourbon.

  All the moisture left her mouth.

  “Juney?”

  “Uh . . . l-locked. We’ve already been caught once.”

  Grinning back at her, he switched the lock. He returned, cradling her body in less than a second. “I want you and only you, Juney. Let me show you.” He sank to his knees and let his hands trail up her black leather boots, continuing up her legs. Along the stretchy fabric of her . . . His eyes flew up to hers when he reached the top of her thighs. “These aren’t tights!”

  Her lips pursed, and she shook her head. They were thick, dark gray, cable-knit thigh-high socks. Juney wasn’t even sure where she’d got them—her sister Fern, maybe? But on a last-minute whim she’d tossed them into her suitcase, figuring they’d pair well with her black pleated skirt and long-sleeve gray shirt. She’d nearly frozen her ass off on the walk up to the lodge, but the expression on Rowan’s face had been totally worth it.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispered, his fingers making their way up to the waistband of her underwear and pulling it down.

  Juney hadn’t been foolish enough to wear a thong and a skirt with the socks, but lacy boy-shorts weren’t out of the question.

  Rowan slid her panties down her legs, his eyes going wide as he took in the red lace.

  She stepped out of them.

  “Juney,” he purred, inching forward, his hands wandering back up her thighs. He helped lift her leg and place one foot on the counter so she was even more exposed to him. The cool air was a welcome balm on her scorching skin. He ran his finger back along her legs and then beneath her skirt. One hand cupped her butt, and the other one came forward and dipped into her folds. “You’re so wet.” His breath was warm on her sensitive skin as he ducked his head beneath her skirt and planted hot, searing kisses on her inner thighs and lips. “Wet for me.”