She slipped out into the hall and nearly tripped over a warped floorboard when she saw Jack. He’d changed into a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt and a pair of jeans. If he’d looked good in a suit, he looked even better like this. The sleeves hugged his arm muscles, making her want to pull the shirt off to get a good look at them. And the way he was eyeing her said he thought she looked pretty good in Dottie’s dress.
But then she realized that he was wearing River’s clothes. Was that why she was suddenly so attracted to him? He had dark hair like River too, and although his eyes were several shades darker, they were still brown. Was she just looking for an imitation of River in someone else? Would she spend the rest of her life doing that?
Josie had been right: she was totally screwed.
Chapter Two
Jack stopped in his tracks the moment he saw Maisie emerging into the hallway. He’d noticed her before—hell, how could he not? She was loud and confident and didn’t take crap from anyone. Sure, he’d found her attractive the first time he’d seen her, but she was River’s friend, and there was no way he was getting in the middle of that. He and River hadn’t gotten off to a great start with the brewery—admittedly Jack’s fault—and even though things were better, it didn’t feel like they were on solid footing yet.
But…holy shit.
She was all legs in that green dress that brought out the green of her eyes, glittering like emeralds. Her red hair was slightly more contained than usual, but her curls still spilled everywhere. The silky material clung to her curves—and damn, did she have curves—but his gaze was drawn back down. Her shoes didn’t exactly match the dress, but who cared when she had legs that went on for miles…
“So you’re a leg man?” she asked in a wry tone, her hand propped on her hip, which only drew the hem higher.
Busted. He grinned, dragging his gaze from the newly exposed skin to her face, which now wore a smug expression.
“I appreciate every part of a woman’s body,” he said in a tone that bordered on cocky, which wasn’t usually like him.
“Ah, you’re a politician, then.” Her voice had a hint of sharpness, and he knew she was testing him.
He took a step toward her. “Because I didn’t directly answer your question?” he asked with a lifted brow. “You’re asking me to choose a specific body part, which is impossible. But when you wear a dress like that…” His voice trailed off, letting her fill in the rest, because he was busy imagining that hem going higher… “After our near-death experience, I feel like I need to buy you a drink.”
Because against his better judgment, he really wanted to continue this conversation.
She studied him for a moment. Then her mouth twisted into an amused grin. “Okay, goose whisperer. As long as it’s not some of Lurch’s punch. The name changes, but the hangover stays the same.”
“Not to worry. I’ve been warned,” he said, gesturing for her to head down the hall.
She turned and started for the living room, and his gaze landed on the swell of her butt, the silky fabric hitching up slightly as she walked.
He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to stare at the back of her head, which was only slightly better. Her mass of curls made him wonder what they’d look like spread out on a pillow as he…
Shit. No. This was Maisie. River’s friend. Hell, she was one of Adalia’s best friends too. If they started something and it didn’t work out, it would mess up everything, and Jack was tired of watching the world blow up around him.
Hell, he was digging himself out of a trench hole at that very moment.
No, no thinking about Iris tonight. He’d spent the past six months worrying about Iris—make that the past seventeen-odd years—and there was nothing he could do for her right then. He’d deal with his sister’s issues tomorrow.
Still, he found himself following Maisie like she was the Pied Piper, because while his head told him that continuing this was a very bad idea, his hormones strongly disagreed.
She stopped in front of the fridge and opened it, scanning the contents while he stood on the other side of the open door.
“Dottie has some of River’s new IPA out back,” he said. “I brought it over and put it in a bucket of ice.”
She made a face. “Didn’t you see Lurch put his head in that bucket? Anyway, I’m not in the mood for beer.”
He released a chuckle. “Is it possible to be a member of the Buchanan family, honorary or otherwise, and not be in the mood for beer?”
She turned to look at him, her eyes dancing. “So you’re telling me you want beer 24/7?”
He grinned. “I like to brush my teeth with Hair of Hops, and I pour Cesspool of Sin in my Cheerios for breakfast.”
Her smile spread as she rested her forearm on the fridge door. “So you’re a Buchanan through and through?”
That sobered him. While his father was Prescott Buchanan, Jack’s last name was Durand. A stipulation his father had made when his attorneys had worked out the child support arrangements. He wasn’t a Buchanan, and although he’d thought that working with his siblings at their grandfather’s brewery might change that, he felt like more of an outsider than ever. It wasn’t his half-sisters’ fault. It was his past that held him back, reminding him that sharing DNA with someone didn’t ensure any kind of relationship.
“Hey,” Maisie said, worry filling her eyes. “What that woman said was wrong.”
It took him a second to realize she was talking about the goat lady—Stella?—calling him a bastard. Strangely, that part of being the product of an affair didn’t bother him, but he saw no point in correcting her. He forced a smile. “I’ve heard plenty worse. So if we’re not drinking beer, what are you searching for?”
She leaned back down, searching the fridge. “I was hoping Dottie might have a pitcher of margaritas or sangria or something.”
“Sounds a lot like punch. Maybe you’re not so averse to Lurch’s drink after all,” he said with a laugh.
“News flash,” she said as she stood upright and closed the door. “He makes it from beer.”
“Rumor has it there were other ingredients in it at the last party,” Jack said. “Beet juice and dandelion wine, to name a few.”
Her face scrunched in disgust, and she went from looking fierce to unguarded in the blink of an eye. “That’s gross.”
He shrugged, still grinning like a fool. “I’m only reporting what I heard. I wasn’t there, and if I had been, I wouldn’t have been first in line to try it. But I only recall seeing beer and Lurch’s punch out back, so if you’re in the mood for something else, I’ll see what Dottie has in her liquor cabinet and make you something.”
“You’re gonna make me a drink?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I think I saw this play out in a Lifetime movie once. The guy made the girl a drink, and when she woke up, she’d been sold into some sex cult.”
He laughed as he looked in the cabinet over Dottie’s fridge, where most people kept their liquor. “That doesn’t sound like a Lifetime movie to me,” he said, pleased when he saw several bottles. Vodka. Gin. Rum. Triple sec. “And I used to be a bartender. I take it you like sweet and fruity drinks?”