Chapter 11
I take a sip of my wine, the rich, fruity notes dancing across my tongue. Jermaine watches me from across the table, those dark eyes smoldering with unmistakable heat.
We”re at Marcello”s, an intimate little Italian place tucked away in one of Houston”s trendier neighborhoods. Back in college, this was our spot—where we”d slip away for cozy date nights and linger over candlelight, our fingers intertwined beneath the crisp white tablecloth.
So much has changed since those carefree days, but the warm ambiance still sparks a sense of nostalgia. Like we”ve stepped through a portal back in time to those stolen moments before everything fell apart.
”You”re quiet tonight.” Jermaine”s voice is a low, gravel-rough caress that has me squirming in my seat. ”What”s on your mind, Londyn?”
I lick my lips, tasting the lingering traces of Chianti. ”Just...savoring the moment, I guess.”
His lips quirk in that devastatingly charming half-smile. ”Is that so?”
Heat spreads within me under the intensity of his stare, the rich, amber hues of his eyes brimming with the promise of a life-altering night. I shift, uncrossing and re-crossing my legs beneath the table.
The soft material of my sundress whispers against my skin, a delicious friction that only stokes the slow-burning need rapidly building inside me.
Jermaine”s eyes follow my every move, darkening with unmasked hunger.
”You know...” He leans forward, elbows braced on the linen-draped table. ”I never thought I”d see the day when Crown Jewel Brew would enter a mainstream competition.”
Pride surges within me at his words. ”You doubted me, Jermaine Knights?”
”Never.” The word is soft, barely a breath. But the weight behind it resonates through every fiber of my being. ”Yet I”ve always perceived you as homegrown. Within reach. Intimate.”
For a moment, a fleeting image flashes through my mind—Jermaine in those old, faded jeans and a snug t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms dusted with fine hair. His shirttails hanging loose as he moves with practiced ease behind the rows of gleaming fermentation tanks.
He always looked so at home in the brewhouse, where we mentored every summer in college, like a master artisan in his element. It felt like an ongoing competition since the prize was a coveted job at the brewery.
Back then, Jermaine exuded an unwavering confidence that captivated me. His self-assurance was like a magnet, transformative, making me see him in a new light—as a man, not the boy I”d grown up with.
When we lived in Madison Grove, our paths never really crossed. The town was small, but we still managed to orbit in different circles. It wasn”t until Mamma and Aunt Mae became inseparable that I took notice of him. There was an edge about him, a certain intensity that made me keep my distance.
Even as a kid, Jermaine was intense. Like he was always meant to be this.
Chief executive and head of a brewery now worth billions, all built from scratch by his own hands. He”s a rarity, propelled by an invisible drive of resolve and tenacity.
I blink, forcing myself back to the present. To the man sitting across from me in his perfectly-tailored suit, radiating the same magnetic charisma that captured my heart a lifetime ago.
Only now, that allure is tinged with an edge of steel, of ruthless ambition. Like he”s been hardened by the years that have stretched between us, forged in the fires of struggle and sacrifice.
I can”t deny the effect he has on me—that slow, smoldering pull low in my belly that has me clenching my thighs and fighting for control. But part of me recognizes the risk, the precarious position I”m putting myself in by entertaining this...whatever it is between us.
Because as badly as I crave Jermaine”s touch, I know that indulging those desires could raze everything I”ve worked so hard to build. My brewery, my independence, my sense of self-worth.
It would be so easy to surrender, to give in and let the simmering lust and residual affection sweep me away. But I can”t—I _won”t_—be that reckless again.
Not when there”s so much at stake this time around.
Jermaine”s gaze pins me in place, that heated stare sparking a fresh blaze of want deep in my core. I force myself to hold his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.
”You never did give yourself enough credit, Londyn.” His voice is a gravel-rough caress against my heated skin. ”Always underestimating your own talents.”
I feign nonchalance despite the moisture gathering in my panties. ”And you”ve always had an overinflated sense of ego, if I recall correctly.”
The words are teasing, but an undeniable truth lurks beneath them. Jermaine”s ambition and self-assurance first drew me in and ultimately helped tear us apart.
He chuckles that deep, rumbling sound sending delicious vibrations ricocheting through me. ”Valid observation. But it”s part of the game. As a Black man at the helm of a global enterprise, they need to understand they can”t fuck with me. Because I don”t just snap. I obliterate anything that challenges me.”
I wet my lips, silently cursing the way my body responds to his words. It”s like a warning, but instead of pushing away, I”m aroused by every little movement and every subtle shift in his expression.
Jermaine has always possessed this inexplicable power over me, stripping away every last shred of my defenses until I”m left breathless and aching.
”So...” I force myself to change the subject before I combust right here at the table. ”Tell me what made you decide to join the festival.”
Jermaine”s expression takes on that intense, focused look I recognize so well—the one that used to precede our most impassioned brewing sessions when we”d spend hours discussing flavor profiles and ingredient combinations.
My chest tightens at the memory. Those stolen nights in the brewhouse, our laughter and debates echoing off the copper tanks as we worked side by side to perfect our craft.
”...so you see, it”s about more than just showcasing the best breweries in the region.” His eyes blaze with an intensity that steals my breath. ”This is a chance for all of us to elevate the entire industry on a national stage. To put Texas craft beer in the spotlight where it belongs.”
Jermaine has a way of making you believe, of convincing you to chase those wildest dreams right alongside him.
It”s one of the things that made falling for him so effortless all those years ago. And, I realize with a pang, what makes moving on so impossible now.
”You”re really making a name for yourself out there, aren”t you?” The words slip out before I can rein them in, tinged with a wistful sort of pride I can”t quite suppress.
Jermaine holds my gaze, something indecipherable flickering in those rich brown depths. ”I”m just doing what I have to do, Londyn. To set things right.”
The weight behind his words isn”t lost on me. I think of Knights Brew, his family”s brewery, the one that”s always mentioned in a hushed whisper.
I suddenly see his presence in Madison Grove from a new perspective. This festival, this entire quest of his...it”s about more than just passion or professional ambition. It”s about righting those past wrongs.
Jermaine isn”t chasing success for its own sake. He”s driven by something far more visceral.
”It”s about more than just the festival or even the brewery,” he admits, his voice low and gravelly. ”It”s about restoring my family”s name, carving out a new legacy for us in Madison Grove.”
He pauses, his eyes blazing with determination. ”I want the Knights to be woven back into the very fabric of this town, not as a footnote to its history, but as an integral part of its future.”
And in that moment, I see him with startling clarity. Not as the suave, self-assured CEO sitting across from me. But as that little boy watching helplessly as his family”s business died.
The town rallied around Aunt Mae, but people always chime in that kids are resilient. But apparently Jermaine Knights is holding on to the memory more than I realized.
My heart aches for him in a way it hasn”t in years. This man, this beautiful, complicated soul...he”s been running for so long, chasing dragons and demons only he can see.
”Is it something you want to talk about?”
Jermaine shakes his head. ”I”d rather not.”
I ache to soothe that hurt, to show him that he”s already enough without the crushing weight of those expectations. That he doesn”t need to prove anything to anyone, least of all the world.
But the moment passes, that fragile tenderness fracturing beneath the heat of Jermaine”s intense stare. His expression shutters closed once more as he leans back, every inch the untouchable mogul holding court.
The heat is his eyes returns with a vengeance.
”So, what”s new in your world besides brewing?” Jermaine asks, leaning back in his chair. His eyes glimmer with genuine interest.
I pause, considering how to respond. Part of me wants to keep things light, to steer our conversation away from anything too heavy or personal. But another part, the one that still craves his understanding and acceptance, yearns to open up.
”Not much, honestly.” I shrug, offering him a wry smile. ”My life pretty much revolves around Crown Jewel these days.”
Jermaine nods slowly. ”I can relate to that all-consuming drive. It”s easy to let the business become your entire world.”
”Yeah, but at what cost?” The words slip out before I can rein them in. ”Sometimes I worry I”ve sacrificed too much on the altar of my passion, you know?”
His brow furrows, that intense look stealing over his features. ”How so?”
I exhale, steeling myself. ”It”s just...I don”t have much of a life outside the brewery. No house, no serious relationship, no real safety net if things go sideways.” I offer a self-deprecating chuckle. ”Sometimes I look around and wonder if the dream is worth that kind of sacrifice.”
The weight of my admission hangs between us. Jermaine regards me steadily, lips pressed into a contemplative line.
”I get it,” he murmurs at last. ”More than you know. This all-consuming drive...it”s a blessing and a curse.”
I nod, holding his gaze. There”s a depth of understanding flickering in those rich brown depths, one that sparks a familiar understanding.
Before I can dwell on it, Jermaine shifts gears. ”But enough about work. Tell me what”s new with you, Londyn. Any exciting adventures to report?”
His lips quirk in that half-smile I know so well, the one that still has the power to weaken my knees. My pulse kicks up a notch as I search for a response, keenly aware of the undercurrent of flirtation woven between his words.
”You know me,” I tease, aiming for nonchalance despite the warmth creeping into my cheeks. ”No adventures, just the same old grind.”
Jermaine”s eyes crinkle at the corners. ”I find that hard to believe. A free spirit like you is bound to attract excitement wherever you go.”
My breath hitches at the compliment, at the molten promise simmering in his heated stare. I squirm beneath the weight of that smoldering gaze, heat pooling low in my belly.
” Unless creating new flavors count...” I trail off, buying myself a moment. Unconsciously, I wet my lips, unable to tear my eyes away from the sharp line of his jaw, the tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest visible beneath the open collar of his shirt.
Calm the fuck down…
But it”s no use. Every molecule in my body seems to realign itself in Jermaine”s presence, a sensual call-and-response that is begging to be pleased.
He leans forward, forearms braced on the crisp linen tablecloth.
”I”m all ears,” Jermaine rumbles.
The teasing lilt in his voice sends a shiver skating down my spine. I force a casual shrug, praying he can”t see straight through my bravado.
”Well, there was this one time I tried a brand new flavor combination for a seasonal brew.” I pause for dramatic effect, reveling in the undivided intensity of his stare. ”Tart cherry and dark chocolate. It was...eye-opening, to say the least.”
Jermaine”s eyes darken fractionally, pupils dilating. ”Is that so?”
The rich timbre of his voice has me squirming again. He knows exactly what I”m implying, that delicious edge of sin woven into my words.
I lean across the table, mirroring his stance.
”Mmhmm,” I murmur, holding his heated stare. ”Eye-opening, tantalizing...utterly sinful. The kind of flavor that lingers on your tongue long after the last sip.”
Jermaine”s throat works as he swallows hard. His gaze drifts to my mouth, dark eyes following the path of my tongue as I wet my lips again.
I”m acutely aware of every subtle shift in his expression, every infinitesimal movement. This is mental foreplay.
Jermaine”s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. I don”t miss the way his eyelids drift shut for the barest heartbeat, as if he”s savoring my scent.
And when his eyes reopen…
Oh God...
”You”ll have to let me sample that particular...flavor sometime,” Jermaine rumbles, voice gone husky with undisguised want.
The hunger staring back at me has me worried I”ll ruin my dress. My pussy silently pleading for relief.
I open my mouth to respond, but the sudden appearance of our waiter cuts me off.
”Would you care for the check, sir?” The impeccably dressed man inquires, placing the leather folder on the table with a flourish.
Jermaine”s molten stare doesn”t waver from mine as he reaches for the bill. ”Yes, thank you.”
The waiter nods and retreats, leaving us alone once more in our heated bubble. Jermaine slides the receipt toward me with one finger, that half-smile playing on his lips.
”So...” He prompts, voice a low rumble that caresses every nerve ending. ”Where should we take this little adventure next?”
My breath stalls in my lungs as the implication of his words sinks in. This is it—the moment I”ve secretly been craving and dreading in equal measure since he showed up on my doorstep tonight.
The anticipation is a living thing, coiled tight in my core and radiating liquid heat through my veins.
Jermaine”s eyes blaze with naked longing, pinning me in place. There”s no mistaking the clear invitation.
My throat works as I consider my next move. ”Where did you have in mind?”
”My penthouse.”