Drink You: Book 3 of Explore Men of the Hamptons Paperback

Lion Middleton
His family is the oldest in the Black Hamptons, and one of the wealthiest in New England. To outsiders, for decades, they have exemplified black opulence and prestige. But the world doesn’t know how decades of betrayal and resentments have driven a wedge through the heart of the Middleton house.

Lion returns to the Hamptons this summer to support his father in a possible criminal investigation, and to save his family’s reputation. He doesn’t care about the Slurp brewery, or Explore Adventures. And he has every intention of finally destroying his brother and nemesis, Kevin. That is, until Lion meets a sultry, feisty Louisiana-born auditor who teaches him that riches and revenge are not everything.

Kamilah Rouse
The spicy fourth child of the Rouse clan cannot do the Hamptons under any circumstances. A tomboy and free spirit, she’s gotten along in life just fine without a man. That is until she’s tossed into a summer assignment at Slurp, Explore’s new black-owned brewery, with none other than the Hamptons’ spoiled divorcèe, Lion Middleton.

What no one in her family knows is why she hates the Hamptons, or one person in particular who summers there. It reminds her of the only time in her life she foolishly gave in to love. No matter what, she’ll stay focused on the job, and will never be a fool again.

Paperback Page Count: 381

Tropes: instant hookup, family drama, workplace romance in a brewery

Heat level: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️/5

“You’re such an entitled ass.”

Now he picks up a light jog until he’s at my side. “Yes, I am an entitled ass. But I can be other things as well.”

“All I need you to be is competent. Work with me to organize Explore, Lion, and not for your own interests. I don’t want to be here in Southampton. I would really like to leave this place sooner than later. The faster we get Explore squared away, the less we’ll have to deal with each other.”

My family’s house is just another six or seven minutes. In silence, for the next few minutes, he accompanies me down the two-lane country highway, past thick, lush greenery, swaying high grass, and vast spreads of unhurried Hamptons quietude. I’ll admit this hideout from the rest of the world soothes my muscle tension some.
Through the small crevices of my mental wall, his cigar-and-leather scent sneaks in, and joins the night air to further disarm me.

“What if I like us dealing with each other?” he finally asks.

“I don’t.” Somehow, that is just as much the truth as it is a lie. His scent and presence are opening more than my lust, snatching me too far back in time, and it’s an inconvenience I’d rather not deal with.

Hands in his cargo pants, his arm occasionally brushes mine. His scent keeps swirling around me.

Heat rolls off him as easily as smoke from the smokehouse. With Lion so near—swathed in all his sickening wealth, a constant reminder of the night I met him and Duncan, and my foolish decisions I made after—I can’t think straight. Or properly wallow in my misery.

Lion’s presence is…

… titillating. Uncomfortable.

Unwanted and yet…

… wanted.

Maybe all of them.

The tranquil highway finally leads us to my family’s driveway, where all the Rouse cars are lined up along the pavement. It’s surrounded by tall, wrought-iron gates they had installed now that we have mini-celebrities in the family—Maddy and Chrissy.

I pause before entering the code that opens our gate and glare at him to look away.

Amused, Lion rolls his eyes and pivots. Playfully, he peeks out of the corner of his eye.

“I see that!” I snap with humor I can’t help.

Under the sheet of night, we are alone.

In the time that the gate creeps open, maybe in a suspension of time, his footsteps crunch along the dirt.

Along my heart.

They travel the hills of my hesitation. Through the valley of Duncan, across the desert of shithole men I’ve been rejecting before they can reject me, and they navigate my forest of terror at being humiliated again.

Until Lion’s steps close the distance between us.

The arrival of his pelvis at the entrance of my womanly domain is an arrival at more than me. The tips of his fingers take a risk at my hips. On my scalp is his warm breath that joins the gentle night draft.

“I’m sorry.”

So low it almost drifted into the high grass unnoticed.

“I was presumptuous.”

His finger strokes me deeper than my pelvic bone. The seismic response rushing my head, ears, and neural network drowns out the swell of ocean tides crashing ahead of us. I step from his grasp and cannot find the wherewithal to face him again. Because I know the next time I face Lion, it won’t be as casual co-workers. All my good sense would evaporate.