“Look at you, Sugar Snap,” he whispered, lifting me as easily as he might lift a kitten, setting me on the edge of the counter, spreading my legs in one swift move. He stood between them and pulled my legs around him as I balanced right on the edge. Then with one finger, placed exactly in the center of my stomach, he poked me. And I fell with a splash into the sink.
“What? Seriously—what?” I sputtered, legs flapping and water flying everywhere.
Leo held me at arm’s length and just laughed and laughed. But when his eyes met mine again, they were less mischievous and more devious. His hands, which had been keeping me from climbing out of the sink while he laughed, now slipped under the water, sliding along the inside of my thighs, underneath my shorts and—
“You’re wet,” he remarked, his gaze heated.
“Well, yeah,” I replied, gripping the edge of the sink as his fingers dipped lower against my—
“Not just from the water.” He moved closer, flush against the counter, as I found myself leaning into his hand, bobbing in the sink. My breath caught. The passion that was always bubbling just under the surface was now catching fire, sending tingles to the tips of everything.
“Did you know your eyes change color?” he murmured, his gaze heated as looked at me closely, so closely.
“Hmm?” I tried hard to keep my eyes open, when all I wanted to do was close them and relish these feelings.
“They change. When you’re excited.” His fingers slipped inside my panties. My back arched involuntarily, and I held so very tight to the edge.
“I know they change . . . color when I’m . . . frustrated . . . fuck, that feels good.”
“They’re usually this light hazel color, maybe a little blue, maybe a little brown, but when they go green . . . mmm.” He sped up his fingers. Which sped up my breathing. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to my neck, kissing a path upwards to just below my ear, where he whispered, “Did you know they go full green? Right before you come?”
I groaned. This man knew me; knew me so well. He stood back a bit, studying me.
“Look at that, they’re turning even more green by the second.”
All I could do was moan at the onslaught of sensations breaking across my body. He watched my eyes, his fingers slipping across my skin as I began to come apart on his hand. But just before I did, he hauled me against his chest, getting him just as wet as me. As he backed through the kitchen and out the back door, my hands immediately dug into his hair, and I kissed him wild. My legs went to wrap around him, but before I could get purchase he set me on my feet in front of the rain barrel and spun me like a top.
“This is just too good an idea to pass up.” He dragged my shorts and panties down my wet legs; seconds later, I heard his zipper. Mmm. “Grab the other side there, Sugar Snap.”
I leaned across, feeling the night air on my bare backside. “Like this?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder, arching my back. What I saw was the stuff of legend. Leo, face buried inside his vintage Screaming Trees tee as he pulled it off. Torso, long and lean and strong as he tossed away the shirt, then popped open the button on his jeans. Which were swiftly pushed down. I shivered as I watched him tear open the condom wrapper with his teeth, then watched his hand disappear inside his jeans. The butterflies in my tummy flew in a thousand directions at once as I saw him holding himself in his hands, rolling the condom down his thick length. Now, this was parade worthy.
His right hand holding himself at the base, his left hand slipped down my spine, splaying wide on the small of my back and pushing me further across the barrel. “Spread your legs a bit further, Rox—just like that,” he murmured, his voice molasses thick. What is it about being told what to do while naked? It thrilled me to no end.
I held my breath as he pushed into me. He let his breath out while he pushed into me. In one long . . . slow . . . exhale. When he was buried deep inside, he said my name. His hands ran up and down my back, not moving inside me yet, just holding so very still, and yet, his hands. Soothing. Stroking. His said my name over and over again, in this gorgeous, raspy whisper that was as sexy as it was intimate. I felt, in a word, worshipped.
Then one hand closed around my shoulder. The other gripped my hip, then he thrust. It felt delicious. “God, I wish you could see how you look right now,” he said, his words pouring down on me. I rolled my back like a cat, pushing back against him. I peeked back over my shoulder once more, turned on even more by the intensity on his face, how he bit down on his lower lip as he thrust, the cords on his neck tightening as he moved my body with his own.
“Tell me.” My breath caught in my throat as he pulled me powerfully back against him.
The corner of his mouth tipped up in a sweet grin. “Your skin is glowing, and it’s not just the moonlight.”
“Yeah?”
“Every time I push into you, you tip your hips back, and Christ, I can feel you all around me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I sighed, squeezing him tightly. I got a groan in response.
“And fuck, your ass looks fantastic like this.” He gave me a light swat on the rear, and I cried out. Not just in surprise. “Duly noted,” he murmured, slipping his hand up my spine to bury it in my hair, twisting a handful around. Tugging slightly, my neck arched, my back arched, and I was perched right on the edge, literally and orgasmically, especially as his other hand slid underneath me, just above where we were connected.
“I wonder what color your eyes are now,” he groaned, his own hips speeding up, punishing, hungry, desperate. Strung out and fevered, I could feel the low ball of tension pulsing through my body, lights flashing before my eyes, his moans thick behind me. I was going full green, coming apart under the night sky, with Leo hard and slick inside me.
Happy Birthday, America.
“Hey, what’s that?” Leo asked.
“That’s my boob.”
“I’m aware of that,” he said, leaning down to drop a sweet kiss on my breast. “But what’s that? The big thing out in the bushes?”
“Clarify, please—or I’m running into the house and leaving you to deal with whatever big scary thing is in the bushes.”
“That,” he said, pointing toward the—
“Oh, that’s the old Airstream” I said, relaxing back into his arms. Which were suddenly no longer there.
“One of those old trailers?” He was already on his feet, leaving my breast unattended. Grumbling as I buttoned my shirt, I followed him across the yard to where he stood. “Wow, look at that! How long has this been out here?”
“Hard to say. When was Nixon in office?” I replied.
He turned from where he’d been poking around the underbrush. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid when I’m half naked,” I answered, primly holding together my shirt. Which was mostly unbuttoned.
His eyes roamed across my body in a cursory way—almost as if, as a boy, he was unable to not look at a half-naked girl—but then quickly returned to the trailer. I tried not to take it personally.
Pulling a few branches off, he thumped on the metal. “Any idea of the last time it was on the road?”
“Still waiting for you to remind me of when Nixon was in office,” I answered.
“Woman. You’re killing me,” he moaned, using his phone flashlight to try and peer inside. “People use these for all kinds of things, you know. Not just camping.”
“That may be—but I’m sure critters have been camping in there for years.”
“Food truck.” He turned to look back at me, his flashlight shining right in my face.
Temporarily blinded, I shielded my eyes. “You want to shine that somewhere else?”
“Seriously, Roxie, this could be a food truck. They’re everywhere these days.”
“Dude, I’m from LA. Food trucks are a dime a dozen there.”
“Dude,” he said, suddenly right in front of me, flashlight turned off. “You’re from Bailey Falls. And they’re not a dime a dozen here yet.”
r /> My mind instantly ran through my culinary Rolodex, sorting through dishes that would work well in a mobile environment. Then it moved to the farmers’ market—and the food-truck-free parking lot.
They say when an idea strikes, it’s like a flashbulb goes off over your head. In my case, it was fireworks from city hall. Going off right over the back of my property, where an ancient Airstream gleamed in the moonlight through decades of overgrowth. And a farmer, backlit by stars and spangles, wearing only his faded jeans and a giant grin.
From up here, the town was spread out like a postcard, nighttime lights twinkling, the Hudson River unseen in the dark but suggested by the darker smudge on the horizon. And over all of it, big splashes of fiery red, white, and blue, as the faintest hint of the high school band could be heard.
Leo’s hands wrapped around my hips, standing me right in front of him, facing the fireworks, the Airstream, the town. I allowed my head to fall back against his chest, soaking in the warmth of his skin. His arms crossed in front of me, a sigh of contentment escaping as his chin settled on top of my head. And as we watched the fireworks, and I relaxed into him, I realized that the sigh came from me. And that the contentment was mine.
And for just one moment, I allowed my imagination to run wild. A food truck filled with old-fashioned cakes. A line around the block of loyal customers ready to place their orders. And Leo, there at the end of a long, hard day, ready for a long, hard night.
And I shivered, though I was very warm inside his arms.
Chapter 17
I slept in. Until ten in the morning. A feat unheard of in the history of Roxie Sleep. I rolled over, stretching deliciously and reaching for Leo. We’d gotten to sleep late, after spending the night postfireworks tangled up on the back porch. It hadn’t escaped my attention that when Leo was in my bed, I slept longer and more deeply than I ever had before. Did he just wear me out that well? It’s possible; the man gave great orgasm.
It’s not just the orgasm . . .
No, it wasn’t. It was just Leo. Who took up too much space in my twin bed. His hands were rough, his feet were cold even on the hottest night, and the hair on his chest tickled my nose something awful.
And I loved sleeping with him. Back to front, head to chest, butt to butt—it didn’t matter, I loved it.
My hands groped across his side again, searching for a handful of warm Leo, but he was gone. My eyes opened sleepily, and I saw that he’d left me a note on my pillow.
Sugar Snap,
My heart went pitty pat to see my nickname written down. Why was that so thrilling? Anyway, back to the note.
Sugar Snap,
Got a busy day today. I’m helping Oscar move some cows onto a new field and I’m replacing the sink in my kitchen. Should be done by five though—dinner tonight? I’ll bring you some of those strawberries . . .
Leo
P.S. Looking forward to getting you green in less than one minute.
I blushed, thinking of all the things he could to do to make my eyes change color. Then I blushed again when I realized I was holding the note close to my face, as if I would kiss it. I rolled over in bed, squealing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. I sighed into his pillow and breathed in the lingering trace of his scent. I giggled out loud, kicked my feet into the air, and realized again that I was moving beyond a crush.
I reread his note, eager to see his nickname for me again, and I noticed at the bottom that he’d made a little drawing.
A loose interpretation of an Airstream trailer, with a girl smiling wide, hanging out of the side window. And a line of customers leading up to it. A thought bubbled up, the same thought I’d had last night while watching fireworks from within the circle of my Almanzo’s arms.
My Almanzo?
Shush. Trying to daydream here.
I coaxed the thought back up again.
A food truck. Could I do that? Could I actually decide to stay here, instead of heading back to Los Angeles? It was no longer out of the realm of possible. The cakes were certainly selling. I’d have ready access to Leo, and all that would entail. And I was very fond of his entail.
I flopped over on the bed, rereading his note for the fourth time. He was going to bring me strawberries. I could bake a strawberry pie. I should bake a strawberry pie. I had the day off since the diner was closed.
. . . I’m replacing the sink in my kitchen . . .
I’d never seen his kitchen. I’d never seen his house. I knew the way, though; he’d pointed out the side road that led to his part of the property, on a quieter part of the farm. Hmmm.
I could head over early, surprise him, get him to pick me some strawberries, and bake him that pie while I watched him replace his sink. I’d love to see him holding a wrench. The image of him holding himself last night popped into my head, and I shivered.
I headed into the shower, creating a mental list of everything I’d need to bake the surprise pie. And anything I wouldn’t need . . . like panties. God willing.
Two hours later I was driving down the country road, my favorite pie plate on the seat next to me, along with all my ingredients. U2 was on the radio, “So Cruel.” I’d been smiling since I woke up, and the realization made me smile even bigger.
As I drove through the gates to the farm, I marveled once more at the hustle and bustle of everything he’d created here. I was starting to get to know the farm, and could see the changes that had taken place since I first came out here for my tour. The pole beans were climbing higher and higher on their stakes, full and green and lush. The lettuce rows were thinned out, some bolting and going to seed, as Leo had explained would happen once the sun grew too strong for the cool-weather crops.
I turned onto his side road, which turned to crushed gravel as I neared where his house must be. The trees thinned, and I could feel my heart race a little. Racing just to see Leo? Rather than pushing the feeling down, I let it bloom a little. Simple happiness rolled across me, lighting me up and lightening me up, the wall I kept between me and men crumbling a tiny bit.
My happy fingers tapped out the tune on the steering wheel as I hummed happily along. Two more turns through the woods, and I could see a house beginning to take shape. Leo’s Jeep was standing next to the house, and my heart jolted. He was home!
I pulled alongside his truck off to the side of the house, gazing up at the beautiful home. Fieldstone, soaring windows, charming shutters, and a massive chimney poking through the roof. It wasn’t big, it wasn’t small; it was lovely and very Leo.
And speaking of, there he was, coming down the steps of the wide front porch, laughing. He was always quick to find merriment in any situation, and I wondered what was making him chuckle. As I climbed down from my Wagoneer, I saw the source of his amusement.
Riding piggyback, with sandy blond hair and eyes that matched his, was a little girl, six, maybe seven years old. Leo took off at a gallop through the front yard as she giggled and squealed.
Just as I was trying to figure out what I was going to say, he caught sight of me, standing there with my mouth no doubt wide open. He stopped cold.
The little girl wasn’t having it. Kicking at his side like she was wearing spurs, she shrieked delightedly, “Go, Daddy, go!”
I was so caught off guard that I didn’t even notice when a big fat bumblebee buzzed in, flew underneath my skirt, and stung me right the fuck on my thigh.
Which hurt just as much as I was afraid it would.
For the record, I didn’t run. And I didn’t swear. I did swat at my leg rather violently, killing the bee and causing it to fall right on top of my foot, where it lay for all the world to see. A world that included Leo and his daughter. Who were walking toward me now.
“Roxie,” he said in a soft voice.
I’d heard that softness before. The softness triggered a panic that ran through my whole body, and my gaze dropped away from Leo and his daughter—his daughter! It landed on the bee on my foot, and pain began to bloom somewhere midthigh. Two fat
tears formed in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
“I got stung,” I said, feeling the tears slip down my chin and onto my dress. I’d been stung! I kicked off the bee, watching it fall to the grass. It was a huge bee. And I was crying? What was happening? “I got stung,” I repeated as I rubbed my leg, making it worse.
“You got stung by a bee?” the little girl asked, and I looked up into those familiar green eyes, blurry because of my tears. Bees are assholes! Why didn’t anyone listen to me! “Yes,” I sniffed, wiping my face, which was growing hotter by the second.
Leo looked concerned, but also a little bit guarded.
“Let me see, let me see!” she said.
Leo crouched down and she swung off his back in a practiced way, then ran over to me and looked up expectantly.
“Um, you want to see my bee sting?” I asked, confused.
“No, I want to see the bee. Where’d it go?”
“Oh. There it is.” I pointed, seeing it in a clump of grass.
She squatted down next to it, studying it carefully. Leo came to stand by me, his eyes searching mine. I had so many questions, but right now, all I could feel was the hurt.
In my leg.
“It’s a bumblebee,” she said matter-of-factly. Suddenly she drew herself up straight and turned to me in horror. “You killed it.”
Surprised at being put onto the defensive by such a short person, I answered, “Yes, I did. So? Don’t bees die after they sting, anyway?” What the hell?
“Nuh-huh, only honeybees. There was no reason to kill it.”
“I had a reason,” I grumbled, and looked to Leo for help. Who was watching the two of us, fascinated.
Whether it was the sting, the surprise, or the fascination, my knees buckled and suddenly I was in the grass, next to a dead bumblebee, a disapproving child of indeterminate age, and a farmer with how many more surprises hiding behind his sweet face.
“Shit,” I muttered, then clapped my hand over my mouth.