Bittersweet

by Sarina Bowen

  “Seriously,” Daphne said, scraping up the last of her rice. “You should have your own restaurant. What kind will it be?”

  Audrey fingered her fork. “I keep changing my mind. And the pitch session is just five weeks away. I need to choose an idea and stick to it. This week I’m vacillating between Mexican—because Boston is short on good Mexican food—and tapas. It can’t be pub food and it can’t be French, because BPG has plenty of that already.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m eating there,” Kyle said, reaching for the serving spoon.

  I snuck a hand under the table and gave Audrey’s knee a squeeze. Just one, though. If this girl needed me to be patient with her, I would be.

  Two hours later we were in my truck, heading for Fairlee on the back roads.

  “What was the movie again?” she asked, rolling down her window to sniff the breeze.

  It was work keeping my eyes on the road. I kept wanting to admire her. “Independence Day. The first one.”

  “Oh.”

  I sneaked a look at her. “You like aliens and Will Smith?”

  “Sure. Well, I like Will Smith. Aliens I can take or leave.”

  The truck rolled to a halt at a four-way stop sign. “We don’t have to go, you know. We can get ice cream instead.”

  She laughed. “You could eat right now?”

  “No.” Good point. There had been an amazing gingered apple crisp for dessert. We’d all rolled away from the table with full stomachs.

  I drove on until we reached Lake Morey. The public boat launch parking lot was empty, so I pulled in and killed the engine. “If you don’t want to watch aliens destroy the earth, we can just talk. Or go home and watch something else. I picked the drive-in because I wanted to spend some time with you.” Crickets chirped outside our open windows. I watched Audrey, but she kept her face turned away from me. “Is something wrong?” I asked quietly. “Should I take you home?”

  Her beautiful eyes darted toward me and then away again. “Nothing’s wrong, Griff. Not with you.”

  “With who, then?” I picked up her smooth hand from the truck’s bench seat and kissed it. “Tell me how to make you happy, and I’ll do it.”

  She made a small, frustrated sound. “I’m fine. But I don’t do my best thinking when you’re around.”

  “Why not?” I flipped her hand over and traced her palm with my lips. When I heard her breath hitch, I was pretty sure what was bothering her.

  Audrey pulled her hand away and set it in her lap. “I’m kind of a wreck,” she whispered.

  “Not true,” I said immediately. “You know I want you. Either you want it, too, or you don’t. No reason to get all anxious about it.” Stretching out my hand to find hers, I ran a single finger up her wrist and then her forearm.

  She shivered, and I chuckled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Audrey

  Here we go again. I was as good at resisting Griff Shipley as Homer Simpson was at resisting a donut. The way he made me feel only by touching my hand was probably illegal in several states. I sat there a moment longer, watching a little lake ripple in the first beams of moonlight. As if I were undecided. But what would happen next was as certain as the moonrise itself.

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” I whispered, turning to face him.

  “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.” He chuckled. “You forget I have a degree in chemistry.” He dropped my hand, which was a disappointment. But then he slid closer to me on the bench seat. His hands scooped me into the air and deposited me into his lap.

  I lay back against his great, firm bulk and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Griff?”

  His breath was warm at my ear. “I have a few ideas.”

  So did I.

  His hands ran slowly up my ribcage. “I really like you, Audrey.”

  “You mentioned that earlier.”

  When he chuckled, I bounced a little from the motion. “But you think it’s just for sex.”

  “Isn’t it?” I breathed, already losing focus. “It’s not like I’m going to stick around.”

  “That’s not my fault, though,” he pointed out. “And when you accused me of caring only about sex, you were right—”

  “I was? Dude. That’s no way to have your way with a girl.”

  “Turn around.”

  Not sure it was a great idea, I slid off his lap. Then I turned gingerly around until Griff pulled me onto his body. I was straddling him now, and blinking into his big brown eyes at close range. “What?” I asked, and it came out sounding snappish.

  “You were right originally. You turn me on like nobody ever has.” Griff punctuated this statement with one soft kiss. Then he pulled back, running one hand down my sternum, between my breasts and onto my tummy.

  I quivered. Everywhere.

  “Wanting you makes it hard to ignore that I’ve been lonely. That maybe I need more than fourteen hours a day of hard labor and a bed in the bunkhouse. I need you in my bed. In my kitchen…”

  I snorted. My mother would stage a feminist intervention if she could hear that.

  Griff shook his head. “That came out wrong. But every time I see you in my kitchen you look happy as a clam. You smile, and you get this look on your face like you’re in the zone. It’s nice. Makes me want to throw you over my shoulder and haul you away with me.”

  It wasn’t easy to play hard to get while straddling Griff Shipley on the seat of his truck. I found that my fingers had wandered into his beard. I stroked his beard and asked, “Where else do you need me?”

  Mom would burst a vessel if she heard that, too.

  “Everywhere,” he growled. “Want you in the cider house, tasting the blends with me. Want you sitting beside me in church, when I take Mom on Sundays. But after that I’ll need you in the shower. Up against the wall…”

  I kissed him then, pressing my lips against his, practically banging down the door to be let inside. Griff opened on a groan, his tongue welcoming mine. As usual, there was no time for small talk. We went from talking to making out like porn stars. One of his hands squeezed my ass while the other slipped a few inches beneath the waistband of my skirt. His fingertips hovered there, stroking the skin beneath my bellybutton, threatening to touch the good stuff, but never actually doing it.

  Torture. I whimpered into his mouth and hoped that he’d hear me. And just for good measure, I unfastened the button on his jeans.

  “I could drive you home,” he panted between kisses.

  That sounded like it would take too long. So I lowered his zipper.

  He answered with a rumble and a voice like gravel. “We’re going to fuck in the truck?”

  It sounded like a dirty rhyming couplet. I plunged my hand down his abs to find his very hard dick peeking out of the top of his underwear. When I took him in hand, he moaned.

  “One problem, princess,” he ground out. “No condom.”

  I could have wept. “So what? I’m clean, and I’m good to go.” Releasing him, I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I know I’m flaky about some things. But not about birth control.”

  His gaze was heavy lidded. “I trust you, princess. Swear to God, I’ve never done it bare.”

  “Never?”

  He shook his head.

  “We don’t have to.” Though I’ll probably cry from disappointment.

  He lifted a hand to gather my hair and push it off my shoulder. “Sweetheart, get on my dick. Do it now.”

  Quickly, I hiked up my skirt. Griff reached down and put a finger under the elastic of my panties. “Wait!” I yelped before he could snap them off of me. “I need these. I’m traveling.”

  “Fine.” He pushed me up a bit so we could both tug down pieces of our respective clothing. “But don’t ever tell me I don’t have any manners.”

  “Ha,” I scoffed. “You’re a grouch. But a hot one.”

  “At least you could fuck me while you tell me all my flaws.” He wrapped one big hand around his
thick length and beckoned me closer.

  As if I needed encouragement. I lined myself up over him and sank down, filling myself with him. God, this man. I let out a groan so loud that Griff’s cows probably looked up from their hay. All the bluster left me. There was only this exquisite moment.

  And I wasn’t the only one who’d been rendered speechless. Griff threw his head back and gasped when I seated myself on him. “Jesus…fuck!” It was almost a shout. His chest heaved in and out against me, and he gripped my hips, holding me down. “Don’t move…for a second.” His eyes were slammed shut and his breathing was rapid. “Never guessed how good you’d feel with nothing between us. Like heaven.”

  Wow. I’d never seen anything so beautiful as Griffin Shipley nearly undone by lust. Leaning forward, I took his face in my hands, the soft fur of his beard ticking my palms. Then—unable to resist—I slowly clenched all the muscles in my core.

  His eyes flew open again. “Fuck, princess.” He released my hips and pulled me in until we were forehead to forehead, staring at each other. “You kill me. Every damn time. Just you.”

  My heart gave a little spasm even if I knew it was just the horniness talking. So I figured I could shut him up if I kissed him. I slid my hands back into his hair and took his mouth. Hard.

  But it backfired, because Griff Shipley knew how to kiss. He palmed my jaw and pulled me in, taking over the kiss, stroking my tongue, melting me like sugar into caramel. As our kisses grew ever deeper, I couldn’t hold still anymore. I rocked against Griff’s unyielding body, slowly at first and then faster.

  Meanwhile, Griff made the most delicious noises. He dove so deeply into my mouth that I lost track of where I ended and he began. His palms wandered down to my bare ass, where they gave me the dirtiest squeeze. Then he used the leverage to work my body more roughly against his own.

  The result stole all my executive function. There was only heat and bliss and the eager man beneath me. He gave a loud growl as we both lunged together for the finish line. I got there first as pulses of pleasure rippled first through my core and then everywhere at once. My toes curled so hard that both sandals ejected, forgotten, onto the floor of his truck.

  His answering moan was like an aftershock, vibrating through my chest. Huge arms locked around me and together we shook with his release.

  When it ended, I went limp against him. Our kisses slowed to a soft, mindless exchange of tongue and breath. Then I dropped my head with a sigh onto his great shoulder. How lucky that his body had so many fabulous places to hide my face. I never could look Griffin in the eye after our naked deeds. Being with him always left me feeling raw and vulnerable. I needed a few minutes to paste on my mask of indifference.

  Anyone would.

  He stroked my hair while I listened to his breathing slow. Eventually he started to chuckle.

  “What?”

  “Sound carries across a lake,” he said into my ear. “I hope we inspired a few people.”

  “Mmh.” I couldn’t be bothered to worry about who might have heard us. I was too busy worrying about how foolish I’d been to get naked with Griffin again. Not even naked. Tawdry Audrey had outdone herself again. And for what? I was slowly ruining myself for other men. Someday I might actually meet some available, decent guy who was interested in dating me. And God help him if he and I didn’t have the chemistry I had with Griffin Shipley.

  “Your bed or mine?” Griff asked.

  That woke me up. I lifted my head off his shoulder and tried to fill my lungs with oxygen. He wanted to spend the night? “Um, mine?” If we drove up to his farm and walked past his family on the way to Griff’s room, I might die of embarrassment.

  “We left your car at the farm,” he said. “We can stop there and get it on the way to the motor lodge.”

  Hell. “Your family is going to notice.” And think I’m a ho.

  He gave me a squeeze. “My family loves you.”

  But you don’t, my brain offered up. And where did that come from, anyway? “It helps that I cook,” I mumbled.

  “Princess.” He caught my chin in his hand. “You don’t have any need to be embarrassed. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

  It was nice that Griff thought so. But women had been judged since the dawn of time for who they slept with and how often. Speaking of which…I lifted my body off of Griff’s, separating the two of us.

  Caught off guard, he let out one more groan. “Jesus, I’m addicted. Whose bed, princess? Cause I’m gonna need to do that again in about a half an hour.”

  “Mine,” I said immediately. I’d never been known for my willpower. Besides, I could get up at dawn when Griff went home and escape with my car before his mom or younger siblings were awake to notice.

  We tucked ourselves into our clothes and drove back to Tuxbury. Griff rolled down the windows and whistled along with the radio. Halfway there he reached for my hand and held it the rest of the way home.

  I sniffed the crisp, Vermont summer air and let the wind tickle my face. Even in the midst of a bad decision, I could still live in the moment. And the moment was fine.

  Twelve hours later I awoke to a knock on my cabin door.

  I sat up fast, heart pounding. The room was bright with morning sunlight. And I was alone in the bed.

  “Hello?” I called out. The clock said eight.

  “Rise and shine, princess. Time for breakfast.” He banged on the door again. “I’ve milked fifty cows already. Wake up!”

  Stumbling on sleepy feet, I lurched over to the door and opened it, still trying to get my bearings. “I didn’t hear you leave,” I said.

  Griff pushed into the room, laughing. “I noticed that. You were sacked out pretty hard.” He backed me up to the bed, pushed me onto it and landed on top of me. “Guess I wore you out.” He kissed my neck.

  That woke me up. His big, hard body pressed mine into the bed. I clasped my hands around his head, loving the feel of his thick hair sifting through my fingers. This man was addictive.

  He dropped a dozen fabulous kisses across the sensitive skin underneath my ear. But then he got back to his feet. “Up, baby. I have to take you back to your car before I spend the day pressing the first cider.”

  That sounded like fun to watch. I grabbed the hand he offered me and was hauled to my feet. “Can I take a one-minute shower?”

  “I don’t know, can you?”

  “Griff!” I stomped toward the bathroom.

  “I meant that literally,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I thought women had a ten-minute minimum.”

  “Not this one.” I closed the bathroom door behind me so I wouldn’t be tempted to invite him in. Then I took a much-needed shower. Five minutes later I was dressed and slipping into shoes while I brushed my still-wet hair. “How’s your mom? Did the swelling go down?”

  He shook his head. “Negative. Daphne is going to drive her to the hospital in Montpelier for an x-ray. Mom insists she couldn’t have broken it just by tripping. But I know she won’t stay off that foot unless a doctor orders her to.”

  I grabbed my bag and phone. “If I helped with breakfast, would she sit down?”

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “Either way, I want to watch you flip eggs in the air while you boss me around. Come on, princess.” He opened the door. “Make me an omelet I didn’t order.”

  Something like warmth filled my chest. And then it was immediately chased by anxiety. Griffin needed a warning sign, like the kind they put over the pizza oven at the culinary school. Danger, hot! I had to be careful or I’d start picturing myself as a permanent part of his life. It was all too easy to imagine myself in that kitchen every day, teasing his little brother, helping out his mom.

  Not only did I have the hots for Griff, I had a crush on his family, too.

  Sitting in the passenger seat of Griff’s truck on the ten-minute drive, I planned my restaurant pitch for BPG and tried not to stare at my favorite farmer behind the wheel.

  By the time I ducked into G
riff’s bacon-scented kitchen, it was already a whirlwind of activity. And thank God. I was sure the family had spotted my car outside.

  “Audrey!” Daphne called. “Can you do your super-fast chopping thing on these onions?”

  “Sure.” I stepped up to the counter. “What are we making?”

  “Frittatas, I guess. I wanted to do quiche but I defrosted the wrong dough.” She pointed at three risen balls of dough on the butcher’s block. “That’s for bread.”

  “Ah.” My chef’s brain spun like a roulette wheel and landed on an idea. “Should we just make little free-form pies anyway? If they’re small, the crust won’t need to be pre-baked. It’s a shame to waste that dough.”

  “I guess? Show me.”

  “Divide those into six pieces,” I said, pointing at the balls of dough. “Roll ’em out to a rough circle.”

  I attacked the onions while she worked. Ruth wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later. She moved so slowly that it pained me to watch. “Audrey! Thank you for stepping in. We’re in a bit of a bind.”

  “It’s no problem.” I grabbed one of Daphne’s little rounds of dough and began folding the edges up to try to shape it into a decent receptacle for eggs.

  “We have little tart pans,” Ruth volunteered. “Hold on.” She limped toward a cupboard on the wall. Daphne darted over to help and came back with a dozen five- or six-inch metal pans.

  “Perfect! These remind me of my Easy-Bake Oven.” Reunited at last. I draped the dough over one of them and knew it would work. “Okay—break two or three eggs into here, then add the bacon. In a four-hundred-degree oven they’ll cook up fast.

  “They’re so cute! Should we add some cheese?” Daphne grabbed the tin and got to work.

  “Always a good idea,” I agreed. “Some spinach would be nice, too?”

  Our assembly line was in full swing when Ruth happened to ask, “How was the movie?”

  “Great,” I lied, and then was immediately sorry. “Uh, is there some parsley we can put on here?”