by Marie Carnay
But he sure as hell wasn’t ready to give up. Not on her.
“You came.”
Her voice caught him by surprise and he spun around. Wow. With hair still wet from the shower and a faded pair of jeans hugging her hips, Harlow was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Forget the put-together knockout in a black dress and heels.
This Harlow was incredible. Honest and raw. Pretty without trying. As she bit her lip, he smiled. Vulnerable, too.
“I got your note.”
“Where’s Dixon?”
The question cut, but Foster ignored it. “Still sleeping. Give the man a weekend with no appointments and he’s worse than a teenager. He’ll sleep until two.”
Harlow smiled and Foster pushed Dixon out of his mind. Today didn’t have anything to do with him. “How about you and me get out of here for a while?”
She raised an eyebrow. “And go where? We’re not exactly in the city.”
Foster smiled and held up his keys before clicking his car unlocked. “I might not have your computer-programming skills, but I know how to Google.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
Harlow stared at his open hand long enough to send a shiver of doubt down his spine. But finally, she reached out and took it. “Okay. I will.”
HARLOW
Half an hour later, Foster turned off the country highway and into a gravel parking lot. A big red barn with white trim sat at the edge of the lot, and a sign proclaiming Kerry’s Farm welcomed them with big, hand-painted raspberries and an arrow.
“Ever had fresh raspberries straight from the farm?”
Harlow shook her head. “Nope. Do they sell them here?”
“Only after you pick them. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Foster hopped out and ran around the back of the car, holding the door open as Harlow climbed out.
“Welcome to Kerry’s Farm! Are you two here for the berry picking?”
“We sure are.” Foster held out his hand and a woman in overalls and a giant straw hat shook it with authority.
“Come on and grab a basket and I’ll point you on your way. You can pick any row that’s open, but stay out of the ones corded off. Those won’t be ripe for another few weeks.”
Foster took two baskets from the woman and before Harlow knew it, they stood side-by-side in a row of raspberry bushes taller than a giant, picking oversized fruit and dropping them in the basket.
She popped one in her mouth and the taste exploded on her tongue in a sweet-tart burst. “Wow. These are amazing.”
Foster followed suit, biting into one and catching the sticky pink juice that dribbled down his chin. “You think she’ll mind if we eat as many as we put in the baskets?”
“Only if we get caught.” She laughed and Foster laughed with her, his dark eyes so full of life out in the sun. Harlow turned back to the bush and picked a handful of berries. “You don’t strike me as the country type.”
He shrugged. “I’m not now, but I used to be.”
“Really? A man as polished and put-together as you came from someplace like this? I don’t believe it.”
“It’s the truth. I grew up in a little country town in Nebraska. It was a lot like this, just flat. Very, very flat. With a lot more corn.”
Harlow smiled. “Tell me about it.”
Foster gave her a few details, the size of the high school, the weather, but nothing personal.
“What about your family?”
He stiffened beside her. “Nothing worth sharing.”
“Come on, they can’t be that bad. There has to be something.” Everyone had something they liked about their families.
After a moment, Foster turned, his head tilted toward the sun. “Remember this?” He pointed at the scar running in front of his ear. “I got between one of my mom’s boyfriends and his beer. This was the result.”
He dropped his hand and retuned to the vines, picking and not looking at Harlow. The muscles in his jaw flexed and she knew he was holding back. Emotion, pain, regret. It all simmered just below the surface. Plenty of anger, too.
She couldn’t let it drop. Not when he held so much inside. “You got in the way and he cut you?”
“No. He hit me. Turns out those fake diamonds on high school graduation rings cut pretty damn deep.”
Harlow reached out and traced the scar, her fingers light and gentle. Foster let her do it, standing breathless and still. “You had to be bleeding all over the place.”
“Seventeen stitches. I looked like a car-crash victim.”
“What happened to him?”
Foster snorted and pulled away. “Nothing. Eventually he left, just like they always did. My mom was never good at holding onto anyone. The rotten apples stayed the longest, but even they moved on at some point.”
Harlow turned back to the waiting fruit, lips pressed tightly together. In all her curious hypothesizing about the scar, never once had she stopped to consider a situation like that. She’d thought of everything from rock climbing to archery to hunting and falling off his bike. Never something so… awful.
No wonder he moved to the city. It pulled at her, his past pain and hurt. Part of her wished she could wipe it away, but then what type of man would he be? She glanced up at his profile. “What about your mom? Do you still talk to her?”
He didn’t hesitate. “She died a few years ago. Liver failure.”
“I’m sorry.” I should just keep my mouth shut. Then I can’t stick my foot in it. Harlow turned back to the bushes, picking as fast as her fingers could manage.
After a few frantic flurries of berries into her basket, Foster reached for her.
He took her by the arm, turning her to face him. “I didn’t tell you about my past so you’d pity me.” His grip tightened. “I told you so you’d understand. I don’t do relationships, Harlow. I always thought, what’s the point? They’ll end. Or go bad.” He swallowed, thick and slow. “But…”
He let her go and glanced out at the orchard rows and Harlow’s gaze followed. Rows of bushes and vines stretched all around, fading into the horizon.
“When I found your service, I thought… maybe she could help me. Maybe she could find me someone. It was never about buying Crane Matchmaking. Not for me.”
Harlow didn’t know what to say. At first she’d thought he was talking about her, that she was the one he was waiting for and willing to take a chance on, but now… Was everything that happened the night before meaningless? Did he really expect her to forget about his lips on her body and hands on her skin and find him another woman to love?
She faced him with as brave a stance as she could muster. “You want me to be your matchmaker?”
Foster reached up and caught her by the face, his hands firm but soft against her skin. “Not anymore.” His eyes pleaded with her, so sincere in their depths as he willed her to understand. “I’ve already met my match.”
His lips crashed into hers and Harlow closed her eyes, overwhelmed by Foster and his admissions. He wants me?
Harlow kissed him back, her basket of berries trapped between them as Foster stole her breath.
At last, he pulled back, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Let’s go back to the city.”
Harlow exhaled, her heart hammering so hard it threatened to beat out of her chest. She knew exactly what she wanted to do and how she needed to do it. “Not yet. Let’s fill these baskets first. Dixon’s not the only one who knows how to cook.”
Chapter 11
FOSTER
The smell of fresh-baked pie filled the apartment, and Foster’s stomach growled.
“Was that you or do I have a grizzly bear hiding in the pantry?”
Foster patted his stomach. “All me, I’m afraid. The smell of that pie is turning my insides into knots. Please tell me we can eat as soon as it’s done.”
“The hotter the better. Can you grab the ice cream from the fridge? It’s just about done.”
He hopped off the stool before opening the free
zer and searching for the ice cream. “Vanilla or chocolate?”
Harlow’s answer came back muffled as she reached inside the oven to pull out the flaky dish of heaven. “You pick.”
“I say both. That way neither feels left out.” He pulled two cartons from the freezer and shut the door as Harlow stood up with the pie. “That looks incredible.”
“Let’s hope it tastes just as good. Plates are above the sink.”
Foster pulled out plates and Harlow set the pie on a wire rack before grabbing a fork and knife. He couldn’t get over how easy it was to be in her space. The apartment wasn’t much, but it fit them both as they moved around.
They worked well inside the bedroom and out.
After plating two steaming pieces, Harlow held them out. Foster plopped two scoops of ice cream on each, and the pair made their way to the table tucked against the wall of windows. Harlow’s apartment looked out over the city. It wasn’t as spectacular a view as the one from Dixon’s place, but it still captured Chicago.
He stabbed the pie with his fork and took a bite, groaning as the flavor hit his tongue. “Oh my God. This is incredible.”
Harlow smiled. “Thanks.”
He asked a question around the steaming goodness. “So tell me why you’re single.”
She set her fork down and pouted. “Can’t we just eat and pretend I don’t have a sad sack of a backstory? Maybe I just like being single.”
“I doubt that.”
Harlow took another bite, chewing in dramatic slow-motion. Foster reached over and stole the plate.
“Hey! Give that back!”
“Not until you answer my question. Why are you single? As a matchmaker, you have your choice of eligible guys ready to fawn all over you.”
She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “I don’t have time to date. My job is full-time, my boss is a jerk, and with the matchmaking—”
“I don’t want excuses, Harlow. I want the truth. Please.” Foster tucked another bite of pie in his mouth, moaning just to tease her.
She stared at his lips as he chewed and swallowed. At last, she gave in. “Maybe I’m disillusioned.”
Harlow reached for the plate, but Foster held it too high for her to reach. “Details, please.”
She groaned, but relented. “A few years ago, I thought I’d met the one. Good looks, good job, solid reputation. I didn’t find out about the lying, cheating, scumbag side of him until a month before the wedding. Now I know: always book everything with an option to refund.”
Ouch. Foster almost felt bad for pushing her, but he was thankful to know the truth. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m just thankful I found out before the wedding. If that waitress from the catering company hadn’t recognized him at our tasting…”
Foster almost choked on his pie. “I take it she was part of the cheating bit?”
“The lying and the scumbag, too, actually. Turned out he’d been dating her on the side for months. Stringing her along for God knows what reason, all while planning to marry me.”
Foster handed Harlow her plate and she shoved a huge bite into her mouth. After she swallowed, she kept going. “That’s why I’m single. If my matchmaking skills are that bad when it comes to myself, then I’d rather not bother.”
“You sound just like Dixon.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Foster regretted it. They’d had such a good time that day pretending his business partner didn’t exist. Now he might as well be sitting next to them at the table, scarfing pie and ice cream.
Harlow set down her fork. “Where does Dixon fit in all of this?”
Foster hesitated. Part of him wanted to say wherever she wanted would be fine with him, but he didn’t want to lie. “I don’t have an answer to that question. But I don’t want to think about Dixon right now.”
“You have something else on your mind?”
“Yes.” Foster leaned across the table and stole a kiss. “You.”
HARLOW
Oh my, the man could kiss. Foster Mackenzie had a way with his lips that turned Harlow into a quivering spot of jelly. All morning she’d been stealing glances, checking him out as they picked berries at the farm, staring at his profile as he looked out her windows to the city beyond.
But now, all she wanted was his touch. Enough staring; Harlow wanted to feel. She reached for him, running her hands through his short hair, bending the strands over before they sprang back into place.
With their lips still pressed together, Foster stood, coming around the side of the table to kneel at her feet. He grabbed her shirt in bunches, tugging it up and off her body as their lips broke apart.
Just as fast, he was back, hands running over her bare skin, electric in his touch. It might as well have been days since she’d last given in, weeks since he’d turned her on, not hours.
Harlow grabbed his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he reached for the waistband of her borrowed jeans. As she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, Foster grabbed the denim in his hands, yanking the jeans clean off her. They landed in a heap behind him and he stared, eyes hooded and full of admiration.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Harlow. I don’t deserve you.”
Memories of their conversation and the hurt in his voice over the past filled her mind, and Harlow reached for him. “Don’t say that. You deserve better. Someone who isn’t confused and full of hesitation. Someone who didn’t just sleep with—”
Foster silenced her with a kiss, cutting off her admission of guilt over the threesome with Dixon and her conflicted feelings. He reached behind her and unclasped her bra with a flick of his wrist, the simple white fabric giving way and exposing her breasts to his touch.
His hands were gentle, reverent even, as he explored her body. No fevered rush this time, only slow, measured strokes. Foster teased her nipples, rolling them between his fingers before bending down to capture one with his lips.
Harlow arched her back and cried out, hands curling into fists as Foster teased her with his tongue and nipped with his teeth.
“Please, Foster. I can’t wait. I—”
Without another word, Foster lowered himself, lips leaving a trail of heat from between her breasts to the hem of her panties. His fingers hooked inside the cotton and Foster eased them over her hips and down to the floor, taking care to lift each of Harlow’s feet and free her legs from their plain white prison.
With a glance up at her face, he spread her legs wider and wider until she opened up for him, all her feminine secrets naked and ready. “I’ll say it again, Harlow. You’re beautiful. So damn sexy and honest and I could stare at you all day. But there’s something else I want to do first.”
He leaned in, nose nuzzling the trimmed hair atop her mound. His tongue lashed out, quick and fast against her swollen, eager clit, and Harlow jumped in the chair.
“Even better than the pie. I should have started with your pussy.” Foster lapped across her folds, voicing his satisfaction in throaty rumbles as he tasted her desire. Harlow reached for his head, but he grabbed her by the wrists, holding her firm. “Hold your thighs apart.”
She grabbed her knees, spreading her legs wider than even Foster had done. He nodded his approval. “Good. Keep them like that. I want to take my time.”
With a wicked grin, he dove back between her legs, shoulders rolling back as he sucked her clit between his teeth. Harlow cried out, fingers digging into her own flesh as Foster worked her.
She’d never been this free with anyone. Never this vulnerable and real. He licked and sucked and flicked and in no time, she was flying, an orgasm shooting through her as she shook on the chair.
Foster took her by the hands, twining his fingers with hers as he rose up on his knees. His lips and chin shined with her release and Harlow blushed.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Because I’ve only just begun.” He kissed her, tongue thrusting past her lips to spread her own
taste inside her mouth.
Harlow fought against the tide of thoughts and doubts threatening to drag her into reality. Her business. Dixon. Foster’s intentions.
She could figure out what to do tomorrow. Right now Foster needed her. She wanted to show him how worthy of love he could be. How much sharing his past and the hurt that still lingered inside him meant to her.
They both might be a little bit broken, but when their bodies came together, everything else fell away. She tugged on his pants, undoing the button and zipper as she broke their kiss. “You’re not the only one who wants a taste.”
Foster stood as Harlow pulled open his pants, his thick shaft bulging toward her lips. With another yank on his boxers, Foster’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy as it bobbed in the air. Harlow smiled.
She couldn’t wait to get lost in him.
“You don’t have to—”
“Believe me, I want to.” Without another word, Harlow opened her mouth and took Foster’s cock inside, swirling her tongue around his velvet head, bumping over the veins and ridges on his shaft as she slid lower.
Oh, my. He tasted of soap and sweat and man and she loved every inch she could fit in her mouth and then some.
“Christ, Harlow, I—”
That’s it. Come for me. She worked him with her lips and tongue, adding her hand to stroke and pump where her mouth couldn’t reach. Every pass sent him thrusting deeper into her throat, the swollen tip of his cock ramming into her.
Foster groaned, a tight, anguished cry, and he came, cum shooting deep inside her mouth, filling her up as she swallowed it down.
She pulled off with a wet smack and he reached for her, picking her up in his arms like she weighed nothing at all. “You damn well better have a big enough bed.”
“Will a queen-size do?”
“For now.”
Chapter 12
DIXON
It had been twenty-four hours since he’d woken up to find his apartment empty with no sign of Harlow or Foster other than rumpled sheets and condoms in the trash. A rowdy night of fun had never twisted him up like this before.
