Crossing the Line (The Cross Creek Series Book 2)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Eli, however, didn’t hesitate so much as a nanosecond in response. “Because. Not that you’re familiar with the concept, but I intend to beat you fair and square,” he said. “And I’ve got no interest in you crying foul when I do.”

  Greyson’s momentary silence said he was clearly sidestepping the insult in order to process the intel, and Eli had to give the asshole a sliver of credit. At least he wasn’t stupid 24/7.

  Till he opened his cakehole again, anyway. “I see. And is that the only deal you’ve got with Miss Fancy Pants? Or are you getting in her fancy pants, too?”

  Eli’s mind flashed back to the night he’d spent with Scarlett and the sexy-sweet promise she’d made to spend the next two weeks with him, but only for a second. “That falls square under the category of none of your damned business, now doesn’t it?” he bit out, stepping just a hair closer to Greyson than was cordial.

  Of course, Greyson pushed off the counter to meet him halfway. “That’s a no,” he snorted. “If you were tapping that, you’d be hoarse as a crow from the bragging.”

  Anger snapped, hot and vicious in Eli’s chest, tempting him to plow his fist right into the center of Greyson’s face. His fingers twitched, his muscles coiling with just enough tension to turn the thought into action.

  But instead, he loosened his fists and exhaled. “Do yourself a favor,” he said, notching his voice to its lowest, meanest setting. “Stop talking about Scarlett and walk away from me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

  Greyson’s black brows winged upward, sending Eli’s gut toward his knees and his adrenaline to a full percolate. But just when he was sure Greyson would push his luck and they’d end up fixin’ to kick each other’s asses once and for all, the douchebag took a step back.

  “Whatever. Bring in all the highbrow city girls you want. Whittaker Hollow’s making a killing, just like we have been all season. We’re still the better farm, and in two weeks, everyone in town—and now, all over the Internet, besides—will know it.”

  “We’ll see,” Eli promised, his molars still locked together even after Greyson had given up his back and walked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Hey, bumblebee. How do you feel about a field trip?”

  The question caught Scarlett so off guard that she nearly dropped the crate of butter lettuce balanced between her palms. “I’ve been in Millhaven for three weeks now,” she pointed out with a sassy smile. “I’m pretty sure you’ve shown me everything the town has to offer.”

  “Everything, huh? It’s only been a week since we branched out from the farm and started exploring Millhaven, proper. And in today’s case, beyond,” Eli pointed out, leaning one hip against the tailgate of Cross Creek’s box truck and tipping his head at the pavilion in front of them, where the famers’ market was in full swing. “You sure you’ve seen it all?”

  She laughed and bit back the urge to remind him that she usually changed locations the way most people changed their pants. “Well, let’s see. We’ve covered Town Street from stem to stern. I took some incredible shots of the preparations for Fall Fling on the afternoon we spent in Willow Park.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” Eli teased, and oh hell, that slow, easygoing grin was borderline not fair.

  But God, she loved everything about it. “You also took me on that driving tour to show me where everyone’s farms are located, plus I spent that afternoon taking candids of your entire family, including Emerson. Truly, there cannot be anything in the county I haven’t clapped eyes on by now.”

  Eli ran his hands over the front of his jeans before lifting them in admission. “Okay, okay. You’ve seen everything. But that’s why we’d be leaving town. Jeez, I figured an Ivy Leaguer like you would get the ins and outs of the whole ‘field trip’ thing.”

  He hooked air quotes around the words and a smile over his oh-so-sexy mouth, and dammit. Dammit! How was she supposed to combat that?

  “A field trip, huh?” Her wanderlust, which had been oddly dormant for at least a week now, perked up and stretched through her like a cat in a patch of sunshine. “I thought you were a stick-close-to-home kind of guy.”

  “I am,” he agreed. “But you’re not.”

  Scarlett lowered the small crate full of produce she’d just snapped some stills of for Mallory’s article on fall salads, making sure it was safely in the back of Cross Creek’s box truck before turning to look at Eli. “True,” she agreed slowly. “But what about the farm?”

  “Technically, today is a work day,” he said, gesturing to the pavilion in front of them, where the farmers’ market was in full swing. “But it’s also Saturday. Since we don’t have to be back at Cross Creek until Monday morning, I thought I’d take you to our cabin in the mountains for the rest of the weekend.”

  “Your cabin in the mountains,” she repeated, her belly double-knotting at the unspoken no coffee maker, no Wi-Fi, no civilization whatsoever but almost certainly bears embedded in his words.

  Eli laughed. “Relax. I know who I’m asking. There’s heat and AC and full plumbing, and yes. We can bring your coffee maker.”

  “Am I that transparent?” she asked, unable to keep a wry smile from poking at the corners of her mouth.

  Luckily for him, Eli chose to sidestep the question. “The property is about ninety minutes from Millhaven. It was originally a hunting cabin, but now it’s more of a fishing/four-wheeling/drinking-beer-and-relaxing kind of cabin.”

  “That is more my speed,” Scarlett agreed. “Minus the fishing part, anyway. I take it the place belongs to your father.”

  “And my grandfather before that. We’ve had it for about thirty years, and my old man finally bit the bullet and had the place fully renovated last year. Although the cabin itself is pretty small, it sits on about twenty-five acres. The nearby trails all have great scenic hiking routes. I thought it would be kind of cool to spend some time there—you know, in case you had the urge to take a couple hundred thousand pictures of the Shenandoah trail.”

  Good God, she really was that transparent. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll bet Mallory would love some extra landscape shots to supplement this week’s features.”

  Eli nodded, as if he’d been thinking the exact same thing. Which, knowing his head for journalism, he probably had. “We can do another video from up there if you want, too. The cabin isn’t technically part of Cross Creek property, but . . .”

  “I’m not certain anyone watching will split hairs,” Scarlett said. She and Eli had done two more videos this week to make five total, and even though things had leveled out a bit in terms of visibility, both FoodE’s website hits and Cross Creek’s local sales were still seeing steady, solid numbers.

  “Okay, then,” Eli said. “If you got all the shots you needed of the produce, we can go ahead and head out now.”

  She blinked past her surprise. “It’s only noon. Are you sure?”

  “Mmm hmm.” Eli gestured to Cross Creek’s double-wide canopy tent, where the better part of his family milled around, helping customers and chatting with the locals Scarlett had come to know quite well in her trio of trips to Camden Valley. “I’ve already hashed out the details with my old man, and Hunter and Emerson have the next couple of hours under control here. We have to pass through Millhaven on our way to the cabin anyway, so we can swing by your apartment and grab whatever you’ll need for the next couple of days.”

  Scarlett grinned, and even though she knew she shouldn’t tease him, she felt too good not to. “You went out of your way to arrange a getaway for just the two of us.”

  Although his cheeks colored just slightly, Eli pinned her with the full, flirty force of his baby blues. “What can I say? You may be an acquired taste, but I’m a little sweet on you, Scarlett Edwards-Stewart.”

  “Is that a compliment?” she asked after she was done laughing, and Eli slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and pressing a kiss over her temple even though anybody walking by could see them.

  �
�Yeah, that’s a compliment. So do you want to get away with me?” His mouth lingered on her skin just long enough to send a shiver up her spine, and she melted into his touch like snow in a soft rain.

  “Yes. I’d love to get away with you for the weekend.”

  “Of course, you would,” Eli joked. “After all, I am the charming one.”

  Before Scarlett could work up an appropriately smart-assed response, or even get done laughing, her cell phone chimed merrily from the back pocket of her cutoffs. “You just got saved by the bell, smooth talker.”

  He stole another quick kiss, then turned toward the pavilion, probably in an effort to give her some privacy to take her call. “Tell Mallory I said ‘nice timing.’ Come find me when you’re done, and we can head out.”

  “Okay.” She watched Eli take a few steps over the grass—selfish, maybe, but the man had an ass like Roman sculpture, and she was, after all, only human (and also horny). But her phone was on ring number three, so she slid the thing into her palm, her grin going for broke as she registered the name and number on the caller ID. “Olá, meu belo amigo! Rafael, how are you? How’s life in São Paulo?”

  Her longtime friend and Brazilian newspaper contact’s chuckle filled the line as if they were separated by mere feet rather than almost five thousand miles and two time zones. “Life here in paradise is good, but it’s waiting for you, minha querida. Do you have any particulars on your arrival in a few weeks?”

  Scarlett swallowed past her suddenly dry throat. “I have a flight itinerary,” she said, her mind whirling back to the travel plans she’d booked before she’d even come to Cross Creek. God, those few clicks online felt as if she’d made them a hundred years ago. “I’m on a job here in the States for another week or so, but after that, I’m headed your way, as promised.”

  “Yes, I saw some of your latest work on your Twitter feed. The farm you’re shooting looks lovely, but I know you. You must be going out of your mind. Have you really been there in the middle of all that corn for three whole weeks?”

  “I have,” Scarlett said, her wanderlust picking a solid fight with her libido. “This job has been great actually.”

  Okay, so it was a two-ton understatement. But she couldn’t exactly tell Rafael that she’d barely thought about leaving Virginia for over a week now, let alone cop to how down-to-her-toes good she’d felt spending every waking moment with Eli, a man who’d only ever been to one state in his entire life and never planned to leave. Raff would never believe her.

  No matter how true the words were.

  “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you here, I’m afraid.” Rafael’s voice grew more serious on the other end of the line. “I just lost the reporter who I’d scheduled to work with you. His mãe fell ill two days ago.”

  “That’s awful. Is she okay?” Just because Scarlett didn’t have a mother herself didn’t mean she didn’t get that other people did, and that they cared deeply for them on top of it.

  “It looks as if she will be, but she’s got a long road ahead. He had to cancel indefinitely.”

  “Do you want to postpone the articles we have scheduled?” Scarlett asked, her heart torn between the yes and are you fucking crazy, girl? pumping alternately through her chest.

  But Raff put a quick end to the conflict. “Of course not. For you, I’ll pull something out of my hat. No worries, sweetheart. Just send me your itinerary when you can, eh?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  But as Scarlett lifted her gaze at Eli, looking perfectly comfortable and even more perfectly happy as he knelt down to give his dad’s dog, Lucy, a nice, long scratch behind the ears, she knew she’d lied to Rafael.

  For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure at all.

  Scarlett stared at Eli, absolutely convinced she’d either gone hard of hearing or batshit crazy.

  “You want me to blindfold myself with this bandana?” She held up the square of bright-red cloth in question, staring at him from the passenger seat of his truck.

  His mischievous smile didn’t budge. If anything, her skepticism only kicked it into higher gear. “Just for a few minutes, and I promise there’s a method to my madness.”

  “I thought you said we were only a few minutes away from the cabin.” One beat passed, then another before realization dropped on her like a great big duh-shaped anvil. “Ah. That’s why you want to keep me in the dark. Because we’re almost there.” God, she’d been so preoccupied by her earlier conversation with Rafael that her brain was seriously turning into tapioca.

  A fact that clearly wasn’t lost on Eli. “You keep up all that quick thinking and I’m going to have to change your nickname to Sherlock. Yes,” he added, before she could raise a brow over a playfully backhanded comment of her own. “That’s why I want to keep you in the dark. I know you’re visual, and the thought of being in the dark gives you the shakes.”

  Hell if he didn’t have her dead to rights there. But come on. She was a photographer. She’d been guilty of framing up her breakfast in her head more than once. “I’m not a fan,” Scarlett agreed.

  “Trust me. This will be worth it, and besides”—Eli slipped one hand over hers while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel—“I’ve got your back.”

  An odd pang settled in Scarlett’s chest, but rather than making her uncomfortable, she began folding the bandana into a blindfold.

  She did trust him. A lot.

  And it felt really, really good.

  “Okay,” Scarlett said a few seconds later when the cotton was sufficiently folded into a thick band and knotted around the back of her head. They rode in comfortable silence for another few minutes, and she used the opportunity to let the rest of her senses recalibrate. The smooth vibration of pavement beneath the truck’s tires became a bit bumpier after a slow turn, the sudden pop and crunch of gravel confirming that they must be getting really close to the cabin. The truck came to a stop a minute later, with Eli quieting the engine, and instinctively, Scarlett reached up to remove the bandana so she could finally see where they were.

  Eli’s fingers closed around hers before she could so much as loosen the fabric, the brush of his callused fingers sending a ripple down her spine. “Whoa. Slow down, bumblebee.”

  “But we’re here. How am I supposed to figure out where I’m going?” Her two left feet weren’t limited to dancing. Surely she wouldn’t make it more than five steps without sprawling directly on her ass if she kept this blindfold in place. Plus, the drive out here had been chock full of breathtaking scenery, the bright-blue sky serving as a flawless backdrop for the rolling mountains and the trees that were just starting to be touched by fall.

  “You’re supposed to let me help you,” Eli said. The rustle of fabric and the open-slam combo of the door told her he’d gotten out of the truck, the shift in temperature a few seconds later signaling that he’d opened the passenger door. Thanks to the higher elevation, the weather wasn’t nearly as warm here as it had been in Millhaven, and she shivered a little at the cool breeze skating over her bare arms.

  “We’re on gravel.” Eli’s hands closed around her rib cage, easing her to her feet. “It’s mostly level, but I’ll keep you steady just in case.”

  Scarlett inhaled, her lungs filling with air so fresh she’d swear no one had ever breathed it before. “Oh.” The murmur was mostly sound slipping past her lips, but Eli still chuckled in response.

  “Yep. The Shenandoah air will do that to ya.” His body tensed, his arm tightening around her shoulders by just fraction. “I guess you’ve probably been to a lot of mountains, though.”

  “None that smell like this,” she said, all truth. The second breath felt even better than the first, sliding through her lungs and amplifying her heartbeat in her ears, and Scarlett slowed her pace to better take in every nuance even though she couldn’t see anything.

  Crisp. Earthy. Vital.

  Each sensation washed through her on the heels of the one that had come before, all comb
ining to stir the promise of what she couldn’t yet see. Eli’s body was solid and warm as he guided her step by step. Gauging distance by paces rather than sight was more difficult than she’d expected—God, she missed her most trusted tool—but finally, he said, “Okay. Two paces in front of us is a set of stairs. Just three headed up, with a railing to your right. There you go.”

  Scarlett’s hand found the rough-hewn railing after a second’s worth of reaching through thin air. The stairs were easy enough to navigate with Eli’s help, her boots thumping against what sounded like wooden planks in a steady one, two, three before the jingle of keys rang out.

  Click, twist, squeak . . . Each sound filtered in to heighten her awareness even more. The musty-sweet scent of the air inside the cabin filled her nose, and she paused again to register the different sounds and smells.

  “You ready to keep going?” Eli asked, his voice rumbling softly past her ear.

  Scarlett nodded. “Yes.”

  Continuing to take in the gentle creak of the floorboards and the shift in natural light brightening whatever was on the other side of the bandana through the cloth, she heel-toed her way into the cabin, her anticipation swelling as Eli came to a stop beside her.

  “Okay. This ought to be just about right.” He wrapped his palms over her shoulders, angling her a little farther to the left, where the daylight turned the cotton over her eyes to a bold, brilliant red. Scarlett’s chest squeezed, rising, falling, then rising again to the rhythm of her excitement. She shivered as Eli’s fingers slid up into her hair, unfastening the bandana with one fluid twist, and for a second, all she could do was blink at the kaleidoscope of light and colors and shapes.

  And then she saw what was in front of her—really saw it—and all the air left her lungs on a hard whoosh.

  “Oh. Oh,” Scarlett gasped. Her pulse tapped through her, hard enough to weaken her stance over what turned out to be gorgeous, honey-colored floorboards. The room around her was cozy enough—a small, two-story family room surrounded by a stone hearth and fireplace on one side, and a navy-blue love seat/overstuffed-chair combo on the other, all under the span of a rustic, wood-beamed ceiling.