by Marina Adair
And in that moment he knew he was fucked.
Beneath the frustration and sexual heat that sizzled between them every time they were in fighting distance was a woman with a big heart, a beautiful smile, and the saddest fucking eyes he’d ever seen.
Kennedy wasn’t trying to be mean; she was just calling it how she saw it. She chose to go it alone because she’d learned it was less painful. It made him wonder what kind of assholes she’d been exposed to—and how he’d ended up being lumped in the same barrel.
A position he liked about as much as losing those apples.
“I’m tired and sore from a long day,” she said. “The last thing I want right now is dinner.” The “with you” was implied.
Luke knew that she probably hadn’t eaten all day, just like he knew that Kennedy’s day was more than long—with his aunt on the warpath, it was a painful experience in perseverance.
Fi Callahan loved fiercely, lived loudly, and was the town’s biggest know-it-all. She was always right, never in doubt, and made Gandhi look soft when it came to fighting for what she believed in. And she believed in God, family, the Seattle Seahawks, and Destiny Bay apples.
Not always in that order.
“You just don’t think you’re hungry because you’ve been smelling food all day,” Luke said, pulling two bowls out of the cupboard. “Which is why I went with savory. Smelling sugar and cinnamon all day used to get to my mom, too. She said good bakers taste every step of the way, so the Apple Festival and harvest time always made for a lot of salads in my house. And after a long day in the orchard, a salad wouldn’t cut it for me and my dad.”
Kennedy paused to look at him, as if trying to figure out why he was sharing this with her, if this was all a part of his game. Good luck, he thought, because he was as confused as she.
Luke never talked about his dad. To anyone. Sure, he listened when his mom or people in town brought him up, reminisced about what a great guy he was. But Luke never did much more than listen and give the expected smile or solemn nod. Anything else felt like a lie.
He’d made it clear when he left for college after that last harvest that he was moving on to bigger and better. Oh, he found his bigger, working as some starched corporate developer for one of the top tech firms in the state. Had the fancy car, cush corner office, and downtown loft to prove it. As for the better, his world always came up lacking. Karma, he guessed, for walking away from his family when they’d needed him, and being laser focused on the wrong things. Which made seeing what was in front of him impossible.
“So your mom cooked you guys this chili?” she asked, and Luke looked up to find that Kennedy had taken a seat at the counter. The exact place he’d wanted her a moment ago, only now he just wanted air.
“Nah,” he said, checking the loaf of sourdough he’d popped in the oven. “Mom was too tired when she came home to cook, so my dad started making dinners. Came up with a bunch of recipes my mom loved, but this chili was her favorite.”
Luke remembered how his dad would smile while tinkering with the spices to get it just right. Luke knew he was the kind of bone tired that only picking apples for twelve hours could bring on, because Luke had been, too. But the second his dad got behind the stove, started thinking about his wife coming home to dinner on the table, it was as if he got a second wind.
“No matter how much she’d baked that day, she could never pass up a bowl.”
“That’s really sweet,” Kennedy said, a wistfulness in her voice. “He sounds like a good guy.”
“He was the best.” Luke cleared his throat and wondered what his dad would think of him now. Of how he was strategizing and sweet-talking a woman right out of her home. Then he thought about what his dad would think if he lost his mom’s house. For a second time.
Fuck. Luke didn’t do the bad guy—he’d been raised better than that. Problem was, he also didn’t do disappointment, not when it came to his family.
Which left him up the creek with Cute Shop Girl swinging the paddle.
On the bright side, it wasn’t like he was robbing her of her home. The woman had lived in Destiny Bay for all of two weeks. How settled could she possibly be? Not as settled as the pretty nest egg he’d give her to build a home anywhere she wanted.
Kennedy would get her shop, his mom would get her home, and his dad would get his dying wish. Luke would get the luxury of breathing without the weight of his dad’s death pressing down.
It was a win, win, fucking win for all involved. He just needed to show Kennedy that.
Channeling his Callahan charm, he lifted the lid of the bakery box and smiled. Inside was a perfect tart with a flaky top, dusted with sugar, and worthy of Sweetie Pies’ name. “He was sweet to my mom, but I am interested in the sweetness of this tart, which no doubt needed a lot of tastings. So I imagine the last thing you want is to stand in front of another stove and make dinner.”
She looked at her creation and blinked. Opening her mouth to say something, she glanced up at him and closed it, as if so thrown by his comment she didn’t know how to respond.
“So the chili, this whole setup, was just a welcome to the neighborhood gesture?”
“What can I say? I’m a nice guy.” When she rolled her eyes, he added, “Ask my mom, she’ll vouch for me.” A line that always had women smiling.
Kennedy didn’t smile. In fact, she yawned, an irritating I am unimpressed yawn that had his ego taking cover. “Telling someone you like that they’re wrong isn’t the way to start a lasting friendship.”
He touched the tip of her nose. “I knew you liked me.”
“I was talking about your mother.”
“Oh, you like me, sweetness.” To prove it, he rested his hand flush on the counter, crowding her body with his and leaning in until there was nowhere no run. Nowhere to hide from the obvious chemistry.
He waited, silently watching as she swallowed hard, tried to school her reaction to him. When he was close enough to smell the baked sugar on her skin, he whispered, “You just don’t like that you like me.”
A feeling Luke knew all too well. There were a dozen women at the bar who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at the thought of going home with him. But he wasn’t up for the fast and loose lifestyle anymore. Nope, Luke wanted the only woman in town who drove him bat-shit crazy.
Kennedy snorted. “Does that really work with women?”
Always.
And it was working now. The pulse in her neck picked up, her eyes dilated with desire, and he found himself thinking that three weeks was a hell of a long time to keep his hands to himself. Especially if every time they were around each other, all he could think about was kissing her quiet. Or using that temper of hers in a more productive environment.
As if reading his mind, Kennedy shifted in her stool.
Interesting. She was as uncomfortable with the sexual heat that sizzled between them as he was.
“Okay, maybe I did have another reason for coming. Maybe I came to sample your tarts.” He let his eyes slowly glide down her neck and lower, and damn, he was good. From this angle, he had a perfect view, and it was a wide expanse of nothing but silky, smooth skin.
Kennedy followed his gaze, then smacked his chest, shoving him back. She grabbed her wine and went to stand, but he captured her hand, halting her. “Seriously, the word around town is they are pretty amazing.”
Made from vegetables, which would mean that he’d have to take some allergy meds after, but at this point he wasn’t ruling it out.
“Amazing is a pretty charming word,” she said with a knowing smile. “There’s one in that box, help yourself. You can take it with you—to go.” She headed toward the hallway with the entire bottle of wine, so she didn’t see him cringe. Then she paused at the threshold. “Or you can just call Hawk, the really hot guy who owns the Penalty Box. He came in after closing and cleared me out of the rest of my stock.”
Luke frowned. “He bought your tarts?”
“Sampled my pies, too.” Her sm
ile grew to release two adorable dimples in a move that she totally stole—from him! “Didn’t beat around the bush either. Just came out and told me what he wanted.”
Luke swallowed. “And what was that?”
“That’s between me and Hawk,” she said sweetly with a wink that drove him crazy. “Have a good night, Luke. And be sure to lock up when you leave.”
* * *
When Kennedy’s alarm went off the next morning, she had a hard time finding it. Partly because she was hungover from her pity party for one, but mostly because it was oh-dark-hundred on her day off.
Her first day off since she’d arrived in town.
Cracking open one eye, she finally located her phone—on the floor next to an empty wine bottle, her dress, and a half-eaten tart—then hit it four times before she realized that it wasn’t her alarm at all.
The annoying beeping was coming from outside her window.
“Make it stop,” she groaned, pushing a pillow over her face in hopes of snuffing out the awful noise. When that didn’t work, she flung the pillow at the window, her days as a high school pitcher coming in handy as it nailed the glass pane. And sure, it grazed the ceiling fan, took out the bedside lamp, and took down the blinds. But the beeping stopped.
And for one incredibly beautiful moment, there was nothing but silence—and the world seemed perfect.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Kennedy’s eyes flew open, and in one fluid motion, she tore off the covers, shoved her feet in her slippers, and was marching out the front door.
Images of Fi circling the house with Lola flashed through her head as she raced down the hall, past the unslept-in sofa bed, snagging a sweater off the coat rack, and out the front door.
By the time Kennedy reached the edge of the porch, pulling her sweater tightly around her to shield against the early morning frost, the beeping had stopped. Too bad the pounding in her head hadn’t.
The sun was peeking over the mountains, shining off the bright red and green fruit that hung from the thousands of trees. Beneath each tree in the closest row sat a few dozen white ladders with empty wicker bushels, just waiting to be filled. And ten feet from her bedroom window, going a steady two miles per hour up and down the rows of trees, was a giant green tractor.
And at its helm, dressed in denim and red flannel, with a faded ball cap pulled low, was Luke, looking like a sexy rancher-for-hire.
Kennedy looked at her phone and wanted to cry. It was six-oh-eight. On her only day off. “Surely, there’s some kind of noise ordinance you’re violating,” she hollered over the roar of the engine.
Luke turned to look over his shoulder and, one hand on the steering wheel, the other cupped to his ear, hollered back, “Hang on, can’t hear you.”
To prove it, he revved the engine a few times, then headed her way—in reverse, with the backup beeper blaring as if announcing the second coming. The tractor reached the edge of her porch and sputtered to a stop. He shut down the tractor and smiled down at her—
“What was that, sweetness?”
Even on the porch, she still had to crane her neck to look up at him. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll wake the neighborhood this early?”
He looked around, his body language all innocence and concern. “You’re up. I’m up. No one else around for miles.” He took in her bedhead, her puffy eyes, and grinned—not that she could see his face, the sun was behind him, casting a long shadow, but she knew he was grinning at her. She could feel it. “I’m sorry, didn’t I mention that today starts the harvest?”
“And it’s tradition to kick off every harvest with a crack-of-dawn tractor pull around my house?” she guessed.
“Nah. Just this year. Thought I’d try something new, give you all the bells and whistles that come with living in the country.” He stroked the hood of the tractor with reverence. “Impressive, huh? They call her the Porsche of tractors.”
“I dated a guy who drove a Porsche once,” she said. “He was quick off the line but a little too compact for my taste.”
“Well, no need for worry here. I give you my word that Callahan Orchards is in possession of the biggest tractor in the county. Big, range tough, and overflowing with power. Always up for the task, and gets the job done.” He winked. “Want to take it for a spin?’
“I’ll pass.”
“When you change your mind, let me know.”
She noticed he said when, not if.
In one fluid motion, Luke hopped off the tractor and onto the grass. All those muscles moved with a power and confidence that said he could handle anything that came his way. She also got the impression that he was the kind of man who came through on his word.
“Actually, I am glad you’re here. I’m nearly out of apples at the shop and need to schedule a delivery from my orchards,” Kennedy said, proud at how professional she sounded.
Luke studied her—all of her—for a long, intense moment, then flipped his cap around in a move that was all male confidence and grinned. “I don’t do business deals before I’ve had my morning cup of coffee.”
“I would ask if you prefer cream or sugar, but that would imply I’m willing to make you coffee and invite you in.”
“For the record, I’ll always take sugar if a lady offers. And while I’d love to see you skirting around the kitchen in nothing but my old shirt and lace, I already made a pot, it’s on the counter next to the stove.”
Kennedy didn’t know if it was seeing him in his element with dirt under his nails and yesterday’s scruff, or maybe she was still a little drunk, but the idea of sharing a morning coffee with Luke made her thighs quiver.
“Or we can talk right here,” he said. “Your call. Although I’m sure the crew is hoping for front porch negotiations.” He looked over his shoulder. “They should be here in about three minutes—all fifty of them are scheduled to show up on the south orchard. Who knows, one look at you in nothing but bedhead, sheet prints, and that old shirt, and I bet a good dozen of them will offer up their services for free.”
Kennedy looked down and—
“Ohmigod! You waited to tell me this until now.” Her hands tugged at the bottom of what appeared to be an oversized UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON tee that she’d pulled from the hall closet last night. The cotton hung long enough to cover all the important parts up front, but she tugged down the back just to be safe.
“Yeah, that isn’t much better.” His gaze drifted toward her apples, which were embarrassingly ripe, and there went that smile. “But it sure puts the good in my morning. Apparently in yours, too.”
“It’s cold,” she lied, feeling ridiculously charmed. “And you’re just trying to get to me by making me believe you slept over last night. When we both know that you didn’t stay the night. I heard you lock up when you left.”
“I left to go get some clothes, but then I came back.” He took one step, then another, stopping when they were toe to toe, and he let his heated brown eyes travel from her face to her mouth, down her chest, where it hung for a long, intense moment.
Kennedy’s mouth? Well, that went dry—the exact opposite of what was happening down south. The look on his face did her in. It was intense, hot, and sheer male appreciation. A look she hadn’t been on the receiving end of in far too long.
“Just in time to see your little striptease.”
Kennedy poked him in the chest, noticing how firm and sculpted it was. “You are so full of it.”
“That shirt and your yellow panties say differently,” he said, his lips giving a small curl at the corners. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler or a sheet stealer. Gotta’ say, you’re full of surprises, sweetness.”
“I’m not a sheet stealer!” Which was the same thing she’d told Philip when he’d accused her of being a blanket burglar. “And I am not wearing yellow underwear.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes,” she said, hating how hard it was to breathe, how one wicked look could derail her entirely.
Carefully,
she glanced down the neckline of her shirt to see if—shit!
Yellow panties.
She looked back up, to find Luke rocking victoriously back on his heels, because he’d been checking, too. She shot him her most intimidating glare, only he didn’t look intimidated. He looked pleased with himself.
“Admit it, you only knew that because I forgot to put on pants, and you must have seen my reflection in the window.” Feeling exposed, and strangely turned on, Kennedy poked his chest again. Only this time he didn’t move back.
He moved forward, coming so close he didn’t bother to stop until he was all in her space and she could smell the fragrant scent of apples on his clothes. Feel the heat of his body seep through the cotton of her shirt.
She felt herself drawing closer, falling into his vortex of sexy, which made her feel sexy, and feminine—and desired.
He was already a little sweaty from putting in some heavy lifting before the sun was even up. Yup, Luke Callahan was big, badass, and so mouthwateringly male she felt her cheeks heat.
Both sets.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His breath brushed her lips and she almost moaned yes.
That she did want to know. She wanted to know if he really slept in her bed, and if there was a pot of coffee waiting for her by the stove. And even though she knew it was wrong, she desperately wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him.
To finally kiss a man who knew what he wanted and took without apology.
“There is nothing I want to do more than take you up on that offer,” he said quietly, his eyes on her mouth. “But a gentleman never kisses on the first date.”
“Date?” she said through the sexual haze. “We haven’t had a date.”
“Not yet.” His lips curled up into a grin. “Although I did cook you chili.”
“Which I didn’t eat.”
“Next time,” he whispered.
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Sure there will, and it will end with a kiss that I would put good money on will be instigated by you.” He grinned. “Yeah, that’s how it will go down, because even though you would rather die than admit it, I get to you. I get to you bad.”
