Last Kiss of Summer

by Marina Adair

  She was hoping he’d call all right. She did the smoothing of the hair down and straightening her shoulders, typical chick language for “I’m into you.” So Luke crossed his arms and, with a smile that was too big and stupid, waited for her voice to come through the phone.

  Well, shit, she sent him to voice mail.

  The least she could do, since she was breaking into his truck, was answer. So he hung up and dialed her back. Because he, too, had programmed her into his phone.

  This time she answered.

  “Hello, this is Kennedy Sinclair,” she said, so professional, he was surprised she didn’t add, “I can’t come to the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep,” then give off some humanized impression of a beep.

  Probably knew he’d call right back.

  “Hey, sweetness.”

  “Oh, hey, Luke,” she said as if she didn’t know who had been calling. “I was just about to call you. To say thanks for the early delivery.”

  He chuckled. “And here I thought you were going to hang up on me again.”

  There was a long stretch of silence, where she glanced around, looked into the truck again, then back to the darkened window. “Sorry about that. I was busy and accidentally hit the wrong button.”

  She was a terrible liar.

  “But seriously, thanks.” This time her tone was warm, soft—genuine. And man, that lit him up inside. “Showing up to have all of my apples in the shop today was…well, you gave me a little more faith that good guys really might exist. And made what could have been a really stressful day pretty amazing. So thanks.”

  Luke couldn’t help smiling, even though Hawk was going to rip him a new one over this. Luke knew that Kennedy had to be sore and achy, just like he knew she was determined as hell to get her apples to the shop. He told himself he did it because a few bushels of apples weren’t going to solve her problems, or inflate his. The truth was, Luke did it because he didn’t want to be another disappointment.

  Not to her.

  Her business was going to fail; he just didn’t want to be the reason it did. Plus, if the Starks agreed to his proposal, he wouldn’t need her apples.

  Knowing that he’d brought a smile to that pretty face made it all worth it.

  “Glad I could help, and I am happy you found the apples. For a moment there I wondered if you’d overlooked them somehow.” Which would explain why she was trying to steal his truck.

  “Why would you think I overlooked them?”

  He chuckled. “No reason.” And then because he wanted to feel like he was that good guy, he added, “Oh, and Kennedy, try the handle, it’s unlocked.”

  She froze, her baby blues so big with surprise, he could see the moon reflecting off them. “I have no idea what you’re taking about.”

  “The driver’s door. To my truck. It’s unlocked. And if you were planning on taking it for a spin, the keys are on the floorboard. Night now.” By the time he ended the call, his prowler had abandoned her job and was hustling that sweet ass through the orchard and back to the cottage.

  Luke gave it two minutes, to make sure she wasn’t coming back for her supplies, before he headed down. He checked the back window—thankfully not a scratch.

  Then he checked the paper bag she’d left behind. Inside was a box with a single slice of pie, a tractor-shaped cookie that was topped with green and yellow icing, and a note.

  The pie is for helping me out. The cookie is to make you smile…K

  PS. In case you like what you taste.

  And taped right below the PS was a one of those decorative keys that Ali sold at her home and garden store. It was green with bright red apples on it. And Luke was pretty sure it went to the front door of the cottage.

  * * *

  Normally, when a woman gave Luke a key to her place, he didn’t expect to be greeted with a rolling pin and apron. Unless that apron was accompanied by do-me pumps and nothing else. This apron, however, was his size, and the only do-me offer on the table was, “Do me a favor, and hand me the flour.”

  Not that he could see the table anymore, since it was covered with a dozen different kinds of mini pies, all cooling and all waiting for his approval. He’d tasted three so far, apple and blackberry, apple and pear, and apple and mango. The first two were fantastic; the mango was a little too out of the box to like.

  So Kennedy had cut it off the list. Her feelings hadn’t been wounded; there had been not a single tear, just a shrug and a big X through the idea. For someone who made his life difficult, being around her was surprisingly easy.

  And fun.

  “I have to come up with a catchy name that lets people know the apples are the star.” Eyes twinkling with excitement, she set another mystery pie on the counter. “Ready for the next one?”

  Luke would do just about anything to keep that smile of hers going, because damn, she was beautiful, but he hesitated. Bad move, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

  Kennedy was clearly eager for him to taste this one, too eager for his comfort. He’d seen her going into stealth mode on the last pie, making a big deal to block his view so he couldn’t see what she was making.

  Not that he’d minded. Her version of blocking his view was to shield the mixing bowl with her body. And since she was still in that cute khaki skirt, and a fuzzy blue sweater that matched her eyes, Luke supported her right to surprise him.

  Until he saw her cutting green leaves off this freaky red plant, which had roots. Roots indicated it was a vegetable and no way in hell was he eating a vegetable for dessert. Even if her sweater was slipping off her right shoulder, exposing a black, silky strap.

  “I like the other ones better. I say cut it.”

  “Cut it?” Her pretty eye went wide with mock surprise. “You haven’t even tried it.”

  “Don’t need to. I already know I won’t like it.” And to be clear that the freaky roots would not pass his lips, he pushed the fork back.

  “But you don’t even know what it is,” she said, pitching her voice so it sounded like pure sex.

  “Then tell me.” He leaned back, flashing a little sexy her way. “What’s in it?”

  “That’s against the rules,” she reminded him, padding barefoot around the counter until she was standing right next to him, her scent wrapping around him and engulfing him.

  Slowly, he spun his chair to the side until they were facing each other, and she was standing between his parted thighs. “You have too many rules.”

  “I need an unbiased opinion, and you knowing what’s in the pies can skew the results.” When he looked ready to argue, she said, “I told you what was in the mango one and you wrinkled your nose and said it was weird.”

  “Mango and apples are weird.”

  “Well, this one is amazing.” She picked up the fork and offered it to him by moving it back and forth in a hypnotic gesture. “I promise you’ll love it. It’s a crowd favorite.”

  He ignored the fork, instead taking in what she was saying to figure out what he was missing. “You’ve made this before?”

  A small smile crossed her lips and she scooted closer. “I made it for a state fair when I was twelve. It was the first award I ever won for baking.”

  He looked at the pie on the plate, the golden crust, the crystallized sugar on top. Weird alien vegetable aside, it looked like a pie out of a baking magazine. “Did it look like this when you were twelve?”

  She nodded. “I spent all summer perfecting it. My grandma was a grocery clerk and she pulled a lot of double shifts, so after she’d leave for work, I would go in the kitchen and bake. It kept me out of trouble.”

  Luke had a hard time imagining a young Kennedy getting into trouble. She might have spunk, but she was also a pleaser by nature. She liked rules because they made her feel safe. Gave her boundaries so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  “Does each pie here have a story?” he asked.

  “Not all of them, but most. The ones that don’t are just waiting for theirs.”<
br />
  “That’s a lot of pies,” he said.

  “I had a lot of free time growing up.”

  Luke didn’t know a lot about raising kids, but it sounded like Kennedy had had a lonely childhood. She never talked about friends or family, outside of her grandmother, and rarely brought up home. And as far as he knew, no one had come to visit or help her move.

  He wanted to ask where her family was, but could tell that wouldn’t be a fun topic for her. And tonight he wanted her to have fun. She was excited about her new line of mixed fruit pies, excited about her idea to tempt locals to expand their taste buds.

  Luke picked up another pie. One from the back of the counter. “Tell me about this one.”

  “I can’t without telling you what’s in it. And it’s against the—”

  “Rules, got it.” He took another pie. The apple and mango. “How about this one. I already know what’s in it.”

  “That one reminds me of the time my grandma and I were in Atlanta,” she began and he could see the warmth of the memory wash over her, feel the connection fill the space between them, and shift into something much more intimate. Vulnerable. “It was July, so it was hot and muggy. We passed this fancy French pâtisserie. I’d never seen a pastry shop with starched tablecloths and wineglasses before. My grandma knew that I loved desserts and suggested we go inside and get something to cool off.”

  She broke off and cleared her throat. “Even though I was only eight, I knew we were poor, but my grandma took me inside and told me to pick anything I wanted. We shared a butterscotch and apple crepe with mango ice on top. She said it was the most memorable thing she’d ever tasted.”

  “And that inspired this pie?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Letting go of all his expectations and preconceived ideas about the odd pairing, Luke took another bite. This time letting it melt on his tongue. After he got past the initial intense explosion of flavor, it mellowed out to a smooth sweetness, with a fresh hint of citrus at the end.

  He decided it wasn’t so weird after all. Just unexpected, kind of like its creator.

  An unexpected bite of sweet freshness.

  “And this one started it all?” he asked, pulling the root vegetable pie closer. “Which probably makes it high on your list of hopefuls.”

  “It’s the top of my list.” Her eyes went bright, and she nibbled her lip. She wasn’t just excited for him to try it, she was nervous about his reaction, as if he had the power to hurt her. A position he’d never wanted to be in. “It’s my favorite.”

  “If it’s your favorite, then why do you care what I think?”

  Averting her face, she concentrated on straightening the pie so that the designs she’d cut out of the top were lined up with the fork. “I know what I like, but I’m not all that great at figuring out what everyone else likes,” she said with a pain so raw he felt it in his chest. “I don’t want to put it out there with high hopes, only to fall short of reaching expectations.”

  This was about more than pies and pleasing customers—he could see it in her posture, in the way she was fidgeting with the silverware. Part of the problem with letting people in was giving them the tools to hurt you. And Kennedy had been hurt, maybe by her ex, maybe by her parents, but she’d had more than her fair share of letdowns. It was why she worked so hard not to disappoint others.

  Problem was, by pleasing others, she opened herself up to disappointment.

  “Whoever told you that you fell short was wrong.”

  Kennedy slowly lifted her gaze, her lashes fluttering up last showing him an expression that wasn’t defiant, but uncertain. “How do you know?”

  Didn’t that break his heart. She didn’t understand what he could have seen in her that others had easily dismissed. Even more, he could see that she needed to believe he saw something more. Which he did, and anyone who couldn’t see what an amazing woman she was didn’t deserve her trust.

  You don’t either, he told himself.

  “My mom always said nothing that comes from the heart can ever fall short.” Luke gently ran the pad of his finger over her cheek. “And you, sweetness, are all heart.”

  “Sometimes my heart feels so big with everyone else, there isn’t room left for me,” she admitted, sharing a part of herself with him that didn’t come lightly.

  “You’re a nurturer. You have this amazing capacity to care for others and for what you do. It’s why you love baking. It’s your way of acknowledging their value, making their day a little brighter.”

  She looked as touched by the compliment as she did uncomfortable. “Do you know why I invited you here tonight?”

  “To make me eat weird root vegetables?”

  She laughed and it was a sweet sound. “No, I wanted to say thank you. Not just for bringing me the apples, but for making my day brighter. You made me feel special on a day that was tiring and frustrating. Your thoughtfulness allowed for a reprieve, gave me enough pause to see the possibilities, and solidify things.” With a soft smile she stepped off the stool and between his legs and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You are one of the good ones, Luke.”

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about the last half, but he wasn’t complaining seeing how good she felt pressed against his thighs. “Sounds like you packed a lot into eight hours.”

  “I’ve packed a lot into my whole life.” She looked at the pies on the counter, as if checking off each memory, then to the one he’d rejected. “And today, I decided I was tired of packing, I want to enjoy, make my life special, and go after what I want. To wake up every day and feel how I felt when I saw the bushels of apples, which, by the way, did I say thank you?”

  “You did. Three times.” Didn’t stop her from going in for a fourth, which consisted of a sweet brush of the lips that was meant to soothe.

  Luke closed his eyes at the rush of emotions that complicated something they needed to keep simple. Only the more time he spent with her, the more he respected her—and the more he wanted her. She had a big heart and an even bigger capacity to nurture, and being on the receiving end of that kind of intense warmth was addicting.

  Made him crave things he couldn’t have. Do things he shouldn’t do, like slip his hands around her waist and draw her near. Rub his thumb over the soft curve of her hip, and under her sweater to the even softer skin beneath, until her eyes heated with pleasure.

  Only she’d invited him here to explore her new menu, not the Kama Sutra. Otherwise she would have answered that door in fuck-me pumps and a LET’S GET COOKING apron, instead of that skirt, a fuzzy sweater, and her dreams on her sleeve.

  No matter how careful they were, they were destined to burn hot and crash hard. While Luke was a giver by nature, with her he feared he’d do nothing but take. And Kennedy had lost enough in her life.

  “Do you know why I came here?” he asked.

  “Free pie?”

  He smiled. “That, and to apologize for putting you in an impossible situation. I knew you needed the apples, and I was pissed that you changed the locks.”

  “I get it.” She shrugged. “I locked you out of the cottage and stole your men.”

  One smile and those men abandoned their post, almost costing him an embarrassing conversation with one of his largest clients. But tonight wasn’t about tallying points; he’d come to prove that he was the kind of guy who followed through on his commitments. The kind of man his father would have been proud of.

  “Yes, but I could have found a better solution than sending you up a tree alone,” he admitted.

  “I wasn’t alone. Not yesterday and not today. And it was nice.” Very gently, she placed her hands flat against his chest, and he was sure she could feel his heart pounding with need. “Beneath that MBA starch, you’re nice, too.”

  Luke put his hand over hers. “Sweetness, I think you’re mistaking a good day for a good decision.”

  “No more mistakes, I’m reinventing.”

  He wasn’t sure if she meant her menu or herself; e
ither way that didn’t settle right. “I would hate to see you reinvent something that’s already perfect.”

  “You can’t say something is perfect if you haven’t tried it,” she said as if she were back to talking about the pie, but he knew better.

  “Every once in a while you come across something so memorable, you only need one taste to know.” And he already knew that, with her, one taste would never be enough. And no way in hell did he deserve another, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it.

  From wanting her.

  Not when she was looking at him like she wanted it, too. Like he was the answer to all her problems, the guy who could take her day from ho-hum to Christmas-fucking-morning in one brush of the lips.

  “Funny, I’ve always been a second helping kind of girl,” she said, and before he could point out that he liked a healthy appetite in his women, she pulled his mouth to hers, proving he also found decisiveness an admirable quality.

  In fact, there was a lot about her to admire, her mouth for one. Full and soft, sliding over his lips as if he were the tasting, and she was savoring each second. Seconds that turned to minutes, taking it from gentle welcoming brushes to come-and-get-me nips that blew his mind.

  Which brought him to her directness. A quality that, until this very moment, he’d vastly underestimated. Kennedy didn’t play coy like other women; she was exacting and a world-class communicator. When his hands slid south, over his hips and lower, she moaned, groaned really, in that breathy way that told him under no circumstances was he to stop.

  And Luke knew better than to deny a lady, especially when she made it clear by the way she was climbing up his body that she would like to use his lap as a seat—an order he could get behind. And he did, lifting her until she was straddling him and bringing his attention to her choice in attire.

  It was so admirable, it had him retracting his earlier statement about the impartial nature of her skirt. Because all it took was a little shimmy on her part, not that he wasn’t contributing to the cause, and suddenly her skirt was inching around her waist—and his hands were on her ass. A place he’d spent every waking moment dreaming they could be, only to realize that her imagination was far superior to his.