by Toni Blake
Which he could easily understand—since she looked ridiculous.
He couldn’t hide his amusement. “That’s a pretty good disguise, Farris.”
That’s when she shifted slightly to scowl at him, lost her balance—and came tumbling to the ground with a hard thud. She let out a yowl.
Aw, shit. “Are you all right?” he asked, moving toward her.
She lay on her back in Edna’s clothes, glaring up at him. “No, actually, I don’t think so. But as soon as I am, Romeo, I’m going to kill you.”
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Seven
Oh, good God. Just what every girl wanted: for a guy she’d had sex with to mistake her for her grandmother. Rachel wished she could disappear. No wonder she’d fallen. It was all his fault. And she couldn’t even get up and stomp away from him—no, she could only lie there on the hard ground in the McIntosh grove wondering what she’d done to deserve this.
“Can you sit up?” he asked.
She started to try—when he bent down to take her hands, helping her.
So he was touching her again. And the mere sensation of his large hands closing around hers rippled up her arms. That was all she could process, despite the pain and embarrassment of the hideous situation: He’s touching me again and it feels good..
“What hurts?” he asked, stooping down beside her.
“My left ankle.” It throbbed with a dull but intense ache—which she felt a lot more now that he wasn’t touching her.
In response, Mike reached over and jiggled her left shoe back and forth—producing shooting bursts of pain. “Ow!” she screeched, smacking his hand away and flashing a look of disbelief. “I tell you my ankle hurts, so you think it’s a good idea to wiggle it?”
“Sorry,” he said—yet he went right on acting like he was Doctor Romo or something, now gently lifting her heel and pushing up the leg of her blue jeans. Then he felt around on her ankle for a few seconds, which she discovered she didn’t mind quite so much. “Starting to swell,” he informed her. “Hopefully you just twisted it and didn’t do any serious damage.”
“What on earth are you doing here anyway?” she snapped, remembering she was still irritated by the whole situation, even with his hands on her.
“I came to see Edna.”
“Why?” She didn’t care if she sounded accusing—she continued to feel very protective of Edna where he was concerned.
But his incredulous expression implied she was making too much of it. “Calm down, Farris. I just dropped by for a visit. I told you we get along. Far better than you and I get along, that’s for damn sure.”
“Well, she’s in the house taking a nap,” Rachel informed him. “She was tired this morning, so I told her I’d work by myself awhile.”
Suddenly, she found him smiling at her…oddly. So even though the smile was kind of sexy, she said, “What’s so funny?”
“Your hat,” he told her, still looking amused. “Can you take it off? I don’t mean to laugh while you’re hurt, but I can’t help it.”
Fairly outraged, she gasped, then shot him her best death glare. “For your info, Edna insisted I wear this stuff. She thinks my clothes are too nice to pick apples in.”
“Yeah, the clothes are awful, too,” he said, sweeping his gaze down over her, “but that doesn’t explain the hat.”
“She’s afraid I’ll get a sunburn,” Rachel said.
In response, he looked doubtful and clenched his teeth lightly, as if weighing the options. “Um—if I were you, Farris, I think I’d risk the burn.”
“Fine,” she snipped, then untied the ribbon beneath her chin, again lamenting that Mike Romo had found her looking like some crazed, overgrown version of Little Bo-Peep. She’d feared this very thing, of course, but Edna had promised no one would see her. Yeah, right—thanks, Edna. As she slipped Edna’s big straw monstrosity off, she hoped like hell she didn’t have hat hair.
“Okay, that’s better,” he said. Then his eyes dropped back to the big, flowery smock. “Mostly. Anyway, guess we better get you inside.”
Hmm—we? They were a team now? But she decided not to put too much stock in the statement—he was a cop, after all; it was his duty to serve and protect. And besides, as he anchored an arm around her waist to help her to her feet, she was suddenly a little too busy smelling that sexy, musky scent again to analyze it all.
Only—“Mother of God, put me down!” she yelled the second she tried to sink weight onto her ankle.
Mike lowered her hurriedly back to the grass.
“That’s not gonna work. I don’t think I can walk—at all.”
“Shit,” he said. “That means I’m gonna have to carry you.”
She glowered up at him. “Is that so terrible?”
He gave his head a frank tilt, his face close to hers. “It’s not that I mind touching you, Farris, as I think I proved the other night. It’s that it’s a damn long way.”
She sucked in her breath. “Fine then—leave me here.”
He rolled his eyes. “Quit being ridiculous.”
“Well, then quit complaining. It’s not my fault you snuck up on me and then insulted my clothing.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke.”
“Oh. So you were joking about thinking I was Edna.” This changed everything.
“No, that part was real,” he replied, extinguishing her relief. “I was talking about when I said it was a good disguise. That’s when I was joking. Sort of.”
She just blinked at him, getting more irate with each passing second. “So are you carrying me to the house or not? If you’re not strong enough,” she accused, “you could go to the barn and get one of the wagons. Or…I’m sure I could scoot there on my ass eventually.”
He simply peered down at her, fists at his hips. “Your ass is too nice to wear it out that way. And screw the wagon—I can carry you.” Good, her little jab had worked—she’d known he wouldn’t be able to handle the implication he was weak.
And with that, he stooped down and scooped her up into his arms. She automatically looped one wrist around his neck, latching on. And now they were really close. The kind of close that had led to sex last week.
She resisted saying anything, though, deciding instead to just enjoy the ride. Since it was kind of nice being pressed up against him again, even with clothes on, even the big, billowy, ugly ones she wore at the moment. And even with her ankle throbbing. She’d just learned something new about herself: Apparently, with the proper stimulation, she was able to lust through pain.
Although it turned out Mike was right—it was a long way to the house, and toward the end of the walk he started breathing heavily, his chest starting to heave, and she hoped like hell they’d make it or she’d end up all the more mortified by this whole event.
So it was a relief when he carried her up the back steps and said, “Can you grab the handle?” She pulled the old screen door open and Mike maneuvered her inside without banging her sore ankle on the door frame.
“Where to?” he asked, sounding impatient now.
“The couch,” she said, then directed him through the dining room to the parlor.
“Damn,” he muttered, breathless, as he lowered her there.
“Sorry.” She was beginning to feel, for the first time, a little sheepish about the fact that he’d had to lug her all that way. And she immediately missed being in his arms.
“No problem, Farris,” he said, slightly gruff—but not too gruff. Then he glanced down at her. “You mind if we get you out of that sad excuse for a shirt?”
“It’s a smock,” she pointed out.
“Whatever. It’s horrible.”
“What do you care?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just used to seeing you look…the way you usually look.”
“Which is?”
“Uh…good.”
Hmm. Something inside her w
armed. “So you think I usually look good, huh?”
Kneeling down beside Edna’s antique sofa, he gave his head a skeptical tilt. “You know damn well you look good, Farris.” And then, to her surprise, his bedroom eyes suddenly got a little more bedroomy, and he spoke a bit slower, his voice deeper. “And…guess I was just remembering the last time I saw you. You looked damn good then.”
Oh. My. Rachel bit her lip as a vision filled her head: the two of them writhing on the concession-stand floor together. Now feeling extremely sheepish, she whispered, “I was, um, naked.”
“Right. And I’m not saying you have to be naked to look good, but this”—he reached out to finger the smock—“isn’t working.” Then he reached up to begin unbuttoning it.
She let him, since she wore a fitted black tank underneath—her original choice this morning before Edna had chimed in, as she had pretty much every day since she and Rachel had started harvesting apples together. She sat up slightly, already propped on couch pillows, and he helped her free of it, tossing it aside. “There, that’s better. Now you’re the Rachel Farris I’ve come to know—reckless and belligerent, but at least nice to look at.” Then he returned his attention to her ankle, slipping his hand beneath the hem of her jeans to give a gentle squeeze. “Still hurt?”
She nodded. But even so, his touch skittered all the way up her leg.
“Still swelling, too,” he told her. Then he set about removing her gym shoes and propping her left foot on a pile of more throw pillows he assembled. He did it as comfortably as if…as if he knew her. And even after having had wildly intense sex with him, something about the simple act felt strangely…personal. She sure hadn’t planned on Mike Romo ever touching her again, after all.
“Does Edna keep ibuprofen in?” he asked, and a moment later, he’d gotten her two Motrin and a glass of water. After that, he went into the kitchen, returning with a dish towel and a bag of frozen peas.
“What the hell?” she asked at the sight of the peas.
He laid the towel across her ankle, placing the freezing cold bag on top. “Instant ice pack,” he replied. “Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off—and change it out for a fresh bag after Edna wakes up. She has some frozen broccoli in the freezer, too,” he added with a wink.
“Quit being nice to me,” she demanded, letting her brow knit, “or I won’t recognize you.” She really wouldn’t know how to function around a truly pleasant, considerate Mike Romo.
“I’m not being nice,” he assured her. “I’m being a cop. We all have a little first aid training.” Then, as his hand came to rest on her knee as comfortably as if they were a couple, he glanced around the quiet house…and got an undeniably wicked look in his eye. “So—you think Edna’s still asleep?”
“Must be.” The house was too small for them not to have heard or seen her if she was awake. And Rachel liked having his hand on her knee, but she had no idea why he looked so…mischievous.
Until he slid that hand oh-so-slowly up her thigh and said, “That means we’ll have to be quiet.”
Oh. Good Lord. She sucked in her breath and peered up at him from her pillows. “Quiet?” He wasn’t serious?
“While I take you your mind off your ankle,” he said, grazing his warm palm a little higher, and making Rachel feel light-headed, even while lying down. The juncture of her thighs began to spasm. Oh God, he was serious.
“It’s…freezing,” she said of her ankle, trying not to feel what she was feeling. Because Edna was in the next room, for heaven’s sake. And what had happened to this being a one-time thing?
“That’s my point,” he said, bending lower, his gaze on her mouth now. “You need a distraction.”
“I do?”
“Yep.”
Uh-oh. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t let this happen. Once was…an accident. But twice was…something more. “Stop,” she said.
“Stop what?”
She sucked in her breath. “Whatever exactly it is you’re planning on doing.”
“Be quiet, Farris, or Edna will hear you.”
Mike hadn’t really intended to put the moves on her, but hell, by the time he’d gotten her on the couch, his hard-on had reappeared. And he knew he couldn’t do what he really wanted to do given that Edna was in the house, but he couldn’t resist the urge to fool around with Rachel again at least a little. Now that he had her out of that ridiculous get-up, her body looked just as ripe and curvy as he remembered, and the mere sight had sent his mind barreling back to that concession stand.
That part kept surprising him—that he kept thinking about it. Once sex was over, he didn’t usually sit around dwelling on it, reliving it. But he’d revisited that concession stand in his mind more than once since it had happened, and right now, their sizzling encounter at Destiny High was all he could think about, all he could feel. It pumped through his veins the same as if they were still there right now, doing it on the floor.
So he didn’t hesitate to bend down and kiss her. Slow, deep. Just like their sex had been. He let his mouth play over hers, felt her response between his legs, and obeyed the impulse to ease his tongue between her lips.
She tasted like apple, and it made him smile a little inside—apparently she’d been eating on the job. But he didn’t take the time to comment—he was much more interested in following other urges. Like slipping his hand between her thighs.
Aw, damn, she was so soft there—even through her jeans. He used his fingertips to stroke, his palm to mold, and when she began to move against his touch, his gut clenched with heat.
But then she was pushing him away, her hands to his chest, her breath thready as she said, “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“Well, besides the fact that we don’t like each other…” She let out an impassioned breath even as she glanced toward Edna’s bedroom.
“Shhh,” he soothed her, lowering another small, warm kiss to her lush lips. Then promised, “We’ll hear if she wakes up.”
“What if we don’t?” she whispered.
Tired of talking, he only answered by kissing her again.
And yeah, he knew it was risky—it was exactly the kind of reckless thing he might expect her to do, now that he examined it. But…hell, it was just easier not to think about that as he sank deeper into the warm kiss and resumed massaging between her thighs.
Soon her soft, ragged breathing twined around him the same as if it were her arms and legs, making him almost painfully hard as he deftly unbuttoned her jeans and slid the zipper down.
So it surprised him when she protested yet again. “Mike, stop,” she breathed.
He simply gazed into her blue eyes, so close to his right now—then leaned near her ear, his mouth almost touching it, to rasp, “I want to show you outrageous again.” After which he slid his fingers down into her panties.
And then she didn’t ask him to stop anymore.
In fact, she gasped at the touch, her eyes closing in pleasure.
And thank God. Because Mike got so caught up in it, in stroking his fingers through her warm moisture, that he soon felt…almost like he would if she’d been touching him that intimately. His limbs went weak with a lust that gave him the sensation of drowning—but in a good way. Like surrendering. Being swallowed up by something bigger than him.
She moved against his palm in a perfect, sensual rhythm, her eyes still closed, which allowed him to watch her unabashedly. Her pretty cheeks flushed with color and her jaw went slack, her lips parting prettily. Her body undulated like liquid heat, rising to meet his fingers.
Finally, he kissed her some more—he couldn’t help it; he needed to have his mouth on her. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her neck—he kissed her breasts through her clothing. He lifted her shirt with his free hand and kissed her pale, slender stomach. And he wanted to kiss her lower—but he knew he couldn’t, not here, not now, so he simply went as low as he could, down around her belly button and just below, and he stroked her more deeply still, acutel
y aware of her wetness.
Suddenly, both her fists clutched at the couch cushion at either side of her body and she let out a soft moan—making him hope like hell Edna was a sound sleeper—and then she thrust at his hand, harder, harder, and he knew she was coming. She was coming gorgeously, powerfully, and he watched her face contort into what looked like agonizing pleasure—before finally relaxing again, appearing replete.
And he felt desperate to yank her jeans down and do some thrusting of his own—but he still couldn’t. He’d started this, and he’d just have to suck it up and live with it for now. So instead he simply watched her some more—as he gently extracted his hand, as she finally opened her eyes.
“I should kill you,” she said.
Even from her, it caught him off guard. “That’s not the response I usually get to something like that.”
“You know what I mean,” she whispered harshly, reaching to do up her jeans.
“Well, what I hope you mean is something more like, ‘Thank you, Mike—that was very generous and I forgot all about my twisted ankle.’”
Despite his words, she drew in her breath in a huff. “What I mean is that Edna could have walked in here at any moment.”
“But you did forget about your ankle,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “Fair enough. And…” She seemed to be losing the attitude some, being a little friendlier, like she eventually had in the concession stand. “And that was, um…nice.” Ah—it appeared the afterglow of orgasm was finally hitting her. Note to self: Rachel gets nicer after orgasms.
“That’s more like it, Farris,” he said.
And to his surprise, she even reached up and drew him back down for another long kiss, a really hot kiss, which—shit—felt great but made his dick ache all the more.
And for some odd reason, an idea hit him, and he didn’t even stop to think about it—he just said, “I have a thing a week from Saturday.”
“A thing,” she repeated dryly.
“A family thing. And I need to bring a girl.”
