Bittersweet (True North #1)

by Sarina Bowen

  Hell, neither could I, and I’d done this a dozen times already. “Just do your best. This is for farm use. It’s not a beauty contest.”

  Zach just stood there watching, amusement growing on his face. Eventually I shooed him away. “You go eat. We’ll hold down the fort. In fact—you’re off the clock. Send my mom or May out later to take some things to the freezer.”

  Zach gave us a cheery wave and a grin that was more knowing than I wished it was. Then he walked away.

  Audrey made another cut like she was born to it. “Look at that! All one piece,” she crowed. “Pass the trophy.”

  Damn. “Those fuckers at BPG have you in the wrong job.”

  She snorted. “Gosh, you think? Story of my life.”

  “Why, though?” I asked. “Shouldn’t they just let you loose in a kitchen?”

  Audrey looked up, her face sad. “If I had a penis and a French accent, I’d be running one of their kitchens. I can’t even get a line job.”

  “Then why do you stay there?”

  “Six more weeks,” she said, frowning down at her work. “Then I get to pitch them a restaurant idea. If they like it enough, they’ll back it. But I’m in competition with about twenty other people, some of whom have both the penis and the French accent. And I don’t have my idea formulated. I’m not panicked yet, though.”

  That sounded like the very definition of a long shot. Tougher than making it onto an NFL roster, maybe. “What happens if you don’t win the prize?”

  She shook her head. “Then I’m an unemployed girl with a culinary degree. I can always get a kitchen job somewhere. I won’t starve. But having my own restaurant won’t happen. Or they might offer me a job somewhere. Hey…” She pointed at the meat. “This is gorgeous. You don’t sell your pork, right?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. This is just to feed the people who produce the apples. I could buy a lot of meat at a big-box store. That would be a fuck of a lot easier. But we can’t stand the idea of feeding factory meat to the people who pick the organic apples and milk the healthy cows. It’s just not the right thing to do.”

  “No cutting corners with Griff Shipley,” she teased.

  “Well, really,” I said, my voice betraying irritation. “It wouldn’t be ethical.”

  “Was it ethical to warn all the farmers in the county away from a potential sale?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” It came out a little too forcefully. “It was ethical if making a sale to you had no potential to increase business at a better margin. BPG is only shopping in Vermont because they already pissed off the Massachusetts farmers. I found a discussion of it on an ag forum after you drove away. They’ll drop us like a dress on prom night if we dare to demand reasonable compensation.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Great. They’re going to send me to freaking Canada next week, I’ll bet.”

  “Hey, Canada is only two hours away. I’d better make a few calls.”

  “Griff!” she said, raising the knife, pointing it at me. “That’s not funny.”

  “Sorry.” I really needed to stop teasing this girl. But something about her got under my skin in all the ways there were. “Um,” I pointed at the low-cut top she was wearing, feeling like a creeper. “You got some blood on that shirt, I’m afraid. Afterward I’ll show you how to get it out.” Naturally, my brain served up a mental image of her removing that shirt.

  She raised an eyebrow at me, as if reading my mind. “Thanks for the help,” she said dryly. “But every girl becomes an expert in getting blood out of fabric right around her thirteenth birthday. Cold water and soap. It’s not rocket science.”

  “Uh, right.” I felt myself blushing. “Do you want me to take a turn?”

  “Am I doing it wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Then no. Here…” She flipped a blade steak onto the platter. “Wrap this up, Farmer Griff.”

  She eventually let me do some of the work. We switched jobs when dusk came, bringing pink light to the sky beyond our farmhouse. Jude and Zach were off the clock for the night. But Mom and May popped in from time to time to remove our handiwork to the freezers in the house, to turn on the lights and to bring me and Audrey each a glass of my cider.

  “Ooh, score! I love this stuff,” she said appreciatively, and I couldn’t help but feel a burst of stupid pride.

  It was pushing midnight when I finally suggested we stop. Reluctantly, she let me put the rest of the carcass in the cooler. “I butcher earlier in the season than most people. It’s not because I want lean pork,” I explained, hosing off the work surface. “It’s because I need to have this finished well before I need the cool room for apples. It wouldn’t be sanitary to store them together.”

  “Gotcha,” she said, washing our cider glasses in the sink.

  I didn’t know where the evening had gone. Butchering was usually a chore, but I had Audrey’s feminine laugh—and sharp tongue—to keep me company.

  The gory remnants I sealed in a big plastic bin. “This will get composted tomorrow,” I explained. “But if I left it out, we’d attract coyotes. And raccoons. Hear that?” I paused, pointing toward the distant forest. The animals’ throaty, snickering conversation could be heard in the trees.

  “That’s…a raccoon?”

  “A bunch of ’em. They’re active in the dark.”

  “And coyotes? Right on your property?” She peered into the dark, looking concerned, and I had to bite back a laugh. “They’re after my chickens, and so are the raccoons. Or at least the chicken feed. They don’t want you. You’re too much trouble.”

  “That’s what everybody says,” she whispered, then smiled. It was supposed to be a joke, but I had the feeling it was only halfway funny to her.

  “Come on,” I said, beckoning toward the bunkhouse, into the night. “We’re done now.” I switched off the overhead lights, but it didn’t quite plunge us into darkness, because the moon was nearly full, and it shone down through the clear skies, illuminating the stones of the bunkhouse.

  “Zach said he got my bag out of the car,” she told me as we began walking. “That was nice of him.”

  “Now you know who’s the gentleman on the premises.”

  She gave me a quick poke in the side. “Not you.”

  “Damn right.”

  Audrey laughed. “Even though you’re giving up your room to me tonight. Isn’t that what a gentleman does?”

  “Peer pressure,” I explained.

  “Ah, well. I’ll take it.”

  A silence settled over us, and I became keenly aware of how near we were to each other in the dark. Audrey stuck so close beside me that her hand grazed mine. I could hear her breathing, and it filled my head with dirty ideas. I wanted to make her breathe even harder…

  In a nearby tree, a barred owl hooted. It was the same her-her-herr-herr that I heard every night of my life. But Audrey went rigid.

  A chuckle escaped before I could stop it. “She wants a nice juicy field mouse. Or maybe a chipmunk, if she’s feeling ambitious.” I reached around and put a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. That was a mistake. Because her silky skin under my hand shot a new bolt of awareness through my body.

  Audrey lifted her hands and squinted at them in the dark. “I really need to clean up, or I’ll leave your room looking like a crime scene.”

  “I know. Me too.” I nudged her in the direction of the bunkhouse’s far side. “That’s what the outdoor shower is for. I’ll show you.”

  My father had built the outdoor shower when I was about ten years old. It was a way of offering our temporary help a cleanup spot outside the house. But he’d done such a great job on it that I’d taken to using it myself whenever the weather was warm. As a kid I’d liked to bare my ass to the elements. Still did.

  “There aren’t any coyotes in there, right?” she asked as we approached the wooden stall.

  “I’ll chase ’em out just for you,” I promised. “Here.” Poking the door open, I checked the place out. The dry end had a
spa bench and a place to hang clothing on hooks. There were a couple of fresh towels waiting there already, courtesy of my thoughtful mother. My father’s hand-hewed ledge ran the length of the rectangular enclosure, and shampoos and soaps waited beside the shower itself. “Go ahead,” I told Audrey. “I’ll fend off the vicious predators while you rinse off the blood.”

  “Don’t mock a girl who can trim a pork loin like a pro.” She brushed past me into the stall and shut the door. I was taller than the wall, so we ended up staring into each other’s eyes even as she lifted her top over her head and tossed it aside.

  Arousal tightened my body everywhere. I knew I needed to look away. But her eyes held mine, like a taunt. She reached behind her body, her shoulders jumping as she unclasped a hidden bra.

  Jesus Christ.

  I finally turned away, my back to the wooden stall, my eyes on the stars above. Behind me I heard the gentle swish of feminine clothing, and just the sound made me hard. I took a deep, even breath and tried to think of other things. I picked out the stars for Ursa Major overhead.

  The faucet squeaked once and water began to rain down behind me. “It only takes a few seconds to heat,” I said. But my voice came out as a rasp. Because I’d taken only a few seconds to heat. And I didn’t know if I wanted to cool down.

  Desire made a man feel alive. There was no shame in it. Even if I knew it would have no outlet—I’d go to sleep horny and alone in one of the empty bunks tonight—it was a good thing. It was a fresh kind of energy, one I hadn’t felt in way too long.

  Back when Audrey and I had hooked up in college, I hadn’t appreciated that yet. A crazy night was just something I thought I deserved after winning a game. A fraternity party. The keg in the corner and the red plastic cups. That was my life at the time. I’d been happy, but I didn’t know how rare that kind of freedom was.

  The night she’d turned up at my frat house after her breakup, I’d danced with Audrey and then taken her to bed without a second thought. We were both after the same thing that night—a little reckless joy. On the dance floor she’d wrapped her arms around my neck with a knowing smile, and I’d kissed her before the first song was even over.

  It had been only an hour later when I had her naked on my bed, gripping the headboard while I…

  “Mmm,” she said from the shower, and my pulse kicked up a notch.

  None of that, asshole, I reminded myself. The noise she’d made was only the sound of someone who’d stepped under a perfect spray of warm water after a long night of work.

  For several minutes I counted stars and beats of my heart and any other damn thing that could be counted. Finally the water shut off, and I heard her rustling with the towel. It was so quiet that the sounds of water droplets escaping down the drain weren’t enough to drown out my ragged breathing.

  Swallowing hard, I gripped the fabric of my T-shirt and hauled it over my head. This was going to be the fastest shower in history. And cold, too. Then I’d deliver Audrey to the door of my room and pack off to a bunk bed.

  But I didn’t account for the look on her face when I turned around. The moonlight revealed droplets of water clinging to her cheekbones and eyes flashing with unexpected heat. Her gaze traced a line across my shoulders. Then it rose slowly to meet mine. Her lips parted slightly, then she blinked in surprise.

  “Here,” I rasped, my hand on top of the door. “Switch?”

  She dropped her gaze and gave the door a tug. Swinging it open partway, she slipped between the frame and my body, the knot of her towel scraping across my bare chest.

  Then she stopped, her chin tilting upward. Her expression was a dare. And I always took a dare.

  I dropped my head, finding her jaw with my lips. Then I traced a slow line up her cheek, breathing in the faint scent of my own soap along with the clean scent of mostly naked, willing girl. When I pushed my tongue into her ear, she let out a moan that probably startled the owls high up in the trees.

  Chapter Eight

  Audrey

  The minute Griff Shipley had taken off his shirt, my body turned traitor. And by the time he put his mouth on me, whatever self-restraint I’d had flew away on the sweet Vermont breeze.

  I tipped my chin to give him better access while he dropped a line of shameless kisses down my neck. When he nipped me at the juncture of my shoulder, my hands shot out unbidden, landing on his rippling chest. His body was hard and warm, and the feel of his full lips grazing my skin was making me crazy.

  “Fuck,” I gasped. And I meant it as an order, not an exclamation.

  He took a step forward, and I took one back. Then we repeated that dance step twice more until my backside met the ledge running across the stone wall enclosed by the shower stall. “This what you want?” he rumbled into my ear. “You want my hands on you?”

  His roughened thumbs stroked the skin of my breasts just above the towel, and I gasped his name like an overeager fool. Griff still thought of me as an airhead sorority girl. And I was about to prove him right.

  Griff grabbed my chin and kissed me. It was no dainty peck, either. He gripped the back of my head and took me hungrily. I opened for him immediately, because there was no point in being coy when you’ve already invited the man to feast at the table of you. Pressing against his big, solid body, I pushed my tongue into his mouth.

  We were doing this. I was about to do the nasty with Griff Shipley up against a stone wall his grandfather built a hundred years ago.

  “You didn’t answer me,” he grunted, startling me. “What do you want, Audrey? You want my cock?” The second he said the word, my lady parts shimmied in response.

  I didn’t know if I could answer. It was one thing to have a ten-minute-stand against a wall. It was another to beg for it.

  But then he eased back, waiting for my answer. And the loss of all that hungry attention? Not good. Not good at all.

  “Just this once,” I whispered.

  He chuckled so low and deep that I felt the vibrations through his chest. Capturing my face in two hands, he lifted my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Just this once, huh?”

  The glint in his eye was ten percent mocking and ninety percent heat. That ten percent irritated me. Not enough to stop him, though. Let’s not get crazy.

  “Better make it memorable, then,” I said with more bravado than I felt.

  His grin was so arrogant I wanted to wipe it off his face. “Darlin’, I’m gonna fuck you now, and you can tell me some time later if it was memorable.”

  At that I gave a whole body shiver. And it wasn’t because Griff parted my towel with one thick thumb and cast it aside so that I felt the sweet nighttime air everywhere.

  “Mmm,” he said slowly, cupping one roughened palm under my breast. His appraising gaze was like a wall of heat, warming me on every inch of skin where it landed. “Just as good as I pictured while you were showering.” His shameless hand dipped low. He looked me straight in the eye as he dipped two thick fingers between my legs. And they slipped right where I wanted them, because I was already soaking wet and ready for him.

  God, what a cheap date I was.

  He threw his head back, making a low, guttural sound. “Unzip me,” he ordered.

  I couldn’t obey right away, because his fingers continued to torture me. I let out a shudder first. Then my shaky hands fell to his belt. After a minute of fumbling he shoved my fingers away, yanking the belt free and unzipping himself in one go. With my prize in reach, I shoved down his jeans and boxers. I gasped as his ambitious erection sprang up to greet me. He was thick and beautiful and just what I wanted.

  In fact…

  Grasping his hips in both hands, I pushed him a step backward. Then I leaned over and took the fat crown into my mouth.

  “Oh fuck,” he panted. He grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Take more,” he ordered. “Suck me.”

  The rasp of his voice pulsed through my body, filling me with desperation. And his musky, salty taste made my head spin. I was going to give him j
ust what he wanted, because I wanted it, too.

  But first he was going to have to learn some patience.

  I eased back slowly, circling my tongue around his head as if I were taking a contemplative first taste of a new gelato flavor. Then I kissed his tip once. Twice.

  His groan was low and agonized. “Audrey,” he warned.

  But I would not be rushed. I dragged my tongue down the underside of his shaft, which had him grumbling out a string of half-formed curses. His hips twitched with impatience, but he did not beg me aloud.

  Stubborn, this man. And now my slow pace was just torturing the both of us.

  Capitulating, I opened wide and swallowed him down the best I could. My lonely lifestyle hadn’t provided any practice in a long time, but I gave a good, hard suck and was rewarded with a bellowed groan. I cupped his heavy balls in my hand and bobbed my head until he put a big paw under my chin and tugged me upright.

  I leaned against the wall, beckoning to him, hoping to move things along. If I was going to have an ill-advised quickie with my former hookup, I wanted it to happen right away, before I came to my senses.

  But I was unprepared for the intense look in his eyes when he backed me up to the wooden ledge on the stone wall. As if he could see all the way through me. The chatter of self-criticism running through my head silenced itself under the weight of his stare. He lifted a hand to my cheek and just held it there, as if to ground me. Focus, his serious eyes suggested. Or you’ll miss it.

  My heart gave a nervous little jump. I put my hands on his massive chest and closed my eyes. His heart beat out a steady rhythm under my hand, and I took a deep breath, readying myself for whatever came next.

  The crinkle of a wrapper punctured the silence. I looked down to watch him roll on a condom he’d produced from his wallet. The sight of his hand wrapped around a thick erection made my mouth water.

  He kicked off his jeans and shoes. “Come here, baby,” he whispered, grasping my bare ass and lifting me a few inches until I was perched on the ledge attached to the wall. It wasn’t very deep, so I had to rest my hands on his shoulders to keep from sliding off. Our heads lined up as we both looked down to watch as his cock pointed thick and strong right at its target. He eased my knees further apart, opening me up, and I could hear myself panting from anticipation. “Aw, yeah,” he said, closing the distance.