by Jillian Dodd
And it works. He’s next to me in no time, and soon, we’re cruising away toward the fields.
“Where are we going?” he calls out over the wind rushing past us.
“Away!” I don’t stop until we’re far enough from the house and the party that there’s hardly more than soft music drifting from that direction.
I brake, shut off the engine, and then turn toward Carter.
Carter, who I’ve been lusting after for much longer than the past few days.
Who looks and smells so damn good.
Who just stole my heart back there with how patient and sweet he was with Sophie.
“I need to tell you something,” I blurt out.
“What?” he asks, a playful little smile tugging at his lips.
I lean in, taking his face in my hands, and kiss him the way I wanted to back there.
Carter responds, pulling me closer up and onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. His hands, his lips, the way he nips my earlobe before devouring my neck and shoulder are so familiar, but at the same time, it all feels so new and exciting.
“Vale,” he moans as his hands slide up and down my back before gripping my ass and grinding me against his jeans.
“I need you,” I tell him, my hands undoing his belt and then his zipper. “Now.”
It takes a little maneuvering for him to get a condom out of his wallet, but we manage without either of us falling off the vehicle.
He wants this as much as I do, which only makes me more determined to have him.
There’s nothing romantic or sweet about it. We take each other hard and fast, groaning into each other’s mouths as our tongues tangle, the vehicle bouncing under us.
I needed this. I needed him so badly.
“Yes … yes …” I close my eyes and bury my face in his neck, breathing in his cologne and his sweat and whatever makes him Carter. Whatever makes him irresistible, whatever makes my heart come back to him again and again.
Our bodies move together, making the four-wheeler creak.
“Wow,” I say.
He chuckles against my hair. “Yeah. Wow.”
“You did tell me on the porch that we’d finish this later.”
“I’d say we just did,” he says with a grin. His mouth is at my neck, running lazy kisses up it, but I can feel his lips form into a smile. “I only want to know one thing. Why the four-wheeler?”
“It was there, and I figured it would be more comfortable than a bicycle. And if I had taken you upstairs, I’m pretty sure everyone would have known. Either someone would have seen us sneaking up there or they’d have heard me calling out your name.”
That earns me a slow smile. “Would they? You were pretty quiet just now.”
I take him by the collar and pull him to me. “Who said we were finished? Let’s really test the shocks on this baby.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Garden of Eden.
Carter
“I think I liked the four-wheeler better.” I roll off Vale and onto my back, a blanket between it and the floor.
“Me too. It’s hard to be quiet when I’m with you. Especially since it’s been so long.”
I’m more than okay with doing it on the floor. Against the wall. In the shower. So long as I can soak in as much of her as possible for as long as possible. Because this is different. It’s not just hot hook-up sex like on the four-wheeler. Here, I’m making love to her. And I’m hoping my body will tell her what my words have yet to.
She snuggles close to me. “You’d better take it easy on me, or I won’t be able to make it up the aisle tomorrow.”
“We aren’t anywhere near our record yet,” I tease. Although it’s not a teasing matter. I’ve never wanted a woman so much or so often as I do her.
“Hmm. That’s true.” She giggles softly, running her leg over mine. “But you hadn’t been in the farm games like you were today.”
“True, but I am up for the challenge if you are. What are you up to now? Four times?”
“Five, but who’s counting?” She stretches and purrs like a cat.
If I have it my way, we’ll double that by morning.
“This is going to sound ridiculous after the huge dinner we had earlier,” I say, “but I’m starving. Want to go get something to eat?”
She snuggles back up to me, sexily sliding a finger down my chest. “Well, we certainly have worked up an appetite.”
Soon, we’re in our robes, tiptoeing down the stairs. This is the quietest the house has been since I got here. We happily find the fridge packed with leftovers.
“What do you want?” she asks, holding the door open.
“Oh,” I say, rubbing my stomach.
This causes her to giggle. She goes up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “All of it, right?”
I shake my head. All I can think about is getting her back upstairs. I slide my hand inside her robe, grazing her naked form underneath.
“I thought you were hungry,” she teases, nipping at my lip.
“For you.” I glance at the kitchen island.
She follows my gaze. “Really?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I say, recalling how things usually went when we were supposed to be making dinner together.
“It would most definitely be the first time in my family’s kitchen,” she counters and pulls away from me. “Get some food out. I’m starving. Then, we’ll talk about the island.”
I reluctantly let go of her and survey the containers in the refrigerator, filling my arms with brisket, pulled pork, coleslaw, and sauce. I’m thinking the buns are probably in the pantry.
I turn around to find her sitting up on the kitchen island. Her robe is gaping open in the front, and does she ever look beautiful.
I let out a whoosh of air, wondering how I got so lucky.
Needless to say, I quickly discard the food and slip my hand inside the robe, landing on her waist. “Maybe we could take it back upstairs?”
“As much as I would like that,” she says with a sexy grin, “I really am starving.”
And I agree with her. I give her a deep kiss, remove my hand, and then get serious about making sandwiches. “There are a lot of leftovers.”
“There’s more out in the garage fridge,” she says, plopping a pile of coleslaw on each of our plates. “But I’m sure by the time everyone takes some home, there will be a lot less. Not to mention, the size of the sandwiches my father likes to eat. It’ll get gobbled up fast.”
I look around the room. “You’d never know there was a huge party here. Does your mom ever sleep?”
“I hope she’s sleeping now,” she says with a smirk.
She pops some mac and cheese in the microwave while I find the rolls.
“She’s practically superhuman,” I tell her. “I can see where your drive and energy come from.”
She smiles, though there’s a tightness to it, like I said the wrong thing. “I wish she had more of an opportunity to use her gifts.”
“It seems like she’s using them pretty well now,” I offer.
“You know what I mean.”
I don’t reply, just nod and fix myself a sandwich. “Do you not think her life is fulfilling?”
“How could it be?”
“You don’t have to have the same goals as her. Or even like to do the same things. I think you’re extraordinary just the way you are. But it takes all kinds of people to make a world. If she gets joy out of running the household, looking after her grandbabies, and hosting Sunday suppers for whoever feels like dropping by, good for her. You can’t look at her life through your eyes.”
I can tell she knows what I mean, but she doesn’t want to listen. She has ideas about what her mother’s life is like or what role her father plays, and it’ll take more than a late-night chat over leftovers to change her mind.
I can’t help but wonder whether things would be better for her, easier, if she learned to let go of the preconceived notions she seems to have abou
t her parents. But at the same time, those ideas shaped her life and helped make her who she is now—which I’m coming to realize is someone who is afraid to dream of all the things she wants, for fear that she will end up like them.
“Oh,” I say once we have our sandwiches made and the side dishes reheated, “do you think there is any more of that pink stuff left?”
She opens the fridge, searches around, and then pulls out a container. “Score!” When she sets it on the table and plops a spoonful on my plate, she says, “I told you, you would like it.”
“You’re right. I had preconceived notions about it. Amazing what you learn when you give things a chance.”
“Why do I feel like you’re talking about something else?”
“I dunno,” I tease.
I figure she’ll have a comeback, but I notice she’s not smiling. Instead, she’s looking down at her hand. The engagement ring is there, still shining, and I hate the fact that she’ll give it back to me when we go home.
I want to broach the subject, but with all she’s going through with her family, I know now is not the time.
“What’s in this stuff anyway?” I ask, putting a glob of fluff on her lips before licking it off.
She looks up at me in surprise and starts laughing.
“Shh,” I say.
But it’s too late. A light comes on in the hall, and her father barrels down the stairs. He isn’t carrying a gun, thankfully, but he looks ready for a fight.
“What are you two doing down here?” he asks. “You should be asleep. Big day today.”
“It’s my fault, sir,” I tell him. “I woke up to use the bathroom and realized I was starving.”
“Thought you didn’t like the fruit salad,” he says, taking the container off the table and grabbing a spoon.
“What’s in it anyway? Or do I really want to know?”
“Cool Whip, mandarin oranges, crushed pineapple, maraschino cherries, and cherry Jell-O,” Vale replies. “I mean, it’s got fruit.”
Her dad takes a big bite and says, “You can’t forget the candied pecans for the top. Those are my favorite. It’s like the Garden of Eden in one dish.”
We clean up the kitchen, her father goes back to bed, and I slide my arms around her waist.
“How about we try to break our record now that we’ve refueled?” I nibble her neck while my hands take a tour of her lush body.
And I know that fluff isn’t the Garden of Eden. It’s her. The perfect place.
She lets out a throaty chuckle. “I think I’m up for the challenge.”
You’re blushing.
Vale
Someone is kissing me.
Not my mouth. My body.
Kisses rain down on my chest and then roll across my stomach.
I slowly open my eyes. My hands find him first. His shoulders, his neck. I wind my fingers through his hair, sighing as his mouth moves lower.
This is more sex than we’ve ever had in such a short time frame, but I’m certainly not complaining. I have to bite my lip to hold back a moan when his tongue sweeps over my inner thigh, so achingly close to its destination.
“Shh …” he teases.
I look down and find him grinning devilishly at me.
“Don’t want anyone to hear.”
“There’s already a lot of noise coming from downstairs,” I say. “Maybe they’ll drown us out.”
I know I should get out of bed right now. We both should. It’s the big wedding day, and our schedules are jam-packed. I glance at my phone on the bedside table, seeing that, technically, we have about twenty minutes before we have to meet in the kitchen.
So, instead of getting up, I move my body so that his tongue is where I like it.
Then, I’m swept away as I lose myself in everything that is Carter Crawford.
When our desires are fully fulfilled, I can’t help it. I start giggling.
“What just happened is not something to laugh about,” Carter says.
“No, but trying to be quiet so my whole family couldn’t hear us kind of is. I don’t know if I can go down and face all of them, knowing what we did in this room all night. I’ll probably be blushing.”
He starts to get up, and then he leans back down and kisses my forehead. “You’re blushing right now.”
“I’m flushed right now. There’s a big difference,” I lie, even though I’m sure I am.
But then he heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower.
I follow him into the room, make sure both the door to the hall and the door to my bedroom are locked, and then peek behind the shower curtain.
“Thought we should share since we’re tight on time and all.”
“That’s a good plan,” he says, bringing his lips down onto mine.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Filled with love.
Vale
Backstage at a fashion show is always organized chaos.
What’s happening on the farm today in order to get it ready for the wedding appears to be just plain chaos. The wedding planner is jogging from one spot to another. And I understand now why she’s wearing running shoes with her tweed pastel suit.
But just like a fashion show, once it starts, everything will go off without a hitch. And anything that does go wrong, well, you just have to roll with it.
The good news is that it’s an absolutely gorgeous, warm spring day. I step out onto the balcony that overlooks the backyard, outdoor entertaining space, and the formal gardens, and I take in a few deep breaths, sucking in the clean country air.
As to be expected, the gardens and gazebo where the ceremony will take place are a hive of activity. Chairs are stacked up, waiting to be placed into rows. The beautifully ornate oak doors we’ll walk through are already set up, as is the table outside that will hold the guest book and photos of the happy couple. There is a team of florists taking pastel flowers from buckets and stringing them into garlands to decorate the outside of the gazebo, and a big chandelier is being hung from the center of it.
The aisle of grass is marked with one chair on each side to show where each row starts, and punctuating the end of the row is a mason jar tied with pale ribbons, hanging from garden hooks. I know these will be filled with lush pink peonies.
I take a sip of the coffee I brought out with me and check the time again. The bride’s attendants are all supposed to meet in about forty minutes in my parents’ dining room, which is being transformed into a salon by a hair and makeup team who will get us glammed up for the occasion.
I look up at the sky—not a cloud in it—and remember so many days I spent here as a kid. I had a really great childhood. Loving parents. Close siblings. A close-knit, small-town community.
I think about all the beautiful places I’ve traveled in the world. All the places I have lived in since I left the farm, and I realize that no matter where I am, no matter how far I roam, this will always be where I grew up.
It’s a shocking thought.
The fact that I would still see it that way. That I could actually picture myself having children someday. Bringing them here to see my family.
I let out a sigh.
If my dad hadn’t ruined things between us when I left, I know I would have come back to visit. To spend time with my siblings. I might have even built a little cottage on some nearby land. A place I could come to unwind. Relax.
I never seem to stay in one place very long. Never owned a home of my own. Always rented something, usually set up by my agents to coordinate with where I need to be to do a photo shoot or walk runways. I’ve stayed in a million hotels. Actually, not that many. Sounds crazy, but I have kept a key from every hotel room I’ve ever stayed in. In Europe, where they still use actual keys, I begged or bought them. I have a whole basket of them. The closest thing I have to a permanent location is a Santa Monica office that basically functions as a very large closet. My assistant works there on a daily basis and is in charge of packing everything I might need. Between her and my
stylist, I never have to worry about what to wear.
And I like it that way.
But when I stayed with Carter at his house on the beach, I couldn’t help but wish I had a place like that. Or better yet, could live there with him.
I need to figure out what I want out of life.
My dad’s toast last night hurt me. But it also surprised me. He made it sound like he and Mom functioned as a team. And Mom smiled—genuinely smiled—like she agreed.
It makes me wonder if I could have been wrong. About my parents. About not wanting things like a partner or children because I was afraid I would lose myself in them.
Like I thought my mom did.
I need to get my head in the game. Focus on my sister’s wedding. Then, maybe later, I can think more about my future.
I make my way back inside, surprised to find the kitchen empty. The glam team is setting up in the dining room, but no one in the wedding party is around, so I go out onto the front porch.
More activity is happening out here. The clear-roofed tent is already set up. A caterer’s van is in front of the barn, as is a rental company van that is being unloaded. I walk over there and see what’s in them. I’ve seen all of my sister’s dream boards, but I am not completely sure what she ended up choosing. I can see floral china, gold chargers and flatware, and pink wine goblets, all spread out on temporary tables in the barn. There are more florists stringing garlands on a bunch of chandeliers. And another group is building what appears to be a wall of flowers.
Inside the tent is also really busy. And it’s where I find my mother. Up on a ladder.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
It’s obvious they hired companies to do all of this for her.
She hands me a coil of twinkle lights. “Can you help us string these up the way Brooke has done over there?” She points to my sister, who’s hooking lights to the tent’s support poles and then across the perimeter. Which I’m confused by because there are already lights running from the sides up to the center of the tent, creating a canopy of light.
