Because his gaze was still locked on her mouth, she inhaled a shallow breath and licked her lips self-consciously. “What do I have that you want?” She honestly had no idea.
His eyes flashed, molten chocolate. “Whatever makes it worth my time,” he retorted, answering her question.
“Oh, I’ve got something. Trust me.” The words popped right out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Just. Great.
“Oh yeah?” he murmured, his expression just this side of mocking. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s in it for me?” He cocked a brow, clearly waiting to be blown away.
See? This was why having no verbal filter was a problem. Oh, the pickles it got her into.
“Something irresistible?” she finally ventured, her brain as empty as a Buddhist temple.
His lips curled up into a quick, crooked grin so full of naughtiness that heat pooled unexpectedly in her belly, and she gasped softly. It just wasn’t fair that such a pain-in-the-butt man could possess so much sex appeal. Not fair at all.
Just then, Jake’s gaze dropped, and he glanced at her chest—her rather sizeable double-D chest. “I’m beginning to think it might be,” he murmured quietly, almost contemplatively, his tone ripe with appreciation, before he looked away.
The expression on his face made her brain instantly transplant her into the middle of a vivid memory. It was Jake’s senior year, and she’d just driven him in his souped-up old car back to his dad’s wreck of a singlewide trailer after he’d had too many beers at Aidan’s one and only house party. He’d been way too wasted to drive. She’d just parked in the dirt driveway of his place and had killed the engine. Jake had been passed out in the passenger seat. She had leaned toward him to shake him gently awake, and he’d shifted, mumbling under his breath.
“What did you say?” she whispered, confused and excited at their nearness in the dark interior of the car.
Jake slowly opened his eyes and focused on her, his gaze heavy-lidded yet surprisingly steady. “I said, I dream of you.” He reached toward her and slid a large, confident hand up her rib cage until he reached the underside of her breast. Her breath froze in her throat as his hand traced gently over it, and he brushed his palm over her sensitive nipple that craved more of his touch. “Every night about sweet, sexy you. And these.” He cupped her suddenly heavy and aching breast and held, his big teenaged hand already hard and calloused from work. “They’re magnificent. Fuck, Apple, I’d give anything to see them.” Before she could respond, his hand slipped down her body and he passed out again, his snoring and her short, rapid breathing deafening sounds in the suddenly quiet interior of the car.
Before she’d even been able to calm her racing heart, Aidan had pulled into the driveway behind her, arriving to give her a ride home. She’d scrambled out of that Camaro like her pants were on fire, confused and excited and a little scared at the new feelings Jake had awakened in her. Aidan poked his head through the open car window, took in the situation, and decided to just let Jake sleep it off right where he was. Apple had agreed, so she’d stuck his keys in the mailbox for him to find in the morning. Then they’d left, her young reality shaken from what had just happened between her and Jake.
Snapping back to the present, Apple blinked. Holy crap, what a memory! She’d never forgotten the details of that night, not even for a nanosecond. Phew.
That had been a seriously hot little exchange between the two of them. No wonder she’d been so into him back then. Who wouldn’t be after hearing a confession like that? Even now her heart was beating furiously over the words.
Fuck, Apple, I’d give anything to see them.
He’d said anything. Anything. Had he really meant it? Apple’s eyes began to light up like lights on a Christmas tree as the realization that maybe he had actually meant it began to sink in.
It gave her an idea.
An absolutely irresistible idea.
Excitement flooded her and broke the spell Jake had on her. Suddenly confident that she’d finally discovered a way to make him talk, Apple shifted and walked into the pub, her vintage sundress swishing around her knees flirtatiously. Barely noticing the brewpub’s patrons; the huge sign advertising its upcoming Theme Night and charity of choice, computer literacy; or the live band that was playing Taylor Swift covers on the patio, she went straight to the bar without waiting for Jake. She wanted a few seconds to plot and get it straight in her head before offering her new proposition. She was pretty darn sure she was on to something. It really just might work.
Alone for a few blessed heartbeats, Apple closed her eyes and briefly grappled with the reality of what she was about to do. In all honestly it caused a wide range of emotions to shuffle through her. From excitement and eagerness all the way to a little frustration. She was a woman who derived so much of her self-esteem from her personhood—her intelligence, heart, kindness, and compassion. It didn’t settle easily inside her to use her body for personal gain. And yet, at the end of the day, there she was about to do just that.
Why? Maybe it was because she had always wondered a tiny bit about how honest Jake had been that night in the car when he’d been drunk, and this was a chance to find out. But mostly because she’d run out of time and choices. And because nobody—not even her parents—thought she was going to finish this book and turn it in on time.
Okay, so it wasn’t on time—she was on her second deadline extension already—but she was going to finish it. Damn it, Apple was going to assert herself enough in the world to achieve her goal. She was going to show that she had the gumption to fight, really fight, for what she wanted. Persistence had always been one of her best qualities. It was finally time for her to put it to good use—toward something that really mattered.
Everyone thought of her as just Apple Woodman, the sweet, plump little town librarian with big boobs, big glasses, and a big heart.
But she was so much more than that. Only nobody knew. Not even her parents.
And that right there was the heart of it. Even her parents, as loving and wonderful and supportive as they were, didn’t really believe she could follow through and commit to a writing career—not when it required a boatload of self-discipline and self-motivation every single day—and she had always had a tendency to lose interest in projects before they were complete. Or she’d found a reason why they weren’t the right thing for her anymore, even if they were what her heart wanted most, deep down.
But, it galled the hell out of her that she had committed to this—to her book and to her publisher. It wasn’t her fault that someone else was standing in her way to the finish line. Still, her mom would just give her that warm, affectionate smile and say, “Well, honey, you’ve given it your best, and that’s what really counts.”
This, coming from a free-spirited bohemian clay artist who spent her days singing Joni Mitchell songs and playing with mud.
It was aggravating, and if she was honest with herself, also belittling. Beyond that, it cut into her self-confidence and brought doubt. But she had staying power and follow-through. Oh, yes she did.
And she was going to prove it right now.
Jake joined her at the bar, turning her attention, and she took a deep, steadying breath. It was now or never. She placed her elbows on the bar and leaned toward him.
He scowled.
Of course he did. He was always scowling around her. Earlier had merely been his five-minute reprieve. “Put those away before you hurt someone.”
Now he was sounding downright grumpy too. Huh, funny thing. “Why would I do that?” she asked and gave her girls a little squeeze with her elbows and inwardly sighed at the lengths she was willing to go to for the things that mattered most to her. He muttered under his breath and scowled some more. Good. “I don’t see anyone here complaining,” she added just to taunt him.
Not that anyone could, really. Her back was to the tables. Jake was the only one who was getting the full display, exactly as she’d intended.
“I’m complainin
g.” He practically growled. He yanked a white bar towel from its holder and began polishing the bar top.
He sounded surly, but Apple knew that secret about Jake, and she was not at all ashamed to take advantage of it now. He’d forced her to it. “Why? Because you’ve been trying to scam a peek at my boobs since I started growing them in sixth grade?” She tipped her head to the side and blinked all big and innocent behind her oversize reading glasses. “Are you feeling sad about that?”
He scoffed at that—after he glanced at her chest again. She totally had him. “Of what? All the cases of blue balls your rack gave me when I was fifteen?”
“What if I offered to make up for all those missed opportunities? All those spin the bottles and sixty seconds in heaven that didn’t pan out?”
Jake stopped wiping the bar and pegged her with a look, his dark eyes filled with barely controlled skepticism. “And how would you do that, juicy fruit?” he asked, referencing her childhood nickname—the one he’d given her the year she’d come into her body.
If letting Jake finally see her topless was going to get him to actually open up and tell her what she needed to know about that first settlement in Fortune, then by all means she’d take her shirt off. It was worth it to her. Plus, it would quell that one nagging question she’d never had about them, which was awesome. Because she’d never wondered, “What if?” Not once. Why would she?
More to the point, she was willing to do it because she was desperate. Enough so that she’d bare what she had for Jake. Because the truth was, beyond needing to prove to herself that she could achieve her dreams, he wasn’t all that wrong about her “spending habits.” Not that she was a mess with finances or anything. But she didn’t make that much as the librarian, and it had been a hefty advance (with which she’d paid off the last big hunk of her school loans. Responsible. Appropriate). And now she was out of cash, out of savings—debt-free, but still broke.
This was her opportunity. Her shot. Right here and now. No matter how devalued she felt over how it was playing out.
Being a published author had always been her dream. And she was this close. She’d be an idiot not to flash him her goods if it meant finally wrapping things up. Only this time he wasn’t drunk—and she was no longer such an innocent little good girl. It was just Jake. They’d known each other since she was three. Besides, if there was a question mark dangling over them—which there wasn’t, not in her head anyway—then this was a quick and painless way to turn that question mark into a period.
No question mark, no doubts—no dissatisfaction over what might have or might not have been.
Apple took a deep breath. “I’m offering a trade. If you finally tell me what happened to the original founders of Fortune, I’ll show you my breasts. You’ve always wanted to see them.” Or so his drunken teenaged self had said, if that source could be trusted.
Jake laughed at that. “What makes you think I’m still interested?”
“Because you’re a guy.” Apple gave him a level look, unfazed.
He merely shrugged, his broad, defined shoulders moving under his faded green T-shirt. Then he slid her a quick glance. “Maybe I am. But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want me talking.”
Apple leveled him with an incredulous look. “This is a big deal. Big offer from me here, Jake. What else could you possibly want?” And then she thought of everything she’d tried already and felt exasperated all over again, so she added on a frustrated rush, “What’s it going to take to get you to finally spill your family’s story?”
The look he shot her had Apple slowly straightening from the bar, her pulse skittering. She’d never seen that particular gleam in his eye before. It was dark and intense and unreadable. Dangerous even.
She swallowed hard.
Then he placed his elbows on the bar and leaned toward her. He didn’t stop until they were almost nose to nose and she could see amber flecks in his chocolate eyes.
“Here’s the deal, all right? If you really want me to talk about myself, my family—hell, about all my frigging secrets, because I know you, and you’re too damned nosy and won’t stop with just my ancestors . . . ” He stopped suddenly and took a deep breath, his last words hanging suspended between them. But his gaze held hers steadily as one uncomfortable heartbeat, then two, passed before he continued speaking. This time he was more animated, seemingly building up steam about something.
“Shit, you won’t stop until you’ve taken up permanent residence inside my head and know things about me that I don’t even care to understand. Why? Because you’re Apple Woodman and you can’t help yourself. It’s what you’ve always done. And you think caving and fulfilling some outdated PG-13-rated teenage fantasy is going to be all it’ll take to get me singing about stuff I’ve never told anybody?”
He straightened and crossed his arms, his face set in stern lines as he shook his head once—just once—with impact. “Nope. No good. There’s only one thing you can do.” He raised a hand, his long, thick index finger pointed straight in the air.
Apple eyed him warily now as she slowly inched back from the bar, feminine fear racing across her skin. Maybe this wasn’t her brightest idea, after all.
“Oh yeah, what could that be?”
Jake leaned over the bar toward her again and crooked his finger at her, urging her closer. His gaze held hers as he smiled, slow and devastating, and said the words that sent her reeling. “If you want me to talk, juicy fruit, I get to see all of you naked.”
Chapter Two
“YOU GET NAKED!”
Jake bit his lip to keep from grinning at Apple’s outraged response. “I am serious. I want to see bare skin.”
“Oh, you are such a dog!”
Jake laughed out loud then. He couldn’t help it. The way she was eyeing him in openmouthed shock, like he had said something crude enough to upset her delicate sensibilities, had him feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction. God, the woman was fun to rile.
For the better part of his life, Apple had caused him problems of one form or another. Always in his business, always offering unsolicited opinions or advice, her big blue eyes and even bigger boobs clouding his otherwise clear vision. Couldn’t blame a guy for taking the opportunity to cause her some strife in return when the chance arose. Heckling Apple was his way of evening the scales some.
He cut to the chase, knowing Apple wouldn’t bite and not really meaning it anyway, but loving that expression on her face all the same. “Look, that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” To prove his (not really) point, he threw the bar towel over his shoulder and turned his back on her to start pulling a pint of his signature ale from the tap. Why? Because he could—and because he knew it would drive her bat-shit crazy. He had to fight the urge to laugh when he heard her grumble, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching.
She sputtered and moved down the bar toward him, absently saying hello to the few people seated nearby as she passed, because that was Apple. Polite to the core—to everyone except him. Once she was in front of him again, she leaned in close and whispered fiercely, her eyes still round behind her ridiculously huge glasses, “You can’t be serious!”
Jake closed the tap and set the pint glass on the counter, facing her again. “Why not?” He really wanted to know. Apple was far too much a good girl to agree, but man was it fun egging her on.
She glanced up and down the bar and then leaned even closer, both hands planted on the edge of the counter, her cheeks flushed. “Because, well, because that’s just absurd! You can’t jump from a boob-flash to full-on nudity in one fell swoop. There’s economy of scale to consider, Jake. Jesus. Besides, since when have you ever wanted to see me naked, aside from that one night your senior year in your car when you said you did?”
Jake stopped dead. “Really?” He couldn’t even compute how naïve that question was, even coming from Apple. The woman could say some random shit sometimes, but this? “Come on, girl. You really think that I’ve never ha
d thoughts about you naked? Especially after you got tossed into the lake the summer I graduated high school and came out looking like a soaked Sports Illustrated model? Please.”
She tipped her head to the side slightly, her high bun slouching a little, and narrowed her eyes on him. Then she straightened and held up a finger just like he’d done earlier.
“For one,” she started, in that sassy tone of hers that drove him crazy, “you’ve never said anything about it to me other than that one drunken confession, and everybody knows better than to believe that stuff. Chances were, I probably wouldn’t have done anything back then—”
“Don’t I know it,” he interjected with a mutter. Apple had been pure as fresh snow back then. And his hands had always been dirty. One touch from him and she’d have lost that innocent perfection. Which was just one of the thousand or so reasons he’d kept his distance.
She continued, obviously ignoring his comment. “And two, we both know that in no way do I resemble a Sports Illustrated model. Never have, never will. That magazine couldn’t handle all this jelly. So how much of your granddaddy’s hooch had you been drinking at the lake when you saw me all wet?”
He smirked. He couldn’t help it. One of the irritating truths about Apple was that she understood people. She paid attention. “I don’t remember how much, honestly. But that was also the day Aidan rode old man Taber’s prize Brahma bull, remember? So it must have been a respectable amount.”
Her eyes went big. “Oh God, I remember that. He’d never even ridden a horse bareback before, much less a rodeo bucking bull.”
Jake shook his head, a small smile playing across his lips at the memory. Dumb like only a teenage boy could be and drunk off backyard moonshine. To get Becky Hartman’s attention, a besotted Aidan had crossed the fence separating the lake from Taber’s field and jumped on the grazing bull’s back just like it was the PBR finals. It was amazing he hadn’t killed himself.
Talking Dirty Page 2
