Talking Dirty

by Jennifer Seasons

  Crave.

  The word shot straight to the pit of her stomach and curled into an unexpectedly hot, sizzling ball of primal agreement. Before she could even react to it, she saw a couple with a stroller outside walk up to Jake and start talking. The smile he gave them was warm and friendly, kicking that sudden craving up a notch. And when he bent over the stroller, reaching out a hand only to have his index finger gripped by a tiny little infant hand in return?

  Kaboom!

  She just flat exploded with hormones and need and yearning that she didn’t even know were there inside her.

  “Would you look at that?” came Nell quietly from next to her as they both stared out the window, amazed.

  Apple couldn’t stop looking, and it was churning up her insides in ways she didn’t like or understand. Babies. Jake. Him holding Waffles. Naked question games. It had her all kinds of twisted up and discombobulated.

  Just then the barista announced their order was ready, and Apple snatched up her coffee cup, taking a long scalding drink. “Ouch! Shit that’s hot.” Her tongue began to sting fiercely.

  “Things are crazy busy right now at work, what with the blues fest later this month. I had to hire extra help to get through the crush.” Thank goodness Nell had changed the topic. Bless her best friend and her ability to read her like an open book. She must have known that she needed a break.

  “It still amazes me that your rock-climbing club gets so packed. I mean, it’s great for you. Yay, money! But, it’s just weird that they come so early to Fortune to spend time playing on rocks before the concerts. I don’t understand rock climbers.”

  A shadow played over Nell’s pretty eyes. “Honey, I was married to one. Trust me, I know the sentiment.”

  More than most anybody else, Apple thought. Nell had married a world-famous climber, and it hadn’t ended well. He’d died taking on a treacherous climb in the Swiss Alps and had left her pregnant and widowed less than a year after she’d said, “I do.” All that she had left of that short relationship was an indoor climbing club that she’d inherited from him and hated owning—and her son, Sam.

  Speaking of . . . “Where’s your boy this morning?”

  Just mentioning her son brought light and humor back into Nell’s eyes. “Actually, he’s with your mom making me a birthday present.”

  The cyclist stepped closer to them, crowding them, so Apple began slowly meandering her way back through the tables to the front of the store. For some reason she wasn’t in much of a rush to get back to Jake and Waffles. Especially not when he was now actually holding the baby and her heart was beating heavy in her chest from the sight.

  Big masculine man, soft sweet little baby snuggling together. All of Apple’s deepest dreams right there rolled into one.

  Sigh.

  She was toast. Toast with a side of massive yearning. Mmm-mmm, yum.

  Forcing herself to tune back in to what Nell was saying, Apple replied distractedly, “That’s great. I’m sure Mom has some amazing clay project planned.” Which was true, actually. Sedona Woodman was a world-renowned ceramicist, her work displayed in galleries from San Francisco to Paris. Nell was in for one heck of a birthday gift.

  Still, Apple couldn’t take her mind off the fact that Jake was out there cuddling a baby while holding a dog on a leash and looking all domesticated. Her brain was all like: me Apple, you hot man with baby. Mate me now.

  As if pulled by some invisible cord, she was outside on the sidewalk and had said good-bye to Nell like she’d been on autopilot, barely registering their exchange and parting hug. After a promise to call her later, she turned her gaze on Jake. He’d shifted positions, and now the baby was resting on his chest, its little downy-covered head on his shoulder with its eyes closed tight, sleeping soundly. And Jake was very subtly rocking his big, fit body from side to side in that way that parents do—that natural, instinctive soothing motion that had been putting babies out like lights for eons.

  She tuned in just in time to hear him say to the couple, “He’s happy, and I’m already babysitting anyway. It’s fine, really. Go on inside and grab some coffee. Branson and I will hang out here until you get back.”

  Her heart stopped dead. Flat, dead.

  What alternate universe had she slipped into that Jake Stone had suddenly turned into an affable guy who willingly offered to cuddle babies? Was the coffee shop the portal? And what did it mean that she didn’t want to step back through and spoil it?

  Man, maybe she needed to see a therapist because this morning her thoughts were uninhibited crazy.

  “Thanks, Jake. We’ll be back in a flash. We’ll be keeping an eye out, so if he wakes and starts to fuss just flag us down through the window,” the baby’s father said as he slid his arm around his uncertain-looking wife and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  Jake shifted in his ancient hiking boots and gave the new mom an easy smile. “It’ll be fine.” He tipped his head toward the shop. “Now go on and enjoy five minutes of adult time before this little fella wakes up and demands you back.”

  Before she could protest, the man bustled his wife off, leaving Apple alone with Jake and an irresistibly adorable baby. “Who are they?” she blurted out, her fingertips itching to touch all that soft, newborn hair.

  “Friend of mine from college. Chris and his wife, Julia, just recently moved here after he took a job teaching chemistry at the high school.” Jake rotated his shoulder slightly so that she could get a better look at the infant’s sleeping face. “And this guy is Branson. He’s six weeks today.”

  Unable to stop it, Apple leaned in and traced a fingertip over the puff of silky blond hair. Her insides went to mush. She inhaled that sweet baby scent and felt her sigh come straight from the heart. “I want,” was all she said, but there was a lifetime of hope and longing in those two simple words.

  “I know.” Jake’s voice came soft, gentle from just above her head—and heavy with some emotion that she didn’t understand, but it laced his tone like rum in a drink. Resignation? Annoyance? What was it?

  “Babies fill my cup,” was all she said, completely lost in the sight, scent, and feel of the infant. If she could have three or four of these, she’d be set and happy for life. Heck, right now she’d settle for just one.

  “Why don’t you start then?” Jake asked, his voice quiet yet questioning. “Have a baby?”

  Apple leaned in farther, tracing her finger across Branson’s tender cheek. She was such a goner. Jake’s words were barely registering. “Need the right man,” she mumbled in reply, smiling when the infant let out a tiny sigh and pursed his lips.

  Jake was still gently rocking, slowly, barely moving. “There’re sperm banks, you know.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Uh-uh, not for me.” As if Branson heard her, his angelic newborn face molded into a deep frown and he let out a tiny cry, pulling his knees farther under himself against Jake’s chest before settling comfortably again. “Call me a traditionalist. I want my babies to come from a union of love.”

  Jake rocked closer, and his head was mere inches above hers now. “Not very feminist of you, Apple.”

  She just shrugged. “Want a man, want marriage, want babies. Nothing antifeminist about that. It’s what I want and choose. That’s the heart of feminism anyway: a woman’s choice.” Apple caved and leaned in to kiss that downy baby head. “And I choose the traditional route.”

  She looked up then, and her eyes went round. Jake was staring at her with the darkest, most intense and unreadable expression in his eyes. A jolt of awareness barreled through her, slicing straight through her heart and down through her stomach to her very toes. Her pulse leapt into action like it was a racehorse from the starting gate.

  Their gazes locked.

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  Tension mounted between them as Jake just kept giving her that unfathomable look. Unthinking, Apple licked her suddenly parched lips and blurted, “You’re good with him.” Referring to the baby he wa
s holding.

  Not even a flinch. Not a blink. Why was he staring at her like he could bore right into her soul?

  “Maybe you should have kids.” It was all she could muster and come up with.

  And just like that, the spell was broken. Poof!

  Jake blinked, and his expression went blank, as unreadable as any professional poker player. “Never going to happen,” he growled, the instant edge in his voice confusing to her.

  Apple frowned, wondering why he was getting so agitated. “Why are you getting so upset? I just said that you should think about having kids. You’re a natural with them,” she added, nodding toward the way he was cradling Branson. “And if I’m not wrong, you actually seem to like them too.”

  Jake began to scowl, rocking the baby a little more animatedly now. “You’re wrong. I’m never having kids.”

  “But—”

  He pegged her with a glare that nearly melted her from the heat. “No, Apple.”

  “But—” she tried again.

  “Never. Going. To happen,” Jake ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Fine,” she said on a huge sigh. Let him have whatever this was. “I was wrong. You don’t like kids, and you’re never going to have any. End of story.”

  Jake nodded, his jaw set in tense lines. “Damn straight.” He held out his hand with the leash. “Now take your mutt so I can get on with my day.”

  “You don’t have to get so pissy, you know.”

  Just then Branson’s parents stepped out onto the sidewalk, steaming-hot cups of java in their hands. Apple took that as her sign to leave. Twisted up and confused inside, she couldn’t resist poking Jake one more time as she turned toward home, her own forgotten coffee cup still in hand.

  She opened her mouth, and he cut her off.

  “No.” A single word, but the man said it with emphasis.

  Apple started to walk away, Waffles obedient beside her. She got a dozen steps and stopped. Turned around only to catch Jake nuzzling the baby’s head. He straightened the minute he spotted her and tossed her a defiant look.

  But she knew the truth now, and it warmed her from the inside out.

  “You don’t like kids? Never having any?” she said again as she strolled away, suddenly feeling lighter.

  “That’s right,” he nearly shouted back.

  Apple turned to face him and kept walking backward down the sidewalk. He scowled after her, and she just smiled. “You sure about that?” she asked, almost bursting with happiness inside and not wanting to care why.

  “Yeah.” He braced his legs apart and stared her down, challenged her to call his bluff.

  The grin that came to her lips was full throttle. “You’re such a liar.”

  She spun and left him there, adding a little swish to her stride for dramatic effect as she sauntered away. It was going to annoy him so much—that extra bit of unnecessary sass.

  Huh, imagine that.

  It was turning out to be a great day after all.

  Chapter Four

  THE NEXT MORNING Jake was up and in town early again. He parked on Main in front of Two Moons and enjoyed the underlying crispness to the morning air as he left his truck behind, walking down the street toward the coffee shop. Fall was coming in hard and fast, and he was glad. It meant firing up his woodstove at the cabin soon—and that meant warm, relaxing evenings at home with nothing but the sound of snapping logs to keep him company. He liked the sense of solitude that fall and winter brought to his neck of Glacier Valley.

  Hunkering into his coat some as a gust of cold wind kicked up, Jake sighed to himself. This was the fourth or fifth morning in a row that he’d been into town before the roosters crowed. But this time, instead of heading to his brewpub to experiment with a new ale recipe in a last-ditch attempt to turn his recent insomnia into something productive, he was headed for the Mother Lode. He smirked wryly after he stopped in front of the already bustling shop and realized it was the exact same spot he’d stood in with Apple yesterday. At least this time he wasn’t holding the leash to a tiny mutt-dog like an idiot while its owner took her slow, sweet time inside purchasing some frou-frou overcomplicated drink.

  Because it was the only time that would work with everyone’s current schedules, this morning he was here to meet Aidan and Sean to discuss his upcoming nineties-themed night at the pub. Once a year, Two Moons put on a Decade of Music Theme Night with all proceeds going to a chosen charity. Last year they’d raised over ten thousand large for the elementary school.

  To pick the year’s theme, Jake wrote every decade from the last sixty years on scraps of paper and then had a pub patron choose one from an old miner’s hat—a tradition. Everyone was welcome to dress in historically accurate clothing when they attended the party, and they did. Oh, the good people of Fortune most certainly did. They got into the spirit in a big way.

  This year, Tommy Wilcox had yanked out the nineties, Jake’s favorite decade.

  He stepped inside the coffee shop, his mind instantly flashing back to the summer of ’99. He, Aidan, and his old band buddy Elijah Goldman had pulled into the local gas station one blazing-hot afternoon, having just returned to town from a three-week-long backpacking trip in the San Juan Mountains to celebrate their graduation. They’d taken his old car, a ’78 red Camaro with black rally stripes that had gotten him laid by pretty much the entire cheerleading squad junior and senior year. As they’d pulled up to the gas station, the windows were down and the stereo was cranked to his favorite Fly song, “Got You Where I Want You.” Jake remembered being obsessed with listening to it daily. And the funny thing was, he’d always ended up thinking of Apple when it played.

  And then, lo and behold like he’d conjured her out of thin air, Apple came sashaying over to his car in some sweet little sundress that tortured his imagination. Jake had suddenly been acutely aware that he hadn’t had a proper shower or shaved in three weeks. He felt unclean. It was a feeling he’d already had too many times around her, and it always left him feeling substandard and inadequate.

  So he’d greeted her with a scowl from behind his sunglasses.

  It hadn’t fazed her. She’d just leaned down through his open window, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d shoved her juicy tits right in his hormone-crazed face, and smiled at her cousin all warm and sweet and nice. “Hi, Aidan. How was the camping?”

  He noticed The Fly’s lyrics coming through the speakers just then and couldn’t have agreed with them more. She was killing him. Apple’s nipple had puckered tightly beneath her dress, and it had taken all his willpower not to open his mouth and nibble that perfect little bud. God, he’d wanted to tongue it until she moaned. It had given him such a monster hard-on.

  And apparently that unexpectedly hot little memory was enough to give him a hard-on all over again, even now. At thirty-five years of age. Waiting in line in a damn coffee shop just like he was eighteen and horny as hell all over again.

  Jake grumbled under his breath and shifted to alleviate some of the pressure in his jeans. Sometimes he really frigging wondered who had whom. Because if the way he was standing right now was any indication—uncomfortable and a little awkward with a semi in his pants—then it was pretty clear who was coming out on top.

  He got a mental picture of her in that position and couldn’t stop the quick grin that followed.

  “Hey, Stone. Over here.”

  Turning his head in the direction of Aidan’s voice, Jake found the guys already set up at a scarred wood table. “Let me grab a coffee and I’ll be right there.”

  Stepping up to the long L-shaped counter, Jake took stock of the menu written in colored chalk on the blackboards hung on the wall and made it simple. He really liked simple. “Large coffee, black.”

  The young barista smiled at him through her lashes and flipped her dark braid over her shoulder. “Is there anything else I can get you, Jake?”

  Having never seen her before, he had no idea what her name was, but Jake had given up
wondering how people knew his. It was always one of two things: his old, wild reputation (which was always blown way out of proportion), or because he was a Bachelor of Fortune. In the barista’s case, since she was probably just about nineteen, he figured it was the latter.

  Which made him inwardly sigh and say with a polite smile, “I’m good, thanks”—he scanned her nametag—“Bethany.”

  When he, Aidan, and Sean had struck it rich panning for gold behind his cabin five years ago, they’d never anticipated the amount of media and public interest that had resulted. But practically overnight they’d gone from simply being three normal guys to local celebrities with regional newspapers and TV outlets going crazy over their story. All the press had gained them a following—a mostly female following, but still. Some days it was weird being asked for an autograph or photo, because in his mind he’d forever just be Jake Stone, misfit son of the town drunk . . . no matter how many millions might be sitting in his bank account.

  Still, he and the guys recognized how fortunate they were, and whenever they were asked to make public appearances or do events, they did. And this time it was Jake who was going to be doing the asking.

  The Bachelors of Fortune were going to become bartenders for a night.

  Coffee in hand, he pulled out a chair at Aidan and Sean’s table.

  “Morning, mate,” Sean said in his lyrical Irish accent, before narrowing his eyes and stating flatly, “You look like shite.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Jake retorted and popped the lid off his coffee to help it cool. “I haven’t been sleeping the best lately.”

  Aidan raked his gaze over him and took a pull from his drink. “You okay?”

  Having known each other since kindergarten, there wasn’t much that his oldest friend didn’t know about him. In fact, there was only one thing he could think of that he’d ever kept from Aidan. But it was for a lot of good reasons.

  So it really wasn’t an option right then to tell the guys that he hadn’t been able to sleep since Apple had decided to strip for him. Every time he closed his eyes, he began to fantasize about her—which made him hard and frustrated, and robbed him of any hope of sleeping.