by Nicole Helm
He took another couple of sips and a deep breath before he spoke again.
“I had a decision to make. I could either move to New York with my Dad and my sister, or I could go to California, where my other sister could probably get me a job. Without my uncle’s farm, I didn’t have a job or a place to live, and I didn’t know what I could do. Farming was the only thing I’d ever done or wanted to do.”
This time when he paused, Dinah did something she knew she shouldn’t. She slid her hand over his arm. So they were sitting there, chairs next to each other, staring out at the night sky, touching.
Maybe even commiserating, which wasn’t supposed to be part of the fantasy—but why not?
“So Grandma, knowing that, asked if I would come live with her as a sort of caretaker. I could work at her restaurant as a busboy or dishwasher and take care of her. Make sure she was taking care of herself. I couldn’t imagine leaving St. Louis, I don’t know why, so I took her up on it.
“She had this little garden back here for herbs and a few vegetables in the summer. She told me to take it over and do whatever I wanted. Year by year, it just kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Farmers’ markets started to make a comeback, and I slowly started taking fewer and fewer shifts at the restaurant, and more and more farmers’ market booths.”
He’d gone from sad and wistful to something closer to happy, or maybe satisfied and proud.
“My next-door neighbor’s grandson was about my age, and he worked at the charter school. We came up with an idea for a summer program. It was a slow process, but once I realized I could do all the things I’d done on the farm on this tiny patch of land, I never looked back. This was what I was going to build and keep.”
It was quite the story, really, but something about the word restaurant stuck there, digging into her brain the way things always did when she had a business idea. There was something there. Fuzzy at first, but it would snowball.
“Did you ever supply your grandmother’s restaurant with food?” She studied her wine instead of him, because she wanted her thoughts to move organically. She didn’t want to be thinking this for him.
“When it was feasible. They had a very set menu they didn’t want to change, so they couldn’t fool around with what was in season. But when it worked out that I had what they needed, I’d sell it to them, until Grandma sold the restaurant.”
That was it. That was what they needed. Not to pave over this beautiful place, but to do something with it. Something connected to Gallagher’s.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but then she stopped. No, she had to work out some possibilities and some details first. Talk to Kayla. Talk to the food manager. Make sure this snowballing idea would work, would be as perfect as she thought it could be.
“It must be very rewarding to have built this yourself,” she forced herself to say, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
Carter shrugged. “I’m not going to lie—it’s nice, but I would have preferred to keep Dad’s farm. Still, it’s not terrible to see how this place has grown because of me.”
“There’s something to be said for having done it on your own,” she said as she watched him take in the entire backyard, his smile growing. “Being able to make all your own choices, put your own mark on it. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it’s not half bad.”
“I envy you a little bit. It’s hard to make a difference in something that already exists. Settled so tight into history and family, it’s hard to make a ripple.”
“I’m sure you put an indelible mark on Gallagher’s, Dinah. And just about everything else you touch.”
It didn’t escape her notice he mentioned both Gallagher’s and her actual name without backtracking or stopping himself. She thought about asking him if he’d noticed, but she decided to keep that to herself too.
If she could turn this little idea into a big idea, and if she could get everyone to agree . . . it would be possible for them to be Carter and Dinah instead of C and D.
She pressed a hand to her stomach where nerves were jangling ridiculously. Was that what she really wanted? To try to make a fantasy a reality?
She didn’t have a great answer for that. She slid a glance at him, all shadows and dark hair in the evening light. He was so handsome and she thought they understood each other really, really well.
She was getting so far ahead of herself it wasn’t even funny. She’d gotten better at recognizing when she was diving headfirst into a possibly shallow pool, and though she still didn’t always figure out how to rein it all in, she’d figured out how to keep some of it to herself.
She would keep this to herself until she was sure she could make it happen, and until she was sure she wanted it to happen.
But then he glanced over at her and smiled, putting the beer can aside. When he slid out of his chair and turned to face her with a delicious, predatory gleam in his eye, she figured tonight she could set those thoughts aside and focus on the here and now.
Fantasy. C and D and the chemistry they had. Tomorrow, during work hours, she would figure out what exactly she could do.
“Did you eat tonight?”
“I did. But I didn’t have dessert,” she returned with a saucy grin.
He chuckled, kneeling at her feet. His big, strong, rugged hands rested on her knees and he drew his thumbs back and forth across the top. She reached out and combed her fingers through his curly, unruly hair.
Her chest ached and felt all expanded. It almost hurt, even as the shiver of excitement and something else worked its way through her body.
The very bottom line was, she’d never really felt like this with a guy. Being with a guy required letting your guard down a certain amount, and Dinah had been very bad at that part. But it came so easily with Carter. It was like her guard wasn’t just down, it had never existed. She supposed that stemmed from how they’d “met.”
“Carter,” she murmured.
“C,” he corrected, his voice deeper and gruffer than it had been when he’d been telling her about building this place.
“Right. C.” She studied his face and tried to decide what she needed to say. She’d spent so much time the past week convincing herself this was a fantasy, but it felt oddly real. Comforting and good.
And you’re going to put your whole business and life on the line for some guy? No way. Gallaghers did not behave in such a fashion. Well, her father did, but she wasn’t going to be like him. But she wouldn’t be like Craig either, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be like Grandmother. So who did that leave? Who could she be like?
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“Yeah. Yeah, more than okay.” Even though it was a lie, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Her thoughts weren’t all right, but this moment was. This man was. So she was going to enjoy it. And smile until she figured out the rest.
* * *
Carter had never made out with a woman in his backyard before. Hell, he’d never even brought a woman back here before. It’d been sacred and, granted his grandmother had lived with him for a few years here, but still.
He kept his personal life very much out of this . . . Whatever the farm was. Professional life, blood and soul. But Dinah . . . D . . . She’d snuck under all those usual compartments without his even realizing it.
He’d shoved her skirt up to her hips and was sinking his finger into the hot, wet heat of her body. She sighed against his ear and thoughts didn’t matter. All that mattered was sex. Pleasure.
Dinah, his mind whispered.
He told his mind to shut the fuck up.
He focused on D’s heavy breathing, on the way her fingernails sank into his back. The way she moved against him and the way she pulsed around him. He closed his mouth over her breast, ignoring the fabric in his way. With enough nibbling he found the peak and grinned against her when she squeaked.
“God, I love all the noises you make.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have sai
d that, but there was a lot to be said for doing this in person rather than over the computer. The feel of her, the sounds she made, the reality of it all.
The connection. Another thought he told his mind to ignore.
She was practically bucking against him, making those noises over and over again, and he was so hard his cock hurt, and he needed to be inside her so badly he thought he might forget about everything else in his life if he could just have her.
“Inside.”
She groaned in frustration when he pulled his fingers out of her pussy. “Cruel not finishing me off,” she panted.
He grinned at her. “I know. You didn’t beg.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but she got to her feet and was quickly heading into his house. “I hope you know, I beg for very little.”
“You begged me this morning.”
“Exactly,” she said regally, stepping into the warm light of his kitchen. “I do not beg twice in one day.” She turned to face him, cocking her head in a considering fashion. “In fact, I think it’s your turn to beg.”
“Baby, I felt how wet you are. I think you’re a little bit more desperate than I am.”
She fisted her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow. Though she was frowning at him, he could tell she was repressing a smile beneath it. “I think it’s a well-documented fact that women don’t need sex as much as men do.” Her gaze dropped to his erection. “And trust me, baby, you’re hardly un-desperate.”
“This old thing? I’ve been taking care of him myself for quite a while.”
Something in her expression changed in a way he couldn’t read. He’d expected her to laugh or roll her eyes; instead her tongue traced her upper lip and he watched it very closely, taking far too much enjoyment in the moisture it left behind.
“Taking care of yourself?” she murmured.
“I wasn’t exactly walking around with blue balls after one of your emails.”
Still all regal, elegant, in-charge grace, Dinah crossed her arms over her chest. “Show me.”
“Show you?”
“I’d like to see firsthand what you were doing to yourself when you were writing about fucking me.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as if to suppress a grin, but it failed because she was smiling broadly at him. Something like a dirty challenge in her eyes, which meant he couldn’t back down.
And even if he’d much rather have her hands, her mouth, and definitely her pussy on his cock, his hand would do. So, he unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, watching her as she focused on every moment with intense concentration.
He gripped himself at the base and slowly tugged upward. Dinah made an odd breathy kind of noise. “Turnabout is fair play. I’d like a few images of my own.”
She rolled her eyes, but after a few seconds of what seemed like—not embarrassment, exactly, but maybe concern—she gave a little shrug and unzipped the side of her skirt and pushed it down. She looked around the kitchen, and then stepped out of her skirt and her underwear and hoisted herself up onto the counter, spreading her legs so that he could see everything.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, because he couldn’t keep it in. The way she washed over him like some kind of tidal wave that erased everything except feeling.
Her cheeks turned a little pink at that, which was somehow endearing. He really needed to get his shit together.
She nodded toward the erection in his hands. “Keep going.”
So he did as he was told, stroking himself slowly, agonizingly, and watching as she trailed her fingertips up her inner thighs. He stroked himself and watched every light move of her fingers, her index finger slowly pressing to the very center of her. She traced that luscious seam, opening herself up to him so he could see everything she was doing to herself.
He was panting now, stroking faster than was probably wise. But the faster and harder he stroked himself, the deeper and harder she pushed her fingers into her gleaming, delicious pussy.
“Don’t you dare come by your own hand,” she ordered between gasping breaths.
“Right back at you,” he managed. “But we better get in the bedroom to get one of those condoms now if we’re going to accomplish that.”
She nodded and hopped off the counter. They all but sprinted to the bedroom, and he fumbled as quickly as he could to rid himself of his jeans and get the condom on at the same time. She stripped off her shirt and bra and then pulled his shirt off of him once he had the condom on.
“I want you on your back,” she said, pushing him onto the bed.
He grinned at her, letting the shove move him to the mattress. “The one place I don’t mind a bossy woman.”
She slapped him playfully across the shoulder, but took no extra time to guide his cock into her. They both groaned, and he gripped her hips, pushing himself as deep as he could go.
Everything about her was hot and wet and ready, and she didn’t play around. She rode him fast and hard. He thrust upward to meet every movement of her body.
Carter thought he might actually be seeing stars. “Come on, baby, I can’t last much longer.”
She rode him harder, her body practically a blur of movement, her gorgeous breasts moving in time, and everything about her slicked with sweat and need. The lightning-hot flash of pleasure was ricocheting through him so fast, so deep, he released one hand from her hip and managed to work it between them as she continued to slide against him, all frenzied, frantic pace.
He used his finger to push against her, even as he drove into her. She moaned loud and low, thrusting herself against him one last time. He could feel her pussy clench against his cock and he came on a groan of his own.
She collapsed against him, their chests heaving together, their warm bodies slick with sweat.
“Well, Carter, looks like neither of us needed to beg,” she said, still breathing heavily.
Using his real name. He should correct her. He should make sure the line was clear, but he didn’t have the energy, and with her sprawled on top of him, still pulsing around him, he didn’t want to think about other personalities right now.
He just wanted to hold her. Keep her exactly where she was, and he’d worry about that much, much later.
Chapter 10
The next morning when Dinah woke up in Carter’s bed, she didn’t feel quite as weird about it as she had the morning before. Still a little weird, but she was also coming to grips with the fact that there was something special between them.
Now, reality meant that anything special might still not work out, but she woke up filled with the determination to try to figure all this out.
Why shouldn’t she leave her mark on Gallagher’s, find a way for Carter to save his farm and help Gallagher’s, and have some amazingly hot sex and good, comforting conversation too?
She’d worked hard her whole life, and though it hadn’t all gone perfectly, it had gotten her here. If she put in a little bit more work, a little bit more grit, she could have everything she wanted.
She had to believe that, because if she didn’t . . . what was there to work so hard for?
She slid out of bed, finding her clothes folded somewhat haphazardly on Carter’s dresser. The room itself was haphazard. None of the furniture matched, and while it wasn’t exactly messy, it certainly wasn’t neat. It was cluttered, but it suited him.
Carter reminded her of an artist. His mind was filled with farm like some people’s minds were filled with art, and there was very little room left for anything else in his life.
She smiled a little at that, because she was all order and focus, and maybe she was a little bit of what Carter might need.
She got dressed and had to roll her eyes at herself a bit. She believed in optimism, wholeheartedly, but even she was getting a little too optimistic about her idea.
“One step at a time,” she told herself, stepping outside the bedroom when she was completely dressed. She still needed her shoes, and would head back to her apartment for a sh
ower and change of clothes. Based on the amount of light coming through the windows, she thought she must have slept later than she had yesterday morning.
She stopped in the small hallway as the smell of something surprising hit her.
Coffee.
She padded into the kitchen, and though it was empty—Carter was surely out working in his little fields—there was the strangest sight on the stovetop. Something she might not have recognized if not for the smell emanating from it.
It looked kind of like a teapot, but rustier and taller. Still, the smell coming from it was definitely coffee.
Which he said he didn’t drink, which meant he’d bought and made some just for her. She blinked at the odd little pot and tried to breathe through the tightness in her chest. He’d gotten something he didn’t like but knew she did, and she tried to think of the last time someone had done something selflessly kind for her.
It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt big and it hit her hard, and she was disgusted with herself for feeling a little teary. It was just coffee. At most, he’d gone to the store and bought a little bag or can. Why should that touch her?
Because it meant he listened, and thought, and did. A combination she didn’t know if she’d ever encountered in a guy before, which probably said a lot more about the people she knew than it said about Carter.
Hesitantly, she stepped toward the stovetop. There was a mug with a little note balanced on top.
Coffee is cheap, but might do the trick. Sugar in the pantry, milk in the fridge. Feel free to drink all.—C
Dinah swallowed and looked around furtively before she slipped the note into her pocket. She had a lot of emails from the man, but this was handwritten, and it was . . . sweet. Really, really sweet.
She really needed to get her head together.
The screen door to the back screeched open and Carter stepped inside the kitchen. “Good, you found the coffee.”
His hands were wet, as though he’d washed them before he’d come inside, and yet they were still stained with dirt. Around his fingernails, in the grooves of his skin. He even had a smudge of it on his forehead under the brim of his baseball cap.
