Come to think of it, the woman talked fast, walked fast, chewed gum fast. What else was she fast at?
Pushing the X-rated images from the backs of his eyeballs, Marsh opened the refrigerator to peruse the leftovers. It also gave him a chance to adjust his snug-fitting jeans.
Having Ginger Myers under this roof was like containing a tornado in a teacup. The short time he spent with her in the bridal party had him daydreaming about her the entire winter. From her soul-stirring hazel eyes that changed like a summer storm from enchanting and innocent to deliciously wicked to the delicious curves of her well-proportioned body to her long, flowing red hair, his cock responded enthusiastically whenever she graced his vicinity.
“Marsh, will you quit standing there staring at the food?” his father scolded him. “We’ll lose the cold in the refrigerator.”
“We have wind turbines,” Marsh retorted, grabbing a plastic container.
“That reminds me,” his father said. “One of the turbine’s rattling about. Might need to tighten the bolts and check the anchor mounts.”
“I’ll get to it after I replace the broken gate.” Marsh didn’t want to take out his frustrations on his father. After all, they were fortunate enough to have enough land for both him and his brother to farm. Not many families were able to pass their family farms down, although with the way estate taxes were, he would be better off buying his parents out.
“Just trying to school you on all the things that need to be done. Winter’s the time for fixing everything up to be ready for planting.”
“Sure, Dad,” Marsh said to his father’s departing back. With the bust up in the Hand and Foot game, his mother had been calling his father over for a little one-on-one Gin Rummy.
Marsh scooped himself a serving of his mother’s famous ground beef and noodle casserole and popped it into the microwave. He’d better get something into his stomach before facing the fast talking New Yorker. Why was she here in Sapphire Falls in the middle of winter? How long was she staying, and how was he going to get any work done around the farm before leaving for her hometown?
The kitchen door opened with a whoosh and in streamed Ginger the redheaded Tasmanian devil herself.
Keeping his eyes mesmerized by the turntable in the microwave was chicken shit, but Marsh couldn’t figure out how else to control himself.
Ginger Myers had a way of wrapping herself around him with an abundance of noise, sensual sounds, and mind-blowing scents. Already, the tentacles of her alluring perfume swirled around him like the morning steam after a night of hot sex.
The temperature inside the kitchen rose as she and Candi talked about adult party games such as Touch and Feel, Lap Stack, and Sardines.
The microwave beeped and Marsh removed his plate, but he forgot to grab a potholder. Ow, ow, ow. He set the plate down with a clatter and blew on his hands.
Musical laughter came from the two goddesses, although the blonde was off limits. But then, he’d never gone for blondes or brunettes. Like Bill the bull, all anyone ever needed to do was wave a bright red flag in front of him, or in this case, a head full of long red hair, and he was pawing the ground and ready to charge.
“Did you burn your little, wittle hand?” The snark started way too soon, causing his cheeks to heat.
“She can kiss it and make it all right,” Candi said, as he rushed to the sink and turned on the cold tap water.
Ginger circled around the kitchen island. “My lips are way too hot for a burn.”
The two women chuckled as if the joke was on him, and immediately, he thought of a place where her lips could really burn him good.
“Heard you’re visiting my sister’s home turf.” Candi handed him a dishtowel to dry his throbbing hand. “Maybe she can show you around.”
“Actually, you’re going to need street smarts lessons before you go.” Ginger stuck her hand out to shake.
As soon as his big hand clasped her smooth and elegant hand, and her long fingers wrapped around his, Marsh was a goner. The spark of her touch went straight to his groin. No stopping, no passing his brain, no collecting his thoughts, but straight to throw her on the island, spread her legs, grab her tits, and do her.
“I, uh, well, don’t, uh, know.” The erotic images of what he really wanted to do to her made him a stammering, tongue-tied fool.
“You’ll never survive The Big Apple without a few survival tips.” Ginger’s fingers brushed his palm as she let go of his hand. “You go ahead and eat your dinner, then meet me outside on the porch where we’ll go through safety and awareness.”
Each of her words rang like a prizefighter’s bell in his brain. Outside. Alone.
Definitely not safe, but very, very exciting.
He nodded with a grunt, noncommittal, and had the dubious pleasure of watching the two women sashay from the suddenly too stifling kitchen.
Ginger would never make a good farmer’s wife, and she’d be bored stiff as soon as the newness of a Nebraska winter had worn out.
The best thing he could do for both his libido and his sanity, was to get Ginger Myers out of his system. And what better way than to have her turn him into a sophisticated and classy city boy?
He’d done one or two-nighters before. If New York women were as fast as legend had it, he could overdose on her while she was in town, then go out to the city and get himself lost in all the grandiose sights and sounds.
Ginger Myers would be his perfect set of training wheels before unleashing smooth, slick, Marshall Pierre Wolff on the women of The Big Apple.
Lost in his fantasy, he didn’t notice his mother entering the kitchen.
“What’s got you grinning like a jackass eating briars? Ginger Myers is your brother’s wife’s sister—keep that in mind.”
He was single.
She was single.
And that was all he was going to keep in mind.
Chapter Five
Ginger licked her smiling lips as she waited on the porch. Marsh might be hot for a country bumpkin, but she had within her hands, the power to make him nuclear. She’d start with the attitude and metro him out with a hot hairstyle, entire body grooming, and add a tattoo and piercing for good measure.
Muscles he already had, and she bet his abs were hard and ridged. Working with Marsh would be like working with a naked canvas, and she couldn’t wait to shape and style every inch of him into a guy fit for a New York runway or a billionaire’s magazine cover.
As expected, a large figure soon appeared on the lighted porch. Score one for her. He’d come at her beck and call. And that sounded a lot more suggestive than it was meant.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Ginger rubbed her mittened hands and blew out puffs of vapor into the cold February night.
“I’m game for whatever you have to deal.” The deep, masculine voice drawled as Marsh came closer.
“I get you all set up for your city visit, and you show me what it’s like to be a real country girl. I’m here to experience it all—from the truck bed to the hayloft to a field of wildflowers to a rowboat on a pond.”
His grin widened lasciviously, showing gleaming white teeth. “It’s a bit cold out there for the pond and the field, but I’ve got both a truck and a loft for you.”
“Great, so now, we start by teaching you how to be street smart.” Ginger put her hand out at arm’s length. “Don’t come any closer. First lesson is to avoid eye contact. You’re staring at me.”
“That’s because you’re a beautiful woman.” Marsh advanced so that her palm was against his chest. “Out here in my neck of the woods, a beautiful woman is to be appreciated.”
Ginger felt her face flush at his unabashed admiration, but this street smart business was serious.
“I’m trying to help you survive leaving the airport terminal.” She could feel how hard his chest was, even with the layers of clothing between them. “Go back to the other end of the porch. I’m going to walk toward you and you walk toward me, but no eye contact. Don’t d
eliberately look away either, because you have to be aware of your surroundings, but just kind of casually cruise toward me, aware of everything about me, whether I have a gun, knife, or loud boyfriend hanging over me, and keep going without looking at me or making any sort of eye contact.”
“How’s that going to be possible?” Marsh walked backwards on the giant wraparound porch.
“You’ll see. Now let’s pretend we’re passing each other on the street. Remember, casual, but look like you know where you’re going, and no eye contact.”
“Got it.” He gave her a thumbs up and swaggered toward her, all loose and free like only a country boy could be.
She walked in a hurry, her usual New York pace, with her boot heels clopping over the wooden planks. Without seeming to be aware of him, she took a small step to the side to let him pass, but he roped her in with a strong arm and brought her smack into kissing position.
“Now that is what I do when I rope in a filly,” Marsh wore a self-satisfied grin, his gaze fixed on her lips. “Around these parts, we take what we like.”
“You’re lying.” Ginger moved her mouth closer to his beckoning lips. “You can’t be faster than us city people.”
“So fast, you won’t see me coming or going.” He moved in for the kill and fastened his hot, steamy lips over hers. Those hands of his, quick and stealthy, reached for her hands, holding them while his tongue rocked inside her mouth.
She couldn’t suppress a moan of appreciation, and her insides melted with heat. When was the last time she’d been with a real man, a rough and ready man who ravaged her mouth like a wild man while holding her hands?
Breathless, Ginger stroked his hand with her thumb and dropped back from the kiss, hazarding a glance at Marsh’s coffee-colored eyes.
A number of snarky quips raced through her mind, bumping and jostling in her quick wit, but her tongue wanted nothing to do with talking and everything to do with tasting the country menu spread out in front of her.
Speechless, she leaned back toward Marsh, let go of his hands and cupped the back of his head, dragging him into another mind-blowing kiss.
She really didn’t want to slow this thing down, not when Marsh was in town for only a few more days, but he was too scruffy for her image, and if she could only get her hands on a pair of scissors and a hair trimmer—
“About that hayloft,” Marsh whispered, giving them both time to catch their breath. “I have one next to my apartment.”
Seriously? That was one line she’d never heard before.
“This I’ve got to see. A hayloft near your apartment?”
He hooked her hand through the crook of his arm and patted it. “One hayloft experience coming up. Now, you might not believe it, but I’m a gentleman, so don’t get any ideas.”
After kissing her like the devil, now he informed her he wasn’t playing?
“Suit yourself,” Ginger said. “But you failed street smarts 101. You can’t be grabbing women off the streets of New York. The usual MO is to go to a club and buy them a drink.”
“Guess I’m faster than your average New York Minute guy.”
“That’s not something to brag about,” Ginger said, twisting her lips. “I’m here to enjoy a nice, slow ride down a winding country lane.”
His hot breath warmed her ear as he steered her toward the barn past pens of livestock. “Now you know why farmers drive so slow.”
* * *
This was not what Ginger expected.
Outside, the structure was of an old wooden barn with snow on the roof and X-shaped braces reinforcing the doors. Instead of the large double doors in the front, Marsh opened the man-sized door on the side and flicked on a one-bulb light at the top of a set of metal stairs.
The scent of hay and soft sound of livestock surrounded Ginger as she followed Marsh up the stairway to the loft which basically covered almost the entire barn.
One side of it was filled with scattered hay and bales stacked toward the sides, but the other side was walled and closed off.
Marsh removed his gloves and unlocked a door on the walled side of the loft. “Bet you didn’t know I live here.”
“You live in the barn? With the animals?”
“On top of them. I built my own apartment.” He opened a wooden door. “Come have a peek.”
She entered, and Marsh took her coat and hung it on a rack near the door. He turned on the lights.
Ginger’s breath caught in her throat. She expected a rundown efficiency with old, cast off furniture and linoleum floors, but his apartment was a decorator’s dream.
It was rustic but posh at the same time. The hardwood floor was a mosaic of colored planks from light tan to dark brown. The living room held a gray leather couch with plenty of throw pillows, a carved wooden mantel over gas logs, and a flat paneled TV. The open construction led straight into the kitchen which was furnished with stainless steel appliances. It had a center island that was covered by thinner planks of hardwood in the same light tan to dark brown mosaic style.
The cabinets were whitewashed in a distressed style, and the kitchen was tiled with white bricks, while the living room walls were covered with a textured metallic grasscloth wallpaper. A bookshelf filled with hardback books sat between the kitchen and living room, and large windows were covered with cellular shades.
“Not bad for a country boy, eh?” Marsh gestured Ginger to the kitchen. “Care for a cup of coffee or a drink?”
He pulled out a barstool for her at the kitchen island, a large flat surface that had many uses.
“A glass of wine,” Ginger answered. Coffee was off-limits for her, but so was hard liquor.
“Are you surprised I have a wine drawer?” He reached under the island counter. “Name your grape.”
“Pinot gris.” Ginger had to admit to herself that this country boy was full of surprises—all good, so far.
“I just so happen to have a bottle from the Alsace region of France. Rich, sweet, and spicy, just like the type of women who fancy them.” He jiggled a cork puller into the bottle’s top and twisted out the cork.
Ginger accepted the wineglass and swirled it under her nose before taking a sip. “This is good stuff. Do you always bring strange women up her for your private collection?”
“Frankly, no. I’m within eyeshot of my parents’ house. We may be friendly, but we keep an eye out for strangers.” He clinked his wineglass with hers.
“That means your parents know you brought me up here.” It dawned on Ginger that there was no better cock block than living at home.
“Yes, but you’re my brother’s sister-in-law. We’re practically family.”
That kiss on the porch was not a family member’s kiss. It was hot, bothered, and had all the markings of a male animal claiming his mate.
Now, Ginger was confused. He’d brought her up to his place, but they weren’t groping and kissing and pushing and shoving, dripping a trail of clothes and stumbling through doors and crashing onto his bed.
“You must be planning on living here for a long time,” she remarked, mainly to get her mind out of the gutter, or at least off the hardwood countertop.
“Not necessarily.” He swirled the wine and inhaled. “I’ve always wanted to live in a big city. Just haven’t had the chance, so I brought some of the city here.”
“Will I find a row of suits in your closet?”
“Maybe a collection of ties.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “You want to see?”
Now that was tempting, and usually, Ginger was not one to slow things down. She enjoyed raw sex, sure, but the chase and hunt stimulated her more. Whenever she met a new partner, she’d fence with him, toy and spar, eyeing him up and down, maybe throw a jab or feint disinterest. Keeping him off-balanced meant a wilder and more ardent suitor. It was like having make-up sex without the bother of a lover’s quarrel.
“Maybe tomorrow, after you’ve taken me out on a proper date.” She finished the wine and got off the barstool. “But firs
t, you need a haircut. The shaggy dog look went out long ago with Scooby Doo and Shaggy, too.”
He ran his fingers through his longish hair and his brows lowered, darkening his face. “Wow. You’re a real ballbuster.”
She grabbed his face with both hands and brought him close. “I’m a New Yorker. Blunt and to the point. You think you can handle me?”
A wicked grin spread across his wolfish face. “You’re on my turf now, lady. After you’ve cooked me a hearty meal, maybe we’ll check out that hayloft you’ve been hankering for.”
“Oh, heck, why wait? We can date and cook later.” She lunged at him and he caught her in his arms. They took two stumbling steps and fell onto his leather couch.
Her lips melded with his, and she drank greedily from his hot mouth as her hands tangled with his shirt, and he cupped his large palm over her ass. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and yet, he didn’t make her feel cheap.
Not when he’d held both her hands with their first kiss—unexpectedly sweet.
“Ginger,” he rasped as he came up for air. “You okay?”
Gosh, was he a good guy or what? He even checked for consent.
“Yes, of course.” She wanted nothing more than to feel that hard, muscular body crushing her, to fill that longing between her legs, to explore and taste that first blush of lust, stroke it into a hot blast of excitement and then give herself over to the exquisite pleasure of being held and connected, no matter how fleeting, to another living and breathing human being.
“Then, let me show you how a country boy goes down and gets dirty.” He nipped the lobe of her ear and kissed his way down to her neck, while he pushed up her sweater dress and parted her thighs with his hand.
“Goodness, yes.” She moaned, seeing stars behind her eyelids, as he stroked and fondled her over her panties. Her nipples hardened, wanting in on the action and when he lowered his head and nuzzled her breasts through the layers of her clothes, she burned to strip herself naked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Marsh, Honey and Max are going home and want to know if Ginger is coming,” his mother’s voice sounded through the door.
Sapphire Falls: Going Hearts Over Heels (Kindle Worlds Novella) (My Country Heart Book 3) Page 3
