If only he wasn’t so perfectly kind, so perfectly handsome, and so perfectly perfect. No, he wasn’t perfect. At least, not for her. Instead of an English accent, he had a distinctive cowboy drawl that could make her stomach heat up on command. Instead of a college education, he came from the school of hard work, which had built some pretty impressive muscles. Instead of dark, regal hair, he had these wavy golden locks that she wanted to run her fingers through. Her comparisons were completely failing her. Harley let out an exasperated sigh.
Crew arched an eyebrow. “Everything okay over there?”
“Yes.” She shook her head and took a sip of her hot chocolate, savoring the creamy and rich dark chocolate flavor and trying not to think about him in that special way. Crew was her friend, nothing more, nothing less. “Thank you for breakfast. I hope we didn’t break the bank.”
He blinked at her, his blue eyes reflecting a bit of hurt. “The bank is in pretty good shape, actually.”
Harley felt bad for judging him, but these were the differences she couldn’t ignore. She wasn’t trying to be snotty, but she wanted a man who had lofty aspirations, who was educated, who could see life beyond the Wyoming mountains, fresh air, beautiful pine trees. Sure, she’d felt claustrophobic in Connecticut with no real mountains, even though the people there claimed their hills were mountains. England might be colder than Wyoming with the humidity instead of the dry air that could slice through a person, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t mess with fate, and hers was in England, not in the arms of this burly, gorgeous cowboy.
“What are you thinking?” Crew broke off a piece of his apple fritter and smirked at her.
“What do you mean?” She self-consciously refastened her ponytail.
“I could always read your face. You’re thinking about something … deep.”
He could read her, she knew that. She’d been his and Ryker’s little sidekick until she went to Camp Wallakee and joined the Jane Austen Pact. Then she’d spent her free time reading Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Alexandre Dumas, and other classic literature, studying for school and the SAT, and forcing her silly daydreams about Crew Harrison out of her mind. I mean, come on, she could never marry him. Harley Harrison? That was horrid. She’d loved her name when she was young and her daddy would take her on rides on his Harley Davidson, but as she grew older she hated it, thought about changing it all the time. What kind of a proper Englishwoman was named after a motorcycle?
She averted her gaze, her fingers drumming the table. “I was just thinking how different Wyoming is from Connecticut.”
“Because of the people, the culture, or the environment?”
“Just the lack of real mountains.”
He nodded. “Deep thoughts.”
Harley broke off a piece of donut and threw it at him. It hit him square in the cheek and the sticky chocolate frosting smeared into his short facial hair. Harley put a hand over her mouth, hiding her laughter. “Oh!”
Crew smiled wryly and picked up his napkin, trying to clean off the frosting, but couldn’t completely eradicate it.
Harley couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s hilarious.”
One second he was sitting across the table from her, and the next Crew had stood, rounded the table, and plucked her off the bench. It happened so quickly Harley was jolted from her laughter and crying out in surprise instead.
Crew cradled her close to his chest with one arm underneath her legs and his other arm wrapped securely around her waist.
“Put me down,” she demanded, struggling to free herself.
“You started this.” He strode away from the donut shop and across the street toward the river.
“No!” she screamed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” He grinned. “You just threw a donut at my face.”
“And that’s even close to as bad as dumping me in that freezing cold river?” It was June, but that river never warmed up, straight from the melted snow of the mountains.
“You know better than to mess with the king.”
Harley laughed. She’d forgotten they used to mockingly call him the King Yak because he was so cocky in high school sports. She pushed at his chest and tried to free herself, but only succeeded in touching all the muscle stretching his T-shirt. “When did you get all of this?” she asked.
Crew was determinedly striding toward the river bank. He looked down in surprise. “All of what?”
“These … muscles.” She blushed and glanced away.
Crew chuckled. “A few things have changed about me since you went away.”
“But you still have to win.” She gestured to the river they’d just reached.
“Yes, I do.” He grinned viciously and edged closer. “Say I’m the king or I throw you in.”
Harley wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and held on for dear life. “You throw me in, you’re going with me.”
He glanced down at her and his smile changed from teasing to a smolder that made her stomach drop. She’d only read about looks like that, never seen one directed at her. His blue eyes dipped to her lips, then back up to meet hers. “Maybe this is what I wanted to accomplish all along.”
Harley’s heartbeat picked up. It would be easier than breathing to arch up and just take a quick sample of his lips. She leaned closer, her senses flooded by his musky cologne with that perfect hint of lime, vanilla, and salt. Her cheek brushed his soft facial hair and she couldn’t catch a full breath.
Crew’s smile came sure and strong as he cradled her body even closer to his chest and leaned in.
“Smoochie, smoochie!” a young boy yelled at them from down the bank.
Harley blinked, yanked back to reality. She shook her head and released her grasp on Crew’s neck. What in the world had she been thinking?
“Shall we go somewhere more private and recreate this moment?” Crew asked in a low rumble that brought delicious tremors to her body.
“No,” Harley said primly, folding her arms across her chest and telling her body to stop reacting to his.
He stared at her for a few seconds, then nodded. “Your loss.”
Before she could even register what was happening, he’d shifted her weight, holding her only by her legs, and dropped her upper body toward the water. Harley screamed, trying to grab at his legs, but she was swinging and missed.
Holding just above her knees with both hands, he dipped her ponytail into the water, making her screamed louder. Crew flipped her back upright and set her on her feet on the rocky edge of the river bank. Her wet ponytail streamed down her back. She shivered. It was so cold. At least he hadn’t thrown her all the way in, which he easily could’ve done.
Harley didn’t know what else to do but laugh. “Good one,” she said, teeth chattering. “One point for the king.” She smirked and then tossed her wet ponytail so it smacked him in the neck.
Crew jumped back. “Hey!”
Harley whirled and ran away from the river back to the donut shop. Crew caught up with her quickly, and they arrived at their picnic table and sat to resume their meal.
“Well, that was fun,” Crew said, taking a bite of his breakfast burrito as if there hadn’t been an interruption.
“Maybe for you.” She squeezed the excess water out of her hair. Yet it had been fun. She always had fun with Crew. If only he didn’t also make her want to kiss him so badly. She had to be strong this summer and just keep it fun and light. Kissing Crew might be the fulfillment of many a teenage fantasy, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of them when she was leaving in a few months and they could never be more than friends.
They both finished their breakfast and Crew started cleaning everything up. Harley’s phone beeped with an incoming text.
“You can check that,” Crew said. “I’ll get this.”
“Thanks.” Harley pulled out her phone and almost dropped it again. A text from Jame
s Dartmouth. She’d forgotten about him with all the worry over her father and unwanted feelings about Crew.
Dinner Saturday night?
Sure, she typed back quickly. When and where?
Westbank Grill. 6 p.m.
Fancy.
Only the best for my lady.
Harley couldn’t help but smile.
“What’s that grin about?” Crew’s voice drew her attention from her phone, and she thought he was standing much too close for comfort, just over her shoulder. His smell seemed to wrap around her. No fair.
She pushed her phone back into her pocket. “Nothing.”
Crew folded his arms across his chest, glowering. He’d seen the text. Crap. But why was he looking at her texts anyway?
Harley stood and started toward his truck. He reached her side quickly. “You’re going to meet him, aren’t you?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am.”
Crew cursed.
“Hey! Watch the language.”
“How would you dare go meet some guy you don’t even know?”
“I know him. I met him on the plane.”
He jammed a hand through his hair and yanked her door open. Harley climbed inside and he shut the door. She clasped her hands together, waiting for the cussing, thinking she should’ve lied to him. Yet maybe it was good that he knew she was dating a proper Englishman. Maybe it would keep him from giving her these looks and touches that if he didn’t ease up on would prove impossible for her to resist.
Crew jumped into his side of the truck and slammed the door. Unfortunately, he didn’t start the motor, instead turning to face her. “Harley.” He said her name so softly, so sweetly, she couldn’t resist looking at him. “Please be careful.”
She nodded, appreciating his concern, even though she was terrified that there was a lot more to it than brotherly affection. “I am. I’m meeting him at Westbank Grill. I won’t go anywhere alone with him.”
She expected him to give her some kudos for her safety precautions, but he scowled instead. “He’s making you drive all the way to Jackson Hole to meet him?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Does the jerk even know what the word gentleman means?”
“You stop it. I told him I’d drive to meet him.”
“That doesn’t mean he lets you.” Crew pushed the start button and yanked the gear shift down, muttering under his breath, “What a loser.”
“You’re just jealous,” she shot at him.
“Jealous?” He pulled out onto the road.
“Yes. You wish you were taking me out and you’re jealous.” Oh, she should not have said that, but how could any girl not hope that Crew might feel something for them?
“I’ve got news for you, little Miss Englishwoman: I have women knocking down my door. I haven’t been sitting around staring at your picture the past four years.”
His words shot arrows right into her heart. Not that she’d expected him to sit around waiting for her, and she doubted he even had a picture of her. They’d never dated seriously, but it still twisted those arrows deeper to even picture him with someone else.
“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it.” She folded her arms across her middle and stared out the window at the mountains and pine trees. Finally, the ranch came into view, and Harley had never been so relieved to be home.
Crew pulled up to the house and put the truck into gear but left the motor running. He jumped down from the driver’s seat and was hurrying around to her door when she swung it open. “Just because you don’t date gentlemen doesn’t mean you can stop me from being one,” he said, catching the door before it could smack him in the face.
“You know nothing about who I date.”
She tried to get down, but he reached up and wrapped his arms around her waist, helping her. She batted at his hands. How could she think clearly when he was touching her? “I can do it myself.”
Crew stepped closer and she was pinned against the running board. “You think you can do everything yourself,” he said. “Someday you’re going to realize that life is much better if you let someone who cares about you help.”
Harley arched an eyebrow, hardly able to breathe with him this close. Sheesh, he was big, and it looked fabulous on him. “If I find somebody who cares, I’ll let you know.”
Crew arched an eyebrow, and then he gave her an impertinent smirk. “You think you know what you want, Harley Snarly, but you’re wrong.”
“Oh, and you know what I want?” She pushed at his chest, but it didn’t budge him at all.
“Maybe not what you want, but I know what you need.” His breath was growing quicker, just like hers. Crew gently wrapped his hands around her hips and bent closer. “Do you know what you need, Harley?”
“Besides my hair dipped in the river?” She needed to lighten the mood, or she was going to reach up and kiss him and regret it for the rest of her life.
He grinned. “That was a good idea, but no. You need to be kissed good and long.”
Harley gasped. Her stomach pooled with heat and she could feel her pulse thrumming in her neck. “Are you offering?” Wrong response.
Crew’s eyes brushed over her face, settling on her lips. “I can think of worse offers I could make.”
“Ugh!” His comment was the exact excuse she needed. She pushed at him, then pulled her hands away from his chest and rolled her eyes. “Way to ruin the moment, you big lug.”
“How could I ruin it? Every moment with you is perfect.” He winked.
“No, it’s not.” Not willing to be sucked in by his charm, she pushed past him. “You need to leave me alone and do your ranch work, and I need to spend time with my father, make some pretty jewelry, and get ready for my date this weekend.”
“How could I forget? The date with the English loser.”
“You’re jealous and I don’t even care.” Harley stomped toward the porch, but turned around and hurled at him, “I’m not one of your bimbo cowgirls that you can just grab and kiss good and long, Crew Harrison.” Though the mere thought of kissing him good and long shot tremors through her body, and then the thought of cowgirls all over him filled her with righteous indignation. He’d always had women fighting for him. “You were a man-whore in high school and you’re not any better now. I’m waiting for my proper, debonair man, and he’s going to sweep me off my feet and I’ll be living happily ever after traveling the world while you keep hopping from girl to girl!”
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in determination. “Call me all the names you want, you’ll never be happy with some proper jerk. He’ll bore you and you’ll come searching for me.”
“Never!” She ripped open the front door, hurried inside, and slammed it behind her. Leaning against it, she hit the door with her fist. “He’s the jerk!”
What was Crew playing at? He acted jealous, insulted her date, then claimed she needed to be kissed. They had a moment there, but that’s all it was, and nothing was going to move forward with him or with them. He was a cowboy that she had no interest in. She touched her hip, where she imagined she could still feel the imprint of his warm palm. If only she could make her body not react to the big lug.
Chapter Five
Crew was grateful it was summertime, always crunch time in the construction industry. He was insanely busy with homes in different stages of completion, his side hobby of making concrete sinks, and helping Ryker with their ranch. Even running from thing to thing, he couldn’t stop thinking of Harley and wishing he knew how to break through to her. The week flew by and he was lucky to catch glimpses of her when he was helping out at the Redlands’.
Saturday afternoon he should’ve been driving up to Teton to check on some property he wanted to acquire to subdivide into custom home lots, but he found himself headed to the ranch instead. Would he catch her before she left? He wished he could follow her and make sure her date behaved himself, but he didn’t know if he could handle the torture of watch
ing her with another man, especially the stupid proper Englishman she thought she wanted.
He pulled into the circle drive just as the garage door cranked open. Harley backed out in her mom’s white Cherokee. Crew jumped down from his truck and hurried toward the car. He worried she was just going to drive off, but she stopped and rolled down her window.
“Don’t you look pretty,” she said, her eyes roving over his dusky blue Henley shirt and jeans. He knew the shirt made his eyes look bluer and showed off his shoulders. He was glad she’d noticed. “Got a date with some cowgirl?”
“No, ma’am.” At least she was back to teasing him after the fight they’d had Tuesday.
But why did she think he was some player? True, he’d dated his fair share of girls in high school, but he’d been too busy building a business, getting his drafting degree, and working his tail off the past six years to date much, and he’d never been a “man-whore” like she’d accused him of.
“You’re the one who looks pretty,” he said. The white and pink floral sundress showed off her beautiful light brown skin. A silver pendant hung down into the V-neck of the dress, and his mouth went dry. Why hadn’t he been brave enough to ask her out and show her what a real date was? He imagined taking her to a fancy dinner in that dress and then out dancing. Holding Harley close while she smiled up at him and they swayed to a slow country song.
“Thank you, kindly sir.” She gave him a smile that had him hoping, but then she lifted a hand in farewell. “I’d better run. Good to see you, Crew.”
“Harley.” He stepped closer and put his hand on the window frame. Luckily the Cherokee was tall enough he didn’t have to lean down too much.
“Yes?” She blinked at him, and those lovely dark eyelashes of hers fanned her cheeks. He thought of how fun it had been to hold her in his arms when he dipped her hair in the river.
Crew’s mouth opened and he wanted to tell her to back out of this date and go with him instead, but she wanted an Englishman, not a cowboy. His courage failed him and he finally managed to say, “Be careful.”
Seeking Mr. Debonair (The Jane Austen Pact) Page 4
