The Rookie

by Kendall Ryan

  “Walk the lady home, you idiot.”

  My brothers are all thinking the same thing, and I’m sure they’re questioning my manners. Apparently, my interest in Summer beyond a professional capacity is the worst-kept secret ever. I toss the bag of marshmallows at Matt to a chorus of snickers, and head off after Summer.

  It’s not that the thought didn’t occur to me. Of course it did. It’s dark, and she’s alone. But I’m feeling a whole lot of things I have no right to. I’m worried that if I go after her, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Nevertheless, my brother’s are right. I should walk her home. I jog to catch up with her.

  I surprise her near the chicken coop, and she lets out a startled gasp, her hand flying up to her heart.

  “Sorry,” I say in a soothing voice, placing my hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “W-what are you doing?” Her pulse flutters wildly as she pauses beside the chicken coop, with its cheery robin’s-egg blue paint that Mom is so proud of.

  “It’s dark. I should walk you back.”

  “Oh.”

  Summer’s tone is filled with surprise, but when her gaze meets mine, I can tell she’s not opposed to this idea. I catch a glimpse of appreciation in her eyes.

  I feel like even more of a fool that I didn’t immediately leave the fire and insist on joining her. But I’m here now. And Summer is looking so beautiful under the glow of the moonlight that I forget what I’m supposed to be doing for a second.

  As if she has some sort of gravitational pull, I find it impossible to stop myself from kissing her. My palm touches her cheek to draw her close, and Summer comes willingly, moving toward me until we’re chest to chest.

  I slide my hand into her hair as her hot mouth meets mine enthusiastically. Her kisses are sweet, and hurried, and I drink them down.

  Waves of lust pulse through me. The taste of sugar and female is a potent combination. And Summer isn’t just any woman. She’s kindhearted and funny, and she’s put up with my family all week without complaint. I can’t help my body’s response to hers.

  When her lips part, I deepen our kiss, my tongue meeting hers in eager strokes. Her hands curl into fists as she grips my shirt, hauling me closer.

  I walk us back—three steps—until her back meets the wall of the chicken coop. I’m sure she can feel the situation below my belt, but Summer’s only response is more kissing. It’s a scenario I’m very much okay with.

  Moonlight paints us in a hazy glow. While being pressed up against the side of a chicken coop is probably the least sexy thing ever, neither of us seem to care.

  She makes a needy sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a whine and pure want. It sparks something inside me, and I bring one hand under the edge of her sweatshirt, my knuckles tracing the soft skin of her stomach.

  Breaking our connection, I press my forehead to hers. “You’re dangerous.”

  “So are you.”

  I know what she means, this burning attraction that neither of us seem capable of resisting.

  Being near her—there’s something about it. Something risky. It’s like my libido has magically rebooted. Not just rebooted, but roared to life with a hunger more potent than I’ve ever experienced before.

  I press my mouth to hers again as my hand travels north. Palming the weight of her breast earns me another of those moans that I’m quickly growing fond of.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” Her voice is sure. Steady.

  Her skin is so soft and warm, and I’m lost to her kisses. When my fingers skim down to the waistband of her leggings, she makes a breathless sound.

  “Can I touch you?” I murmur with my mouth still on hers.

  “Yes.” Her voice is a whisper, but there’s no uncertainty in her tone.

  With my pulse thundering, I press my hand lower, beneath the elastic of her leggings and panties. I bite back a groan when I feel how warm and wet she is.

  It triggers something inside me.

  As she grips my shirt to haul me closer, my fingers slide over silken flesh until Summer is trembling and gasping in my arms. I love touching her like this, making her feel good.

  A few minutes later, the air around us shifts. She’s close. I feel it the second she lets go and begins to come undone. Everything south of my navel twitches with satisfaction. It’s beautiful watching her overcome with her release.

  But I barely have time to savor it, because I hear the rustle of footsteps on fallen leaves. Summer’s eyes snap open to meet mine.

  “Hurry,” is the only word I get out before I begin pulling her along the path back into the darkness toward the cabins.

  When we reach mine, I twist the doorknob and she follows me inside—no invite necessary. It seems she’s as eager to pick back up where we left off as I am.

  We slip off our boots at the rug by the door, and I tip her chin up to meet my gaze. Her shaky smile grows, and then we’re both laughing.

  I rub a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away back there . . .”

  But I don’t get to finish my apology because Summer’s mouth is on mine.

  I kiss her back like my life depends on it, and maybe it does, because I’ve never felt this good, this free with anyone else ever before.

  Breaking away briefly, I ask, “Will you stay?”

  She nods once in understanding. This moment is too real, too perfect to just brush aside.

  My hand slides from her hair to the column of her graceful neck, then her shoulder, and I enjoy the feel of soft cotton beneath my fingertips. Summer wets her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Her mouth is beautiful, and wicked thoughts dance through my head.

  My hand slides lower until it comes to rest on her lower back. The movement thrusts her forward slightly, and her soft curves graze my chest, my abdomen, and lower—where surely she can feel how hard I am beneath my jeans. She responds with a tiny shiver.

  I can’t help it . . . all the crackling electricity between us has me eager and aching. Tugging her over to the couch, I sink onto it with her. The cabin is dim, lit only by the light above the kitchen sink, which casts broad shadows, and little flickers of glowing orange from the embers in the woodstove.

  Summer settles into my lap. We grind together and kiss, both of us willing to pretend—at least for now—that this isn’t a dangerous game.

  When she brings her hand between us to rub at my swollen erection, I bite back a groan.

  I open my mouth to say something. What, I’m not sure. But when she slides from my lap to the floor between my parted knees, I forget how to breathe, much less speak.

  Who needs words right now, anyway? Certainly not me.

  As Summer’s slender fingers go to work unbuttoning my jeans, I help her, dragging my pants and boxers down until she finds what she’s after. I’m so hard and swollen, and Summer moans as she wraps me tenderly in her hand. Then she pauses, the blunt head of me pressed right above her sweet mouth.

  The sight makes me dizzy. For all my fantasies, I never imagined we’d actually be here, doing this. I want to slow time, to savor this. This beautiful girl, on her knees before me . . . her eyes mischievously drinking me in.

  But then her tongue moves over me in one long, lazy stroke, and my eyes sink closed.

  “Shit.” I growl, pushing my hands into her hair as I let out a groan. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”

  “You like it?” she asks, teasing me, her tongue flicking over me seductively.

  “So much.”

  Her eyes meet mine briefly before sinking closed. I groan again, trying to keep my hips from thrusting up.

  Seated on the couch, I’m able to watch how she takes me—alternating between deep sucks and slow gentle kisses that I feel all the way to my toes. She makes little sounds as if the act of pleasuring me pleases her somehow. It’s sexy as hell. She’s spoiled me of enjoying this with anyone else, ever again.

  “Deeper,” I say on a
groan, and she obeys, sliding her lips all the way down my shaft. I curse again, my ab muscles contracting with how good it feels.

  I have no idea what I did to deserve this, but with Summer’s mouth working me closer and closer to the edge, I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.

  She moves faster now, adding her fist, and I inch dangerously closer to the edge.

  With the worst timing ever, my cell phone rings. I ignore it at first, and Summer does the same. My entire body is practically vibrating with pleasure. But the ringing doesn’t stop, and I’m forced to wrangle the damn device from my jeans pocket.

  “Yeah?” I bark out to whoever has the balls to interrupt such a perfect moment.

  “Oh, good. I caught you.”

  It’s my mother.

  And Summer still has my cock in her mouth.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  “I’m a little busy . . . did you need something?” I manage to say in a strained voice.

  “I just wanted to talk about how I’d like the venison butchered. You’re taking it to Cinnamon Creek, right?”

  My brain spins and short-circuits. Cinnamon Creek is the meat-processing operation two towns over. It’s a long drive, but they do the best job.

  “Uh,” is all I manage to say as Summer’s mouth moves over me in hot, enthusiastic strokes.

  With my fingers under her chin, I lift her head. There’s a soft sucking noise as my cock slides from between her lips, and I groan at the loss of suction.

  Belatedly, I realize that my mom is still talking. Just kill me now.

  “And I’d really like tenderloin, chops, and a couple of roasts. I don’t need much in the way of ground—”

  “Mother.” There’s a desperate edge to my voice, and I clear my throat before continuing. “Can we talk about this later?”

  There’s a long pause on the line. “Oh. Is Summer there?”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  Mom makes a joy-filled sound at the idea of Summer and me coming together. “Okay, ’bye. Wear a condom, honey. I’m not ready to be a grandma just yet!”

  “’Bye, Mom.” I toss the phone down with disgust, and Summer’s answering smile makes me chuckle. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  But Summer is already guiding my still rigid cock right back into her mouth.

  Shit.

  I fist her hair, desperate for her again.

  You’d think this would be the most disturbing exchange ever, but I go right back to enjoying the most perfect blow job in the world, delivered by the most perfect girl in the world.

  16

  * * *

  SUMMER

  Did I plan on having an orgasm up against a chicken coop?

  Well, no.

  Logan’s skillful fingers and his hot, eager mouth proved to be too much for me to handle. All sensibility flew out the window.

  But do I regret it? Also, no.

  Although deep down, I know I should regret it. And that’s really bothering me. I’m not this person—the bold woman who flew across the country to track down a potential client. Or the one who’s losing her sense of direction because her client is so stunningly attractive.

  Last night was an eye-opener for me. One thing became abundantly clear.

  I need to get out of here—hightail it back home before I do something incredibly stupid, like jeopardize my entire career for a little nookie. Even if said nookie would be really, really good.

  “I think I’m going to head back to Boston.”

  This news announced at the breakfast table goes over like a lead balloon. Only Logan and Jillian are left, with Grandpa Al reading the newspaper in his recliner. Yes, I waited till most of the boys had cleared out before making my announcement, but only to try to avoid too much awkward conversation about it.

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like my plan is working. While I pick at my currant muffin, I can feel the energy in the kitchen shift, and not for the better. When I look up, Jillian is staring at me like I just announced I was walking barefoot back to Massachusetts.

  “You’re leaving already? What on earth for?”

  The list of reasons could stretch from here back to the East Coast.

  For one, I’m developing some not-so-professional feelings toward my client, who is currently sitting across from me, taking long swigs of coffee and dodging my gaze. He’s definitely been a bit off this morning since what happened between us last night.

  Which brings me to reason number two—the fact that Jillian is ultra-aware of reason number one.

  But I’m not going to mention either of those reasons right now. Instead, I’m sticking to the practical truth.

  “Logan’s cleared to conduct the rest of his sessions with me virtually, so there’s no need for me to stick around and wear out my welcome.”

  “You’re not wearing out anything,” Jillian tells me, reaching over the table to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “We love having you around. Don’t we, Logan?”

  The sweet, slightly pushy smile that she gives her son is met with silence from him and a visible cringe from me.

  I love Jillian, but I don’t love the fact that she knows what’s going on between Logan and me. We haven’t gone five minutes this morning without her suggesting that Logan take me to see the local sites like the waterfalls in Aspen Park, or mentioning a new restaurant in town the two of us could check out.

  And I’m guessing she may know exactly what her phone call last night interrupted.

  I should have gotten off my knees the second she called, and booked a flight instead of proceeding to . . . I’m not even going to think about that. What happened between Logan and me last night was so wildly unprofessional, even thinking about it feels dirty in a hundred ways, both good and bad. And the fact that I would gladly repeat my actions this evening means it’s absolutely time to get out of Dodge.

  A labored grunt comes from across the room as Grandpa Al pushes up from his recliner. I’ve hardly seen him leave that thing since I first arrived, aside from meals, and I’m actually a little surprised to see how agile he is. I could have been convinced he was confined to that old leather chair.

  “I’m going to check on the chickens,” he says firmly. “And Summer here is coming with me to the coop.”

  My stomach does a flip in my belly at the mention of the chicken coop. “I am?”

  “Sure are.” He points his thumb toward the door. “Get a move on. We’ve got eggs to collect.”

  “Since when do they produce eggs in the winter?” Logan asks, his voice suspicious.

  “They can do anything if you keep ’em warm and happy.” Grandpa Al pulls a scratchy-looking wool coat off the rack and shoves his arms into it. “Just like me. C’mon, Summer, let’s go.”

  Not one to argue, I lace up my boots and follow him outside.

  It’s a short walk to the chicken coop, where Grandpa Al shows me how to shift the straw in the nest box to locate the eggs, then swap out the old straw for fresh bedding.

  I’m all too happy that our conversation is strictly business. Any mention of Logan right now while at the scene of last night’s crime would probably turn me redder than the currants in the muffin I had this morning.

  Then out of nowhere, Grandpa Al asks a question I couldn’t have seen coming. “You ever been hunting, Summer?”

  Staring at one of the hens pecking at the feed in the corner of the coop, I bite my lower lip with worry. “We’re not going to hunt these poor chickens, are we?”

  He wheezes out a laugh. “Oh, heavens no. I’m talking about deer.”

  Whew. Thank God. I already have too many feelings tied to this chicken coop. I don’t need to throw devastating sadness into the mix.

  “I grew up in the city. There’s not really a lot of opportunities for hunting deer there.”

  Grandpa Al runs a hand over his beard. “Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities if you stick around here.”

  My chest tightens. What gave this family the idea
that I would be a lasting fixture in Lost Haven?

  “I’m not going to be sticking around,” I remind him. “Like I was telling Jillian, I think I’ll go back to—”

  “Last year was an especially good deer season,” he says, disregarding what I just said. “But there was this one time, I thought I’d lined up my shot just right.”

  He sets down the basket of eggs and mimics holding a rifle, his whole body jerking back as he lets the imaginary bullet fly.

  “Boom. Should’ve been a clean shot. But he must’ve been a fast bugger, because I just got him in the leg. Injured the poor guy. I had to put the animal down. End his suffering.”

  “I don’t think I need any more details,” I say with a wince. I’m not a vegetarian, but much more of this kind of conversation may turn me into one.

  “The point is, I set out to kill a deer that day, and I did. It didn’t happen the way I planned when I first lined up that shot, but I got it done, and I got a good story out of it. Do you understand?” He offers me the slightest smile, but I’m totally lost.

  “I can’t say I do.”

  “Sometimes, you think you have a plan and everything goes sideways. But you can still do what you set out to do if you stick to your goal. And you might even get a good story or two out of it.”

  There’s that flip-flopping feeling in my stomach again.

  Does Grandpa Al know what happened last night too? Or maybe he just senses something is up between Logan and me. Either way, I wish I could click my heels together and magically transport out of this conversation.

  “I don’t think you should leave just yet,” he says finally. “Give it a day to really decide. I don’t think your work is finished here, even if it’s not going according to plan.”

  I want to tell him that I didn’t come out here with a plan. That my only plan was to get Logan to agree to meet with me, to get his anger issues under control and get him back on the ice.

  But Grandpa Al is right about one thing. I think I have some unfinished business here in Lost Haven.

  “Fine.” I sigh, reaching down to grab the basket of eggs. “One more day. Just one.” I hold up my pointer finger to further drive my point home. “Okay?”