by Penny Reid
When Jenn was about five feet away, her smile—looking forced—widened unnaturally and she said, “Hey, there you are.”
“Here I am.” I stuffed my hands in my pants pockets.
She stopped abruptly about two feet away, unable to come closer without moving the Donner Bakery box to one side, and that would have been awkward. It was big box. I contemplated the big box, which was both a literal barrier as well as a figurative representation of what separated us.
A second ticked by. She said nothing. Maybe because I was glaring at the box. I didn’t want to be the first to speak. I was too persnickety to be trusted. But then I remembered Drew’s request, and I relented.
“Drew says hi,” I said.
There. That’s done. Message conveyed.
“Oh.” The word was airy, like she was out of breath. If I’d just jogged a hallway in high heels, I would’ve been out of breath, too.
Another second ticked by, then another, and that deep well of frustration began to rise, reaching my esophagus and higher, flooding my chest with suffocating disappointment.
Damn it.
I felt her shift closer and the movement drew my attention to her sweet face and gorgeous eyes.
“Please don’t be mad.” The hope in her features had been entirely eclipsed by guilt. “I am so sorry. I would have been on time, but Mr. Badcock sold all my eggs to somebody. And then he was treating me like I was a person of suspicion, like he couldn’t trust me. Truth be told, he was downright hostile.”
What’s this? Hostile?
Stepping around the box, I came to her side, my hand automatically lifting to her back. “What did he say to you?”
Note to self, Richard Badcock, add to list: Maim for mistreatment of my Jenn.
“Nothing harsh.” She quickly shook her head, holding my gaze and allowing me to steer us down the hall, away from the entrance. “But I did have to convince him to sell me eggs again, and then he’ll only sell me eggs with an advanced and a deposit. And then, once that was settled, it turns out he did have a few dozen in his house, which he eventually gave me. But trekking up the hill and back down again took longer than I’d planned.”
I stopped in front of the door leading to the stage area of the old cafeteria and pulled out a key to unlock it, listening intently to her egg-tale while keeping an eye out for any passer-bys or hangers-on. I didn’t need folks following us or asking me about how it was that I possessed a key.
“So when I got back to the bakery,” she went on, her words dripping with fatigue, “momma was in tears, ‘cause my daddy had just called. And you know, he wants half the hotel and the bakery, so he was threatening her with that again.”
I grimaced. I was aware of Kip Sylvester’s reprehensible behavior. He’d popped up again this last week after being mostly gone for just about a month, making all kinds of threats.
“When she stopped crying, there was still the custard to make, and only four dozen eggs. After some fretting and discussing the issue with Momma, I decided it was best to go to the store and pick up a few dozen eggs there—since Blair Tanner had already left, I was the only one to do it—and use half Badcock eggs and half store bought to get the most out of the Badcock four dozen. I’ll need them later this week.”
“Did you make the custard?” I ushered her forward and shut the door to the backstage area, tired on her behalf. We were enveloped in dark, which meant she couldn’t see at all, and I—like all my siblings—could see tolerably well.
“Yes. I made the custard, it’s sitting in the fridge, used the last of my vanilla. I’ll need to order more. I just hope no one realizes about the eggs,” she finished with an agitated exhale, allowing me to lead her through the darkness.
I took the infernal bakery box and set it on a nearby crate, and then brought her near a corner, placing her back against the wall. This particular corner was scarcely illuminated by a sliver of light coming in through the stage curtains.
The cafeteria was just beyond the curtains, and the loud buzzing of town gossip and chatter from earlier in the evening was now a low murmur of scant conversation. Apparently, most folks had moved to on to the music rooms, likely because all the coleslaw had been eaten. As long as we whispered, we wouldn’t be overheard or noticed.
“Is everything settled? With Mr. Badcock?” I studied her expression, noting the groves of worry on her forehead and the way she was twisting her fingers.
“I think so. Momma is going to drive out there tonight and drop off a deposit check, try to smooth things over with Mr. Badcock.”
“That was your idea?” I questioned, already knowing the answer.
It was a great idea, so of course it was Jenn’s idea. Mrs. Diane Donner-Sylvester, Jenn’s dragon-lady mother, was one of the most powerful business persons in the region. A visit from Diane was a big deal indeed. As well, Diane clearly needed a distraction from her divorce woes.
“Yes.” She whispered, her eyes searching for mine, but seemingly unable to settle on the right spot. My face must’ve been wholly in shadow. “We’re putting in an order for the entire year.”
“That’s good.” I nodded, but part of her story troubled me.
Why would Mr. Richard Badcock treat Jenn with even an ounce of hostility? It didn’t make any sense. Folks who knew Jenn—or of Jenn—considered her harmless, or less than harmless. A novelty, a local celebrity of no real substance or consequence, which was also how they saw me (minus the celebrity part).
I knew better. She’d revealed her genius to me last fall while proving to be the most brilliant opponent I’d ever faced, by far. She’d bested me.
Consequently, having no choice in the matter, I’d promptly fallen in love with her. Obviously.
But back to Dick Mal-Rooster and his antagonism.
“Did he give a reason for his poor temper?” I asked, studying her.
The question seemed to agitate her, and she huffed, stepping forward and reaching out blindly. “Cletus, can we talk about that later? Where are you?”
My mental processes shifted gears and abruptly, the flood of disappointment from the deep well of frustration rose to my throat. I swallowed, stepping away from her searching hands as I stuffed mine back in my pockets.
“Jenn—”
“I am so, so sorry, Cletus. I know I promised I’d be here on time, and I wasn’t, and for that I’m sorry.” She found me, her hands grabbing the front of my shirt. Her warm palms slid over my chest, up to my shoulders, her arms twisting around my neck.
I braced myself for the feel of her body, but I was unprepared for the reality of it. Soft and warm and impatient, Jenn pressed herself to me in a way that felt at once impatient and content. Her lips brushed lightly over my neck, making me tense. But her hot tongue coming out to lick a path to my ear made me jump, every inch of me aware of every inch of her.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, a note of vulnerability in the words, her breath scorching as it spilled over my skin, a counterpoint to the disappointment still burning my chest. “Have you missed me?”
I was at once inebriated by her actions and incredulous of them.
“You know I have,” I answered gruffly, keeping my hands in my pockets for both our benefits.
Likely, she didn’t want our first time together in over six weeks—and our second time together ever—to be me ripping off her underwear and taking her against the backstage wall of the Green Valley community center. Rationally, I knew this to be true.
Irrationally however, I wanted to rip off her underwear and take her against the backstage wall of the Green Valley community center. I wanted to tear open the buttons of her dress and feast on her body, the smooth silk of her skin, while I filled her and claimed her and satiated myself with what would surely be an unrefined display of possessiveness.
Jennifer pressed herself more fully against me, one arm still hooked around my neck, a hand sliding dangerously lower, from my shoulder to my chest and stomach. I caught her fingers before she co
uld slip them between us and cup me over my pants. Or inside my pants.
“Not a good idea.” My body shook, a surge covetous mindlessness threatening to overtake my good intentions.
“It’s been weeks,” she complained between biting kisses on my neck, bringing my hand to her breast, pressing it there. “Don’t you want me?”
I choked on my incredulity. If she didn’t know how much I wanted her, then I’d been doing something very wrong.
“You’re asking me foolish questions,” I ground out, catching both her hands holding them hostage between us, forcing her to back away a step. “And you’re not foolish.”
I needed a minute.
“Then what’s the problem?” She pressed forward, not fighting my hold but feeling restless beneath my fingers. “Why aren’t you kissing me back? Why do you keep stuffing your hands in your pockets? Why won’t you touch me?”
Lost of words, I settled on whispering truth, “I’d like nothing more than rip off your underwear and—”
“No need, I’m not wearing underwear.” Jenn bent her head and placed a kiss on my knuckles.
Meanwhile, I needed. . . another minute.
What?
“What?” Equal measures of astonishment and lust drove away any of my remaining good intentions, leaving me only with lust .
“I took them off in the car.” Her tongue licked the juncture between my index and middle fingers. “I know I’ve been working a lot and—oh!”
I backed her against the wall, tossing away her hands and clamoring for the hem of her skirt. Sliding my fingers up her legs as I lifted her dress, I groaned when I discovered no material at her hip or bottom. Since I already had a handful of her, I squeezed, resisting the urge to fall to my knees and take a bite of her perfect backside.
I’d wanted us to have privacy. I’d wanted to unwrap her. I’d wanted to take my time. I’d wanted conversation and kisses—many kisses—and a lot more light. Definitely more light.
I pressed my forehead against the cold wall, unable to resist touching her, slipping my middle finger into that hot, silky place.
Her breath hitched, her arms once again wrapping around my neck as her hips rolled forward into my hand. “Please, please.”
Damn, but I missed her. Her skin was heaven, her fragrance paradise, and I couldn’t get enough. I was breathing heavy, wanting her all around me, in my lungs. I couldn’t think. I just wanted.
I kissed her. I took her mouth with mine, no preamble or gentle invasion, but a full fledged frenzy. She moaned, a sound I took as encouragement.
Jenn’s nails scratched down my shirt, her fingers shaking as they found my belt, tugging and pulling frantically while I greedily nipped and licked and kissed her jaw and neck, stopping at her breast to place a wet, biting kiss at the center, all the while working her with my fingers.
Her hands faltered as I devoured her collarbone and neck, preparing to lower to my knees, lift her skirt completely, take a bite out of that ass, and then spread her wide for my tongue and mouth and pleasure.
But then, her phone rang; Reba McEntire’s, ‘I’m a Survivor;’ that was her mother’s ring tone. The woman had programmed it into Jenn’s phone.
She squeaked, fumbling for the device, her face briefly illuminated just before quickly rejecting the call.
“Don’t stop.” She reached for my belt again, this time deftly undoing it, the button of my pants, and my zipper while I stoked her.
Her phone buzzed. Then it chimed. Then it buzzed and chimed two more times. Then it rang, again Reba.
Cursing, Jenn pulled the phone from her pocket, once again her face illuminated, murderous rage in her eyes. Her finger moved the power-off button, but then she blinked, hesitating. Her eyes widened, her body stiffened, and she gasped.
“Cletus!”
Something about her tone, like she was horrified, and maybe a little afraid, cut though the heavy haze of lust inertia, and my hands stilled. Shaking myself, it took me a few moments to realize she was showing me the phone screen, and another few to bring the content of the text messages into focus.
Momma: Jennifer Anne Sylvester, pick up your phone. If you’re with that man of yours, I need his help too. Please.
Momma: ALL THE CHICKENS AND ROOSTERS ARE DEAD! PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE!
Momma: I’m calling you in a second, pick up the phone. Mr. Badcock’s chickens are dead. All of them. I got here and he’s running around, deranged, yelling about his dead chickens! I called the police and they’re on their way. Please, please, please pick up the phone!
At some point, I must’ve taken the phone from Jenn and stepped away, because I glanced up upon reading the messages for the third time, finding the phone in my hand and Jenn fixing her skirt.
“This is nuts.” Her big eyes searched mine imploringly. “Who could have done this?”
I shook my head, having not yet managed to fully shift brain gears. My gaze dropped to the wet patch on the front of her dress, where I’d had my mouth seconds prior, and my erection throbbed.
So we’re . . . not having sex?
“Why? Why would they do it?” She took her phone back, her tone bewildered, distracted, and distraught.
She was distraught because of the dead chickens, like any normal person would be.
I was distraught also, but my distress had nothing to do with farm animals.
“We have to go.” Jenn grabbed my hand and began walking blindly toward the direction of the hall door. “This is crazy. Poor Mr. Badcock. And those poor chickens.” A sound of distress escaped her throat. “This is terrible.”
It was terrible.
And I was going to hell.
Because all I could think was, Talk about a cock block.
-End Sneak Peek-
Engagement and Espionage is Available Now!
About the Author
Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, Dear Professor, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.
Come find me -
Mailing List: http://pennyreid.ninja/newsletter/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/ReidRomance
Email: [email protected] …hey, you! Email me ;-)
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Read on for:
1. Penny’s Booklist
Other books by Penny Reid
Knitting in the City Series
(Interconnected Standalones, Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy)
Neanderthal Seeks Human: A Smart Romance (#1)
Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (#1.5)
Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance (#2)
Love Hacked: A Reluctant Romance (#3)
Beauty and the Mustache: A Philosophical Romance (#4)
Ninja at First Sight (#4.75)
Happily Ever Ninja: A Married Romance (#5)
Dating-ish: A Humanoid Romance (#6)
Marriage of Inconvenience: (#7)
Neanderthal Seeks Extra Yarns (#8)
Knitting in the City Coloring Book (#9)
* * *
Winston Brothers Series
(Interconnected Standalones, Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy, spinoff of Beauty and the Mustache)
Beauty and the Mustache (#0.5)
Truth or Beard (#1)
Grin and Beard It (#2)
Beard Science (#3)
Beard in Mind (#4)
Dr. Strange Beard (#5)
Beard with Me (#6)
Beard Necessities (#7)
Winston Brothers Paper Doll Book (coming May 19, 2020, #8)
* * *
Hypothesis Series
(New Adult Romantic Comedy Trilogies)
Elements of Chemistry: ATTRACTION, HEAT, and CA
PTURE (#1)
Laws of Physics: MOTION, SPACE, and TIME (#2)
* * *
Irish Players (Rugby) Series – by L.H. Cosway and Penny Reid
(Interconnected Standalones, Adult Contemporary Sports Romance)
The Hooker and the Hermit (#1)
The Pixie and the Player (#2)
The Cad and the Co-ed (#3)
The Varlet and the Voyeur (#4)
* * *
Dear Professor Series
(New Adult Romantic Comedy)
Kissing Tolstoy (#1)
Kissing Galileo (#2)
* * *
Ideal Man Series
(Interconnected Standalones, Adult Contemporary Romance Series of Jane Austen Reimaginings)
Pride and Dad Jokes (#1, coming 2020)
Man Buns and Sensibility (#2, TBD)
Sense and Manscaping (#3, TBD)
Persuasion and Man Hands (#4, TBD)
Mantuary Abbey (#5, TBD)
Mancave Park (#6, TBD)
Emmanuel (#7, TBD)
* * *
Handcrafted Mysteries Series
(A Romantic Cozy Mystery Series, spinoff of The Winston Brothers Series)
Engagement and Espionage (#1, coming 2020)
Marriage and Murder (#2, coming 2021)
Home and Heist (#3, coming 2022)
Baby and Ballistics (#4, coming 2023)
Pie Crimes and Misdemeanors (TBD)
* * *
Good Folks Series
((Interconnected Standalones, Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy, spinoff of The Winston Brothers Series)
Totally Folked (#1, coming 2021)
Give a Folk (#2, coming 2022)
* * *
Three Kings Series
(Interconnected Standalones, Holiday-themed Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedies)
Homecoming King (#1, coming Christmas 2021)
Drama King (#2, coming Christmas 2022)