How Sweet It Is

by Wendy Vella

  “I’m okay, Buster, really. You head on home before the snow gets too heavy. I need to chop some wood.”

  “You think I’m just going to get in my car and head home now, knowing you have to chop wood? Not to mention that you have an infection in your arm, and should be resting.”

  She ignored him and walked around the house. He guessed she thought that was end of the conversation. Following, he found her in the small shed.

  “Hand over the ax, New York.”

  Ignoring him, she placed wood on the block and swung the ax down. Why he was surprised that it sliced in two perfectly, he had no idea. The woman obviously had hidden depths.

  “Go home, Buster. I’m tired and once this is done, I—”

  He simply stepped up behind her and wrestled the ax from her hands, which wasn’t hard as he was stronger and bigger.

  “Hey!”

  “Go start the coffee and I’ll be in soon.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “This is 2015. Women have equality,” she said calmly, but he knew she wanted to yell.

  “Will it help if I say I respect you immensely, and I need an oil change on the Jeep, so if you want to get to it, I’ll see to the wood chopping?”

  “No. Now just go, dammit.”

  He laughed at the shock on her face. “Bet that feels better,” he said. “Nothing like a good cuss word to get rid of the venom.”

  “I don’t swear.” She looked close to tears.

  “Honey, you have no idea what you’re missing,” Buster said before he swung the ax. “Now, if it’s not going to offend your sensibilities, I’d be grateful for a coffee when I’m done.”

  Buster knew the minute she’d gone because he relaxed. Shaking his head, he split the rest of the logs, then piled them into the basket and headed to the front of the cabin. Opening the front door, he found her by the wood stove. He dropped the wood, then went back outside.

  “Thank you,” she called after him.

  “I’m coming back.” Buster felt her watching him as he took a box out of the backseat of his car, then joined her in the kitchen where he placed it on the countertop.

  “What’s in that?”

  “Food.” He shrugged out of his jacket and removed his hat. “So you don’t have to cook.”

  “I like cooking.” Willow followed him into the kitchen.

  “What about that arm?”

  “It’s a tiny burn that’s a bit infected, for pity’s sake. Ask your friends. They’ll tell you.”

  “Jake called. He said to make you rest if I saw you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “He did not say that.”

  “Scout’s honor.” Buster placed two fingers across his chest.

  “Were you even a scout?”

  “You want me to show you a few knots?” Buster snorted as color flushed her cheeks.

  “The people in this town are way too involved in each other’s lives,” she said, walking back to the living area. “I mean, what about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  He admired her backside as she bent over to put another log in the stove. He hadn’t looked away by the time she straightened.

  “Are you looking at my butt?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a slow smile as she glared at him. “Are you saying you didn’t check out mine a time or two in New York while I was waiting tables?”

  She avoided his eyes. “Getting back to my earlier point about confidentiality—I’m sure there’s is an oath about that.”

  Buster got out the pie he’d made and put it in the oven to heat.

  “That stuff doesn’t work here. Everyone’s business is everyone’s business. If you try to hide anything, they just find out anyway, so it’s better to come clean right away.”

  “Okay, so you’ve seen me. I’m alive. You’ve thanked me…kind of,” she added. “You’ve done the neighborly thing and chopped my wood and brought me food. You can go now.”

  He could see she was nervous because her fingers were doing that little fan movement, fluttering to the left, then right, and back again.

  “It’d be right neighborly if you actually poured me that coffee,” Buster said, leaning on the countertop. “Then I thought we could look over that offer.”

  “Really? You want to see it?”

  “Nope, but since you’ve been so helpful, Newman said I owed it to you to look.”

  “I don’t want to do it here. Can I bring it to your café tomorrow afternoon, say about four?”

  “Why don’t you want to do it here?” Buster started pouring the coffee, seeing as she hadn’t moved.

  “I’m not ready, and this is no place to conduct business.”

  “You’ve got clothes on, much to my regret, and there’s a table.” He pointed to the window, beneath which sat a small wooden table and two chairs. “Surely there’s nothing else you need to do?”

  “I like to be prepared.” Her fingers were fanning again, this time furiously, which told him she was agitated.

  “Prepared how?”

  “Just prepared.”

  “That makes no sense.” The woman was so far from what he’d believed her to be in New York, they could be two different people. She was a mass of contradictions and off balance here in Howling, and he wondered if he was the main contributing factor.

  “You people are always asking questions.”

  “That’s how we get answers,” Buster said, pouring coffee into two mugs he’d found because she didn’t seem inclined to look. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Yes, and four.”

  “Four sugars?”

  “Well, I don’t mean four creams, do I?”

  He looked at her for a few seconds. “In New York you seemed like this confident businesswoman who was determined and focused, but it was a front, wasn’t it? In fact, you have a smart mouth that I’m fairly sure you’ve been hiding for a few years, and serious insecurities.”

  Buster watched the color leach from her face at his words. “You know nothing about me,” she said. “You should go. I’ll come in tomorrow with the offer, and you can look it over.” She made for the door and opened it, then looked at him.

  Buster stayed where he was, sipping his coffee. “Shut the door. You’re letting in cold air.”

  She did, softly, proving to herself and to him that she was in complete control, which they both knew was a lie.

  “Sit, now, and eat.”

  “You don’t have to do this for me. Really.”

  Ignoring that, Buster pulled out the pie, then served it on two plates, which he carried to the table with cutlery and her coffee. He motioned for Willow to sit, and sat down himself.

  She ate slowly, her movements neat as she nibbled at the pie. “Sorry,” she said after a minute. “I’m just a little off at the moment. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful.”

  “It’s Howling. It changes people. Stop fighting it and enjoy it while you’re here.”

  He saw two straight white teeth as she bit into the pie, and he imagined them sinking into some part of his body.

  “A place can’t change people. I’m just a little worn out. I need a break, is all. This contract is very important to me.”

  “I’m not selling.” Buster said the words gently. “You need to try to understand that.”

  “I can’t. At least not until you look the contract over.”

  Their eyes met and she was the first to pull away. He watched as those elegant hands grabbed handfuls of hair and rolled and twisted it, then she produced a band from her wrist and it was once again tied away.

  “How long did it take to grow it?”

  “I’ve never had it cut, only trimmed.”

  “How come?”

  She dropped her eyes. “It’s easier to put up if I leave it long.”

  It didn’t have to be that long to put up. Branna’s wasn’t, and she wore it like Willow’s.

  “How old were you when you went to New York?”

  She didn’t want to answer him, but he a
lready knew she didn’t like lying, either.

  “Sixteen.”

  “Young to leave home.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Where do your folks live?”

  “They move a lot.”

  “You see them often?”

  “No.”

  He waited, but she didn’t say anything else, and the look on her face told him this particular discussion was over.

  “You ever thought about doing more with your drawing?”

  “It’s just messing around. Really,” she added as he raised a brow.

  “If I pay, will you do some drawings of places and people around here, so I can get them framed and hung in The Hoot?”

  He saw a flash of excitement.

  “I’m not good enough for that. Sorry.”

  Buster sat back and watched as she finished her food. He wasn’t big on talking himself; he didn’t like sharing confidences, but of course, that never stopped his friends from dragging them out of him. But Willow made him look like a talk show host.

  “I’m sorry about your wrist. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

  “I know it was just an accident.” She neatly placed her knife and fork together. “That pie was wonderful. Thank you so much. I was hungrier than I realized.”

  “And now you want me to go because you aren’t ready or dressed to discuss business here?”

  She nodded, getting to her feet. She collected the plates, then headed to the small kitchen and Buster followed, so that when she turned after placing the plates in the sink, he was inches away.

  “What is it about you?”

  “What?” She tried to back up a step as he touched her cheeks, but as there was nowhere to go, she ended against the cabinet.

  Buster moved in, closing the gap, and kissed her. He started slowly this time because something told him Willow wasn’t used to men. He teased a response from her, and when her body eased into his, and her arms circled his neck, he deepened the kiss.

  It was hot and sensual and in seconds he was an inferno. He slid a hand to her hair, tugged the band, and it fell free. When he ran his fingers through the soft waves, they reminded him of silk. Wrapping the length around his fist, he kissed her harder.

  Her fingers touched the skin at his nape, and Buster wanted them on his body—certain hard parts of his body. He eased his other hand to her back and skimmed the length of her spine until he reached the hem of her sweater. Slipping his fingers beneath, he searched through the layers until he found her skin, only then did he start upward. She felt warm as his palm moved over the planes of her stomach to settle on her ribs.

  “Willow,” he whispered against her lips for no other reason than he needed to say her name.

  This time, it was she who took his mouth, arching upwards and into him. He boosted her onto the countertop, then stepped between her legs. He stroked her breasts through the satin cups of her bra, feeling the pebble-hard nipples pressing into his palms. Sliding his hands upward, he pushed her clothes with them, then off her body, leaving her clad only in a pale pink satin bra.

  “Buster, I-I can’t…” Her words turned to a sigh as he slipped his hand inside the satin to cup a full, aching breast.

  “Don’t think,” he rasped. Kissing a trail along her chest, he followed his fingers down the curve of one slope. Pushing the strap from her shoulder, he exposed her nipple, and then sucked it gently.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered, gripping his head.

  Taking that as consent, he continued to torment her, building the fire inside them. Her fingers slipped inside the neck of his sweater and stroked his skin, small, soft little touches that inflamed him in seconds. Lifting his head, he grabbed a handful of her hair and joined their lips again for a deep, searing kiss until she pulled back.

  “I-I can’t do this,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “‘This’ being sex?” Buster heard the rasp of hunger in his words as he looked at her.

  “C-casual sex.”

  “If we do it multiple times, it won’t be casual,” he said, although he knew there would be a cold, lonely bed in his future. “And if we do it for the next two nights, that will definitely not be casual sex.”

  Her smile was the sweetest he’d ever seen her give.

  “I made a promise to myself that I’d never sleep with a man again until I trusted and cared for him. Since we don’t know or c-care for each other, and I’m heading back to New York soon, I don’t think you qualify.”

  “Trust a woman to make it all messy.” Buster ran a hand over his head. “I can’t offer anything but casual sex, Willow.”

  “I understand that completely, and I’m not looking for more from you or any man.”

  “What, never?”

  She shook her head, and all that beautiful hair tumbled around her face. He touched it, rolling the silk between his thumb and forefinger.

  “So you don’t want casual sex, but you also don’t want a relationship. Sounds like a long, lonely life to me.” Buster wondered why he was questioning her when his views were the same.

  “I’m not cut out to have relationships, so I’m just concentrating on my work.”

  “Everyone is cut out for relationships, otherwise we’d be lonely.” She shrugged but said nothing further on the matter, so he released her hair and retrieved her clothes. “Cover that beautiful body before I try to convince you to change your mind.” He was so hard he was sure his eyes had crossed.

  “Come to the café tomorrow about three, and I’ll look over the papers,” he said, lifting her down.

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “Aroused, frustrated, but not angry. Did you expect me to be?” He took a step backward because the last thing his body needed right now was to have her brush up against him.

  She nodded, and he wondered who had helped her form that opinion. He didn’t think the experience had been a good one.

  “I have no right to be angry with you because you stopped us.” Buster kept his words gentle. “It was as much your right to do so as it was mine.”

  She suddenly looked small, and not just in stature. Her face was vulnerable, and he wondered again who had hurt her and why he wanted to kill them. Her hair was everywhere, some tucked into her clothing, some hanging down to rest on her lovely breasts. Pushing aside the memory of his lips on her tight little nipples, he inhaled deeply.

  “Who wouldn’t take no for an answer?” His words sounded gruff.

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. “No one.”

  That was a lie, but as she was leaving soon and he’d probably never see her again, he didn’t push. He didn’t need any more complications in his life, especially with a woman who obviously had plenty of her own.

  “See you tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll look at those papers, okay?”

  “I understand that the Gryphon means a lot to you, and that me insisting on you looking at the contract is annoying, but—”

  He silenced her by placing his lips on hers. It was soft, and their lips clung for precious seconds before he pulled away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She didn’t speak again, just nodded and followed him to the door. Buster opened it and stepped through.

  “Good night. And thank you for my wood and the pie, and…”

  “The best goddamn groping session I’ve had in some time,” he supplied.

  “Yeah, that,” she said softly before closing the door.

  He started his car and backed down the drive, willing his body to relax. Once he was on the road to town, he opened the window and let in a blast of cold air. He wanted Willow Harper with a ferocity that scared the shit out of him. At first he’d thought her everything he could never want in a woman, but it seemed the reverse was true. She was soft, had the body of a pinup model and he was fairly certain she’d feature strongly in his fantasies for some time, but he knew she was right. If she wasn’t the type who could just scratch an itch, then it was best
that they’d stopped when they had. Now he needed to take an ice-cold shower and put her out of his thoughts. For some reason, he didn’t think that was going to be easy. Add to that that he’d see her tomorrow, and finally look at the offer, and then tell her again that he didn’t want to sign it.

  He had a feeling that this deal was personal for her; she wouldn’t have come all this way otherwise. But knowing more of the woman now, he didn’t think she was a shark, like some Realtors were; in fact, he’d stake his pumpkin pie recipe on her being honorable. So what the hell was driving her and why did he have a feeling that she was hanging everything, whatever that was, on him selling the Gryphon?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Willow drove slowly into a park outside Howling Elementary the day after she and Buster had made out on the benchtop in the cabins kitchen. It had snowed last night, and ice had formed on the roads, making them slippery.

  She’d spent the night berating herself for not taking him up on his offer to look over the contract, and the fact that she’d behaved unprofessionally with the man she was trying to do business with. The man who, coincidentally, she had lusted after for months.

  What the hell had she been thinking, spouting on about not being ready or dressed for business? Clearly she hadn’t been thinking at all, because she’d also let him kiss her breasts. This place was doing things to her normally rational mind. She was becoming unhinged, and she needed to snap out of it quickly. Losing her apartment wasn’t an option; neither was not becoming a partner in Howe Realty. They were her goals, and she needed to remember that.

  The problem was that now she knew his reasons for not selling, it was harder to push him. The Gryphon was important to his family because his parents had helped him when it first opened. She’d thought only women were sentimental, but it seemed she was wrong.

  Smothering a yawn, Willow collected her things and climbed out of the car. She hadn’t slept much, instead twisting and turning as visions of Buster doing various things to her body infiltrated her dreams throughout the night.

  “Stupid man.”

  Willow liked to put people in boxes marked with their personality types, but he wasn’t who she’d thought he was. Gruff, yes; moody, probably; manipulative no, narcissistic no. He had been gentle with her when she called a halt to their lovemaking, telling her he understood even though he was as aroused as she. Willow had spent the early hours of the morning trying to figure him out and was still none the wiser.