by Zoe York
“About me?”
“About a woman I’m interested in.”
She couldn’t breathe. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her this woman is different. That I’m different when I’m with her, and I really like her. I like her daughter, and I like spending time with her. I mean, I think I said all of that. I was pretty nervous the whole conversation, because I realized as I was telling her that little bit that I really needed to talk to you first.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what to say.” That was the whole truth. She was speechless.
He caught her hand and twisted their fingers together. She stared at that point of connection, knowing he was looking at her face, and unable to meet his gaze.
“The thing is,” she whispered, “I’m interested in you, too. But I don’t know where this is going to end up. So until I do, I want it to stay between us. Not a secret, exactly. I don’t ever want to be anyone’s dirty little secret ever again. Just…”
“This is precious,” he said, his voice rough. “I get it, Tasha. I’ll protect you.”
Him using her nickname for the first time pushed on something soft and achingly sweet inside her.
“You haven’t called me that before,” she whispered.
“I didn’t know if you liked it.”
“I do…” She leaned in, needing his warmth. Needing some reassurance, too. “It’s actually my name, most of the time. It’s what…men call me. Everyone, really, but Tasha is my flirty, fun identity, I guess. And something made me give you my whole name when we met.”
“I like flirty and fun,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze to his face.
“I don’t care who else called you that. I think of you as Natasha Kingsley, mother of Emily, age three-years-old and fan of all things pink. But when you’re this close to me, and I can catch the faintest hint of the scent of your skin…I think of you differently. My brain short-circuits and all I can think is…” He leaned in, close enough for their lips to almost brush. “Tasha…I want to kiss you so much it hurts.”
She tumbled back, and he followed, pressing against her as she stretched beneath him. Like their first kiss, this went from zero-to-sixty in a heartbeat. Parting her lips, she welcomed his questing tongue. He kissed her like a week had been too damn long, like he knew it would hurt to go another stretch of time before they could do this again.
He kissed her like her kisses mattered.
Like he needed her.
Her head spun with that thought. How could that be? Nobody needed her, except Emily.
He bit her lower lip and she arched beneath him.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, running his fingers over the bare skin at her waist.
She nodded and he slid his hand up her shirt, dragging goosebumps over her ribcage before covering her bra with his fingers. His hand was so big he cupped her entire breast, his fingertips grazing the bare skin on her chest.
And then he squeezed.
Oh, yes.
She tore another kiss from his mouth, then threw her head back. He dragged his lips down her throat and buried his face in her neck as he cupped and caressed her curves.
She wanted to touch him, too. It wasn’t really warm enough to take their shirts off, but they were both wearing buttoned-down shirts over tees.
“Take your shirt off,” she whispered.
He didn’t hesitate. Off it came, the blue Oxford fluttering to the blanket beside her. She ran her hands over the hair dusting his forearms, then up onto his flexing biceps.
He was built like a Roman god, all sculpted muscle, tensed and ready for action.
“Can I touch you?”
He grinned down at her. “Please do.”
He had goosebumps on his arms now, probably more because of the cool autumn breeze than anything to do with her. She rubbed her hands back and forth over his skin, then pushed gently at his chest. “On your back, mister.”
He stretched out and she leaned over him, brushing her lips against his. Whisper kisses, smiling kisses, and then when he lifted his head a bit, deeper kisses. The whole time she touched him, stroking her fingertips over his chest and then down his solid, tight midsection.
He shuddered when she finally tucked her hand under his shirt. His muscles clenched into tight ridges and she blindly explored him. Fur down the middle of his belly, a narrow line that made her thighs quiver.
She forced her hand up, not down, but it didn’t take long for her fingertips to find their way back to that treasure trail. Matt groaned in her mouth when she touched his belt buckle.
His hand closed over hers, and she lifted her head.
It was hard to re-focus her eyes on his face. She was breathing hard, too. Giving him a wobbly smile, she tugged her hand back. “I guess that’s, uh, not in the spirit of old-fashioned courting.”
“Probably not,” he rasped, rolling onto his side and tugging her close again. “But we’ll revise the terms of that as we go.”
As we go. Three words had never sounded so good to her.
She gave him a happy, dorky smile and he caught her fingers and brought them to his mouth.
“That felt really good,” he murmured. His eyes hooded as he looked at her, and slowly, he dropped their hands between their bodies. His knuckles rubbed against her stomach. Back and forth, back and forth, and slowly her shirt pulled up.
They both sucked in a breath when the backs of his fingers grazed her bare skin.
“And you feel good, too.” He licked his lips. She was transfixed by the look on his face. Hot, bright, intense. “We’re going to take this slow,” he said. “But I’m going to get carried away, too, so we’re going to both have to stop the other. Just know if I stop you, it’s not because I don’t want what you’re doing.”
He rocked his hips against her hand, and she felt the hard press of a thick erection.
“Right,” she breathed. “Yeah.”
“Come here,” he urged, and she pressed against him. More kissing. The barest of touches. And just before they broke apart, his fingertips nudged their way under the waistband of her jeans.
She was dizzy and turned on like crazy when he laughed and rolled onto his back.
This time, she stretched out beside him and kept her hands to herself.
Never in her life had she been this horny. It felt really weird that they weren’t going to do anything more about that.
And strangely, wonderfully good.
He carefully got to his feet, then hauled her up before kissing her one more time. “Do you want to pick some apples?”
No, she wanted to lie back down and let his hand get further down her pants this time. “Yeah, we should do that. That’s exactly what we should do.”
He bumped against her hip, sending flames of need shooting through her.
Two could play that game. She leaned over, taking her time gathering up the blanket and the Thermos.
His eyes were on her ass the whole time.
Slowly, she straightened up and handed him the blanket. “Okay. Let’s go pick some fruit.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next day and a half flew by in a blur of unexpected overtime work and exhausted sleep for Matt. When he could, he stole a minute or two to text Natasha, but by Wednesday morning, he was ready to see her again. When he finished his run, he texted her.
Matt: What are you and Emily doing today? I’ve got parade tonight in Wiarton, I could head down early, swing through Port Elgin.
Natasha: Because it’s on the way.
He grinned. It wasn’t. It was another forty-five minutes south, but an hour and a half round trip seemed like a perfectly reasonable price to pay to see two of his favorite happy faces.
Matt: It’s a nice day for a drive.
Natasha: We’re free all afternoon. Need to pick up my niece and nephew from school at half-past three.
Matt: Can I buy you coffee?
/> Natasha: Sure. Or I have coffee…do you want to come here?
She texted him her address.
He stopped at the bakery before leaving town and picked up a dozen assorted sweets, making sure there were two cookies with bright pink icing on them for Emily.
It was too cold to drive with his window down as he headed south. He wasn’t ready for winter again. It would be a long, cold slog until spring.
When he got to Port Elgin, he followed his GPS to the address Natasha gave him to a sprawling ranch close to the park. When he found it, both Natasha and Emily were out front, dressed for the cold weather but otherwise undeterred from enjoying the sunshine as Emily chased a hockey puck around the driveway with a mini stick.
He parked on the street, then grabbed the box of cookies and hopped out of his truck. Natasha watched him, her gaze unwavering, as he waved and strode along the sidewalk. That warm expression, that pleased smile—he’d been right. It was worth every second of the drive.
Emily met him at the foot of the laneway. “Matt!”
“Miss Monkey,” he said solemnly. “Nice stick.”
She waved it in the air. “It’s pink.”
“Of course it is.”
“What are those?” She pointed to the bakery box.
“Treats to have with coffee.”
“I don’t like coffee,” she giggled.
“But you like treats,” he countered, winking at her mom who had come up behind her.
“I love treats,” Emily said solemnly.
“Grab your puck,” Natasha said, pointing to it at the top of the drive. “Then we can go inside and see what Matt has brought you.”
They followed Emily as she sprinted to the house with a happy yell. Natasha kept pace with him, walking side-by-side, and even through their jackets, Matt was aware of her shoulder brushing against his arm. She was wearing the same boots she’d worn to the orchard, without a heel, which brought her forehead exactly to kissing height.
He liked how tall she was.
She glanced sideways at him. “Hey.”
“Nice to see you.”
“You keep saying that, I’m going to believe it.”
“Good.”
Inside was a bright, comfortable family room and eat-in kitchen combination, with a table almost as big as the one at Jake’s house.
“Nice place,” he said, setting the cookies on the table.
“I’ll tell my sister,” Natasha said with a laugh. “But we like it—and we’ll miss it.”
“Any progress on finding…” He glanced at Emily, who’d sank to her knees in front of a basket of stuffed animals.
Natasha shook her head and lowered her voice. “She doesn’t know yet. One thing at a time.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Coffee?”
He followed her into the kitchen space and stood mostly in the way, taking up a lot of room, but not wanting to be too far from her.
It was weird to just want so intently to share space with someone.
She made the coffee like a barista, in a French press with carefully measured grounds and boiling water. “How do you take it?”
“Milk and sugar.”
“Steamed milk or cold?”
“Fancy options. I’ll do steamed, I guess.” That made him think about the dreams she had for the future. Fancy food and drink, quality service. “Where did your love of all things elegant come from?”
She lifted one shoulder as she poured milk into a small pot. “I’m not sure. I remember in high school reading about gourmet food and thinking, That’s cool. I want to know more about that.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“Food?” She cocked her head to one side, thinking on that. She didn’t answer until she’d steamed the milk and poured it with the espresso into two mugs. “Anything French, really. I went to Paris during my first year of school, my only trip overseas, and it was just…I fell in love. More with the desserts than anything else, but the food, too. Cream sauces, perfect vegetables—butter makes everything amazing, of course.”
“I’ve never been overseas,” he blurted out. His brothers all had. He’d been too busy partying.
“Where would you go? If you wanted to, I mean?”
“Paris sounds good.” He rubbed his jaw. “Australia sounds amazing. South Africa, Hong Kong. Sean ran a race in Peru once, and he raved about it. I always thought I’d have time to travel with him later on.”
Natasha searched his face. “You can’t now?”
Matt blinked at her. “Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“You don’t know about…” He took a deep breath. He’d just assumed she knew, but there hadn’t been that much media coverage—Sean being a total asshole and refusing interviews had helped with that. “Ah. My brother—Sean, the youngest—was injured in Iraq earlier this year. He’s fine. Now. The spring was a bit rocky.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Matt…”
“He’s really fine.” He swallowed hard. “Shall we dig into the cookies?”
“Yeah…” She didn’t move though. “That must have been upsetting.”
He reached for her and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For being sweet.”
She squeezed her arms around him. It took her a minute to pull away, and part of him knew he should give her a bit more information. But he didn’t want to talk about the spring. He didn’t want to talk about any of the things that were ugly and upsetting in his life, not when there were pink cookies on the table.
As soon as Emily saw them, she sat at the head, right in front of the bakery box. Natasha gave her an indulgent smile and went all the way around, sitting on the far side. Matt took the seat directly across from her and then helped Emily open the treats.
“Cookies!” she squealed. “Mommy, they’re pink.”
Natasha leaned in to take a look, and smiled. “And some of them are French,” she said as she picked up a purple macaron. “Delicious.”
He grinned. “A lucky coincidence, but let’s pretend I knew you liked those.”
“Where did these come from?”
“A bakery in Pine Harbour.” He pushed through the awkward beat there. “I picked the ones for Emily, and asked for assorted others.”
“The pink ones are for me?” The three-year-old beamed at him, and he gave her his full attention.
“Yep. Both of them, but you should save one for tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Matt took a sip of his coffee and groaned in appreciation. “So good.”
Emily nudged the box of treats towards him. “Cookie?”
He took a peanut butter one and devoured it in three big, nervous bites. “Thanks,” he said after washing it down with more coffee.
Natasha watched him, and he looked right back. He had a million questions for her, and he didn’t know where to start. Wasn’t sure what was off-limits, if anything, and what might be awkward.
Emily had the conversation covered, though, at least as long as she had a cookie to eat. “Matt,” she said slowly as she licked a sliver of pink icing off the edge of one flower petal. “Where do you live?”
“In an apartment in Pine Harbour.”
“Apartment.” She repeated it slowly.
“Part of a house.”
“I live in part of a house.”
“Hey, that’s something we have in common.”
“Okay.”
Natasha smothered a giggle, and he remembered she’d said that was Emily’s go-to response lately.
He fingered the bakery box, and Emily gave him a cross look. “Just one cookie.”
“For you. You’re little,” he teased, but that was a mistake because the cross look intensified to a serious scowl. “Okay, I’ll save one for tomorrow, too.”
“Are you coming here tomorrow?”
A pang zapped through his chest. “I have to work tomorrow. But I’ll see you next week at our cooking class,” he promised.
; She leaned in. “For colouring?”
“You bet.”
Natasha made them each a second cup of coffee, and Emily went to play. He leaned across the table and rubbed his fingertips against the edge of her hand. It was the most intimate contact they could have today, and from the way her gaze softened, he knew she felt it as keenly as he did. “I’ll see you next week, too.”
Two promises he meant with all his heart.
But he’d need to break them, because at the end of the week it started snowing, and didn’t stop. His overnight shift ran four hours overtime, well into Monday morning. The first bite of winter had caused two bad car accidents and he wound up stuck with a long off-load delay at the hospital.
Between the long shift, lack of sleep, and the crappy road conditions, he knew it wouldn’t be safe to drive to Port Elgin for the cooking class. He swore under his breath and pulled out his phone.
Matt: My shift went into overtime and I haven’t grabbed any sleep yet. Won’t be able to make it today.
Natasha: No worries. We want you safe and rested.
Matt: I wanted to see you. Both of you.
Natasha: I understand, really. Miss you, though.
Matt: Same. Miss kissing you.
Natasha: We wouldn’t have done that today.
Matt: True, but I’d have looked at your mouth and you’d have felt it like a real kiss.
Natasha: So cocky.
Matt: Tell me I’m lying.
Natasha: Not even a little bit. It would feel so good.
Matt: Now I miss you even more.
Natasha: I know. It’s my superpower. Go get some sleep and dream of kissing me.
He’d dream of more than that. And when he woke up, he’d be texting her again, because they needed to see each other sometime this week.
He needed to see her. Hold her.
Kiss her and breathe her in.
Tucking away his phone, he grabbed his bag and headed outside, the cold nip of early morning bracing. Another week and he’d need a heavier coat. Summer was gone and winter was fast approaching.
The brief, beautiful autumn hadn’t been nearly long enough.
Things often happened in threes, Tasha believed. After her text messages with Matt, she got an email from David, asking in the most polite way—full credit to Sable, Tasha decided—if they could come up on the weekend for another visit with Emily.