SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  “But you can’t possibly think that’s your place, honey.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “When you first traveled and taught, I believed striking out on your own was a good way to gain experience and confidence.”

  As well as independence. After reading her mother’s journals, Harper had seen a vision of her future that terrified her. So you settled for the loneliness of the long distance traveler, an inner voice said. Avoiding attachment had been her strategy for not ending up like her mother…a woman always pining for the kind of love she’d given but never received.

  “Now you’re back in the States, though, you’ve got to see that Las Vegas is no Sawyer Beach and Sunnybird Farm.”

  “It’s just hotter. With more desert. And more neon.” And more lonely hearts. She sighed. “And lots of people pretending to be hopeful—well, maybe that’s just those who belly up to my bar.”

  Grandpop shook his finger at her. “Not your place, see?”

  “My boss disagrees.” Her sterile apartment was waiting as well as her rubber bar service mats that smelled of both yeasty beer and bleach simultaneously. “So I wish we could think of a way to lessen my concerns when I’m away.”

  Mad.

  His name popped into her head, which could be a bad sign, but when she gave it a second thought, she decided her subconscious had a good point. Mad. Law enforcement officer Mad. She would get him over here for a meal, and as a detective he’d deduce that Grandpop and Grandmom and her mother could use another person looking out for their interests.

  In her upstairs room, she dialed Mad’s number.

  He picked up after one ring. “Hey, Harp.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I know the area code for Las Vegas.”

  “Oh.” She held the phone away then put it to her ear again. “I guess it’s a detective thing.”

  “I guess,” he said, his tone amused.

  “Everything okay?”

  “You called me, sweetheart.”

  “Right.” The “sweetheart” knocked her back a step, took her back to those years when he would smile at her, stroke her cheek with his knuckles, call her that name with a tender croon in his voice. She was a sucker for the tender croon, she supposed. Men should know that. Tender crooning was a winning tactic. Swooning tactic.

  “Hey, Harp? You ran out before I could tell you how much I enjoyed your company.” His voice lowered to that sexy, velvety timbre.

  “Just my company?” she inquired, and her tone might have been more girlish and flirty than intended. Blame it on the “sweetheart.”

  Mad laughed, also low and velvety. God. She was a slut for that laugh.

  “To be specific,” he said, “I particularly enjoyed the sleek skin of your thighs and the heat and wet between them. Then there’s the taste of your tongue and your nipples and—”

  “I wanted to invite you for dinner tonight,” she interrupted, fanning herself.

  “Oh? And why would that be?”

  She opened her mouth, then reconsidered telling him about the truck, her concerns, Grandpop’s continued stubbornness. If she did, he might put on his police hat during the meal and spook her grandfather. Better to let the problems at their organic farm come up—heh heh—organically.

  “I would like to see your smiling face across the table,” she said, and realized it was true.

  “What should I bring?” he asked.

  “Just yourself.”

  “I have to bring something. Everyone knows that.”

  She laughed at him. “You’re such a rule follower. Have you ever done anything illegal?”

  “I let you sip my beers before you turned twenty-one.”

  “Rarely.”

  “And I let you show me your tits at our make-out spot.”

  She gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that. First, that can’t be illegal, and second, you seduced me into displaying my…my breasts. So admit it, you’re the straightest of straight arrows.”

  He laughed again. “Harp, it’s not like you can claim criminal tendencies.”

  “Shows you what you know. It’s possible some friends and I may have…appropriated one of those beer bikes in Prague and were chased through the streets by a very slow and very old municipal policeman. And then in Amsterdam—”

  “You are bad.”

  She blew on her nails, polished them on her shirt. “You should try it some time.”

  “I’ve been considering chaining you to my bed.”

  She choked out a laugh even as heat flushed over every inch of skin. “That is illegal.”

  “Only if you object,” he said. “See you tonight, sweetheart.”

  Damn, the man was good at getting the last word.

  Chapter Ten

  Smiling to himself, Mad climbed the stairs to Harper’s bedroom. He’d never been invited there before, but when he’d arrived for dinner at the appointed time, Harper’s grandmother had pointed in the direction of the second floor and said he could find her there. Should he be flattered or insulted? Did he look too staid to compromise her granddaughter or did he seem too trustworthy to compromise her granddaughter?

  He frowned. Neither option did much for his ego.

  At the first door he came across, he knocked.

  Across the hall, another door swung open. “Mad? Why are you knocking on the storage closet door?”

  He stared at her, dumbstruck. Another dress. Though it may have covered more than the bikini, somehow the sight of her in slinky fabric that hinted at curves and displayed long legs was even more sexy. A delicate necklace wrapped her slender neck and pointed toward cleavage.

  “Did you do that for me?” he asked.

  Without answering, she gestured him inside her bedroom. He entered as she crossed to the mirror above a dresser and searched through a jewelry box. She wore high heels. A woman didn’t don high heels for just anybody.

  His sister Tracy had once told him that.

  And looking at Harper’s naked calves and the flutter of her dress’s hem against the back of her thighs made it very clear that he wanted her again. That he needed to have her again.

  “So…what do you think?”

  He started. “Uh…”

  “About my room.” She smiled at him in the mirror. “Is it everything you imagined?”

  “No gauzy bras and panties strewn about and no mountain of stuffed kittens and bunnies either. I speculated about both on separate occasions.”

  One of her eyebrows rose. Then she tipped her head to the other side of the room. “Do you see your birthday globe over there?”

  He headed in the indicated direction, but was sidetracked by a framed photo front and center on a small desk. His hand couldn’t resist. “Who’s this with you?” he asked, lifting it for closer inspection.

  She laughed. “That’s my mom.”

  “I swear you have those cut-off overalls.”

  “I may have borrowed them permanently about the same time I got my driver’s license.”

  “And the guy with her?” He looked over.

  She busied herself inserting an earring into her pierced lobe, her focus on her reflection. “That’s my dad.”

  “Ah.” He’d always known her mother was a single mom, but he’d never pressed for details about Harper’s father. While he knew plenty of people with divorced parents or just one parent in the picture, he’d always felt vaguely guilty over the fact that his own were still together, now thirty-three years and counting.

  “I don’t know much about him,” Mad said, returning the photo to the desk.

  “Me neither.” She was working on the other earring. “He was hired for the harvest at the farm one summer, my mom fell hard for him, I was conceived, he left.”

  “He left with a baby on the way?”

  “My mom didn’t know about me before he took off for parts unknown. We—she—never heard from him again.”

  “Oh.” Mad supposed he’d thought
her father was the type who sent checks at Christmas and birthdays. Now he knew there were no checks, no generous but uninvolved biological contributor hovering at the periphery of her life.

  “So…” she said. “Remember the globe?”

  That’s what Mad had given her for her twenty-first birthday. Besides the beach birthday party with their friends, there’d been a nice dinner and a bottle of perfume too, if he remembered right, but he’d been pleased to give her that particular gift—one he’d found in a high-end shop in a nearby coastal town. So many times she’d lain in the circle of his arms and spoken of all the places she wanted to see in her lifetime.

  On that day, he’d considered it thoughtful. A great present. But now, in the light of her exodus and reluctant return, he wondered if he’d encouraged her leave-taking.

  Something he hadn’t wanted.

  Or had he? In some secret kernel of his heart had he been afraid of his feelings like his sister suggested?

  No.

  “Harper.” He strode to her, took her shoulders in his hands and turned her around to face him.

  With her green eyes turned up to his, his mind stopped working. Words didn’t reach his tongue. They only swirled around inside him.

  You’re so beautiful.

  Why does a face like yours make me ache?

  How can I convince you back to my bed?

  She smiled at him. “You had a point you wanted to make?”

  “Yeah.” He cupped that heart-stopping face in his hands. “I missed you damn more than I could have imagined.”

  “It’s only been a few hours,” she said, though her smile deepened.

  It had been much longer than hours. Days. Months. Years.

  Shit. He couldn’t admit to that. He shouldn’t admit to that, even to himself.

  Kiss, he decided.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he tasted her, and his pulse rocketed, then settled, at a higher rate than before, but steady. The kiss eased the sharpness of that ache.

  To draw in breath, his head lifted. They stared at each other.

  “Wow,” Harper finally said. “I had some idea I was going to resist you, as well as kisses like that, but I’ve forgotten the exact reason why.”

  His mouth touched hers again, because he’d already steamrolled over his own thoughts of resistance.

  This time when he drew back, she had a dazed look in her eyes. “Yeah. I’m gladder by the minute that you agreed to come tonight.”

  “Why did you invite me for dinner?”

  A goodbye? Because despite the pleasure he found with her in his arms, he did need to keep in mind that she was on her way out again.

  “Do I need an excuse?” She lifted onto her toes for another short kiss.

  He groaned. “No.”

  “Though there might be a little reward for you if you get Grandpop to talk about what’s happening around here.”

  “I feel so used,” he said lightly, and kissed her again.

  “Don’t interrogate him,” she warned. “I’ve sort of promised not to spill the beans myself, but if he opens up to you I’ll be able to head back to Vegas with less worry.”

  Heading back to Las Vegas. She kept saying that, so he didn’t need to worry about kissing her again. And again.

  Coming up for air once more, she leaned into him, her palms braced on his chest. “Knowing you’re keeping an eye out for the family will give me peace of mind.”

  “I can do that without Eugene—”

  Harper’s name was called up the stairs. Then, “Maddox! Dinner!”

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom door.

  He resisted. “I will look out for them when you leave again. No matter what gets shared over the meal.”

  “You really do want that reward, don’t you?” And the flirty look she threw over his shoulder kept him right on her heels all the way to the dining room table.

  The food was incredible. Roast chicken, roasted potatoes, asparagus, squash stuffed with onions and other squashes, a salad that included green apples and walnuts. Mad dug in with enthusiasm and many compliments to the chef.

  “Not all the ingredients are straight from Sunnybird Farm,” Mary Hill confessed, “but the others come from nearby growers.”

  A kick met his shin and Mad shot a look at Harper who sat at his elbow. Her eyes widened.

  He thought quickly. Nearby growers. Okay, a lead-in.

  Mad cleared his throat. “Your, uh, your farm is near the Cochran acreage, right, Eugene?”

  The older man looked over, speculation sparking in his gaze. “What makes you ask about Jerome?”

  Trying to keep it casual, Mad pierced a delicious, moist bite of chicken with his fork. “I’ve heard there’s been some fruit loss at his place.”

  Eugene narrowed his gaze. “Any grower loses some fruit, of course.”

  “Right.” He glanced at Harper. “Pests, weather, that sort of thing. But I’m talking about criminal loss. It happens.”

  A long quiet descended on the table.

  Finally, Harper broke it with a frustrated huff. “Oh my God. Snitches don’t get stitches, Grandpop! Just tell Mad what’s been going on.”

  Her grandfather frowned at her. “Harper—”

  “Someone’s stealing farm tools in the area, as well as avocados, and other things,” Mary Hill said, then slid a look at her husband. “We don’t have a reason to be secretive, Eugene. We’re not cultivating weed without a license.”

  Mad had to quickly wipe his mouth with a napkin to hide his grin. Something about Harper’s grandmother talking about cultivating weed made him want to laugh.

  Eugene Hill looked down at his plate. “I’ve been handling my own problems on the farm since 1968,” he grumbled. “Why whine to the fuzz now?”

  Rebecca’s own laughter burst free. “Okay, Dad, I just can’t keep it together when you refer to Maddox as ‘the fuzz.’”

  Mad shifted toward the older man. “It’s good for law enforcement to have the pulse of what’s going on in the area even if we’re not specifically called in to handle each and every thing,” he said. “That way little problems don’t escalate into big ones.”

  Eugene’s beetling brows drew together. “We protect our own and I don’t want any of our part-timers or seasonal workers getting caught up in the cops’ dragnet.”

  Dragnet. Mad wiped his mouth again. “Eugene, how about if I come to you first if there’s a hint of involvement by anyone associated with Sunnybird Farm? And you come to me when there’s hinky goings-on around here?”

  “All right,” the older man said in a grudging tone. “I suppose I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust him,” Harper chimed in. “Mad is very trustworthy.”

  He sent her an aggrieved look, knowing a dig when he heard one, but she mitigated the pain by sending a questing bare foot beneath the leg of his jeans. Under the table, his hand shot out and clamped her thigh.

  Okay, maybe it was more caress than clamp, but he had a part of her under him again and he liked it.

  And there was no danger regarding how much he liked it, of course, because her short-timer status rendered her safe.

  “More potatoes?” Rebecca passed him a bowl, forcing him to use both hands.

  The meal proceeded peacefully from there. Eugene and Mary reminisced about their past travel adventures and Harper turned to him. “I’ve been telling them it’s time to plan another trip, Mad,” she said. “You’ve been to some great places. Would you recommend Ireland?”

  “For the beer, the pubs, and the music, yes.”

  “I’ve always wanted to visit the Waterford factory,” Mary said, looking to her husband with a wistful expression.

  “And I’ll be able to handle the farm while you’re gone, Dad,” Rebecca said. “You can consider it practice for when you and Mom retire.”

  Eugene set down his fork. “I don’t see how that will ever happen.”

  “I know you won’t
cease being involved, Dad,” Rebeca amended. “I just mean you can take it a little easier.”

  “But what happens if—when—you want to take it a little easier?” Eugene asked.

  “I have Mike—”

  “What if Mike wants to take it a little easier?” her father persisted.

  “Dad…”

  “I’ve been thinking about what happens down the road.” The older man picked up his coffee mug and stared inside. “This farm has been in our family since 1968.”

  “And it will stay in our family,” Rebecca reassured him. “I’m not planning any changes of address or lifestyle.”

  “But after you?” Eugene Hill shifted his glance to Harper.

  His granddaughter froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.

  “Don’t push Harper,” Rebecca said, frowning.

  “She’s part of this family as well. It’s her legacy.”

  “Let’s not project that far into the future, Grandpop,” Harper said. “I’m a more in-the-moment kind of woman.”

  “Is that the same as saying you’ll come back and help your mom run the farm when the time comes?”

  “Grandpop…”

  “Or are you planning on marrying a blackjack dealer and live in that place where all classic bands go to die undignified deaths?”

  “I would never marry a blackjack dealer! They work terrible hours.”

  “As do you,” Harper’s grandfather pointed out.

  Mad sat back, watching the exchange. Harper did some more fancy dancing, but in the end she deflated. “Grandpop, I cry uncle.”

  He smiled at her.

  “Returning to the farm isn’t a hard no, okay?” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “At some future date.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “I’m satisfied then.”

  After dessert, Harper walked Mad to his SUV. “You did good,” she said. “Gaining Grandpop’s confidence, I mean. The phrase ‘hinky goings-on’ seemed to cinch it.”

  Leaning against the driver’s door, he pulled out his keys. “You made it easy by giving me your seal of approval.”

  She smiled, the corners of her mouth curving mischievously and looked up at him through her thick lashes. Pure seduction. “I’ve given you much more than that.”