by Marina Adair
With a needy sigh, Kennedy arched up into his hand, wanting more of that delicious pressure.
“I don’t imagine me being right this particular time is a bad thing?” To prove his point, he skimmed that sweet spot again, only this time he went under her skirt to find wet silk.
“Admitting something like that could give you a big head,” she said. “Maybe you should try it again and let me see.”
He pressed against her, proving how big his head had become. “That happened the second you walked in the room wearing these boots. Did I mention how much I like these boots?”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“So much so that the rest of this is just window dressing.” The zipper of her skirt gave, and Luke slowly slid it down her legs, and to the floor, leaving her in her blouse, boots, and silk.
He lifted a brow. “Red?”
“These are my power panties,” she admitted. “I wear them when I need a little extra swing in my step.”
“It’s helping with my swing.” He grinned as his fingers wrapped around the ankle part of her boot, sliding it up the inside of the couch. Her knee bent and her leg parted farther with every inch gained, until he hooked her knee over his shoulder. “And to be clear, I said you needed to be kissed, not touched.”
Watching him watch her, Luke knocked her other leg to the ground, leaving her completely open for his viewing pleasure. His brow puckered and Kennedy reached for the blanket, but he stopped her hand. Then one by one, he unfastened the buttons of her blouse, his knuckles brushing her breasts, her stomach, until he reached the last one. With a wicked smile that offered her a round-trip ticket to the promised land, he carefully parted the two halves of her blouse.
“Power bra,” she whispered.
“Perfection.” Sliding down her body, with delicious slowness, he took his time. His lips finally making contact when he placed a languid, openmouthed kiss right above her belly button.
“Luke,” she moaned and could feel him smile against her belly. “I believe that you said my need was a bit—” She gasped as he nipped her hip.
His gaze met hers though his thick lashes. “Your need is a bit what, sweetness?”
“Lower,” she managed.
“Here?” His tongue licked along the waistline of her panties, delving beneath the fabric to tease.
“Lower.” Her eyes slid shut with anticipation.
“That’s right. I remember now.” Before she knew what was happening, his clever fingers had pulled her panties to the side, and Luke was kissing her exactly where she needed.
No wonder he’d managed to rise to a corporate developer in just a few short years, she thought as he drove her slowly out of her mind. The man was an expert at assessing needs, because before she could ask for more, he was giving everything.
Using her one leg for stability, Kennedy pushed up into his mouth. Never one to pass up an opportunity to prove her wrong, he slid his hands beneath her, bracing her weight and lifting her higher and higher until she felt her body tense, the pressure so powerful it was impossible to breathe.
“There,” she screamed.
He was right. He was so damn right that he took her out of her mind and over the edge, and this time when she felt him smile against her, she didn’t talk at all. Other than to cry out his name as she exploded.
Breathing heavily, trying to figure out if she was still in her body or had somehow managed to burst right out of her skin, Kennedy opened her eyes to find Luke watching her, unwavering, as he stood completely naked and ready for the à la mode.
“I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now,” he said with an awe that people usually didn’t use when talking about her.
“My power panties,” she said, self-conscious.
“You have power, sweetness, but it has nothing to do with your panties,” he said, kneeling on the couch and covering her completely. “It has to do with you.”
He kissed her lips.
“Just you,” he said and entered her in one hard stroke, and he felt good. So good that perfect didn’t cut it.
“You make me feel powerful,” Kennedy said and slid her hands up his chest to lock around his neck. “You make me feel special.”
With a deep groan, Luke took her mouth and kissed her as his body started to move. His hands were hot and possessive, sliding down her sides, brushing the edges of her breasts, before slipping to her butt and pulling her toward him, until she felt so full, so complete.
They clung to her as if needing to touch all of her at the same time. Claim her as his.
The only person who had ever claimed Kennedy was her grandma. But Edna was getting older and wouldn’t be around forever, and Kennedy was terrified to float around in the world alone. She desperately wanted to be a part of something real and deep. Something that would last forever.
And there was Luke, holding her, moving with her as if he wouldn’t ever let her go. And the vast emptiness she’d carried with her since Philip—since her mom—the one in her chest that ached so bad it’d gone numb, became warm and full.
“So sweet,” he whispered. “So damn sweet.”
She gave herself over to the slow withdrawals, and even slower thrusts. With Luke, sex didn’t feel like a physical act between two people; it was more like communicating without the pressure of words. The sharing of pleasure that led to the merging of moments where the only option was to be open to the possibility of more.
And Kennedy was more than open. She was there with him, in his childhood home, seeing for the first time what it was like to feel cherished. To be with someone who believed that she was as special to him as he was to her. And Luke was beyond special. She was pretty sure he was the one.
He pulled her closer, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, and her eyes went watery. He whispered her name, as if it was the only thing that mattered. As if she was the only thing that mattered. And that more than anything had her body tightening around him.
He pressed a kiss to her neck, then another, and before Kennedy could stop it, she was crying out his name again. The orgasm took her over, wave after wave of pleasure hit, and then she felt Luke give a final thrust and his body coiled as he followed her over.
Neither of them moved, just lay there on the chaise, surrounded by windows and the most spectacular view in town—the bay was nice, too. When she finally shifted to get up, his grip tightened.
“Stay,” he whispered.
Forever? she wanted to ask.
Chapter 17
Downtown’s historic district had been transformed into an autumn wonderland. Garlands made from dried maple leaves and twinkle lights were strung between the gas lamps that lined Main Street. A giant pumpkin patch filled the park in the middle of the town square, overflowing with hay bales and festive-colored decorations, while people visiting the Sixty-eighth Annual Gold Tin Apple Pie Competition made their way around the maze of booths—tasting the top apple pies in the country.
Kennedy sat behind her table, wearing a SWEETIE PIES apron and her power panties. She’d considered the NUT BUSTER apron her grandma had given her, but decided against it since the majority of the judges were in possession of a set of their own, and because her entry had not a single nut in the recipe.
Plus, Kennedy wasn’t all that hung up on busting nuts anymore. Luke had more than come through for her this past week, proving that there were good guys out there. She’d just been looking in the wrong places.
The location of her booth—right in the heart of the festival—had attracted more tasters than she could have anticipated, including several retail outlets and restaurateurs who, having heard the whispers about a deal with Kline Fine Foods, had come to see what all the hype was about. She’d chatted with more industry experts in the last few hours that she had in her entire eight years at Le Cordon Bleu. And she’d impressed them.
So had her pies. Some people asked for a second tasting, while others wanted to exchange contact information or find out
about special event orders. Cosmo had also stopped by to tell her that her pie was delightful, and that he was pulling for her to come out on top.
Today couldn’t have gone more perfectly, and she owed a large part of that to Luke. Who was talking to a couple of suits at the Two Bad Apples table. Like several times over the past week, he glanced up at the same time she did.
Kennedy gave a little wave, and he gave back a wink that, even across the distance of the park, had the power to make her knees wobble.
He didn’t look away, instead tuned out everyone around him and flashed her a secret smile, to let her know he was thinking about her.
After securing her an entry in the competition, he’d volunteered to be her focus group and offered to help prep her booth for the event. Not that she’d needed the help, since a handful of volunteers—regulars from her shop and even the pastor’s wife—showed up to help the new girl out. They brought enough garland and apple blossoms to decorate the White House, passed out flyers advertising Sweetie Pies, and even walked around preselling pies for the shop.
Kennedy had been beyond touched. She’d felt like one of them, a part of something special.
But it was Luke’s belief that gave her the boost she needed to experiment with the new apples he’d introduced her to. A tiring task since she was still baking for the shop every day, leaving her only the nights to experiment. The result was more than worth it. Kennedy’s Apple Harvest Citrus Pie had all the makings of a winner.
Made from Bay View Orchards crispin apples, the pie had a heavier crust cut from more butter than shortening, and scented with a variety of seasonal citrus, adding a zest of freshness to the rich, syrupy cinnamon filling. It was a complex and delectable pairing that tasted like all the best parts of coming home.
Inspired by her time with Luke on the bluff, the pie was heavenly indulgence at its finest. Every bite would forever be a reminder of how it felt to be cherished. If even just for a moment.
“Kumquats, huh?” Fi said, taking a tentative sniff of the air. “Never heard of using kumquats in a pie.”
“They’re not in the pie,” Kennedy said with a smile. “They’re in the crust.”
“Huh,” Fi tutted with genuine interest. “Then what’s in the pie that makes it stand up so well?”
Kennedy looked around with mock suspicion, then leaned in until Fi was leaning, too—almost toppling over the table. “It’s a humdinger of a secret.”
Fi lowered a single brow. “I know your secret, missy, and I hope it isn’t distracting you from your work at the shop. I’d hate to see you create a humdinger of a problem by letting a proven product take the backseat to your new flirtations.”
Kennedy knew Fi disapproved of her professional aspirations, but it hurt to think she might be against her personal ones as well. Sure, she was a three-time failure when it came to relationships, but she saw promise with Luke—and she hoped that his family did, too.
“Sweetie Pies will always be my main focus, Fi. I’m out here to put my best foot forward and see what happens, just like everyone else.” When Fi didn’t look convinced, Kennedy added, “In fact, I made more HumDingers than usual this morning, figuring tourists would want to grab the sixteen-time winner before they headed home.”
“Seventeen-time winner, if the whispers are true.”
Kennedy kept her smile in place, but that didn’t mean the hope she’d worked so hard to foster these last few weeks didn’t take a hit. If Fi won, then Cosmo’s hands were tied—and getting legal to approve a deal at the right price point would be impossible. An outcome she had completely dismissed.
It wasn’t that Fi didn’t deserve the title; her HumDinger was one of the best pie recipes Kennedy had ever had the pleasure to make. The tasting experience was even better. But Kennedy had put everything into her Apple Harvest Citrus Pie—and Sweetie Pies. Her entry was good enough to go head to head with the incumbent—and even win. It just depended on where the judges’ preference fell when it came to traditional versus something a bit bolder.
“You and I both know that there have been no whispers,” Ali said, resting her pitchfork against the booth to grab a plate of Kennedy’s pie. In between her shifts as the scarecrow of the pumpkin patch, she’d managed three complete rounds of tasting. “Judges can’t say boo until they’ve made their final decision.”
“Well, maybe whisper was the wrong word. Barbara Cooper does have a rather loud shrill to her voice. But she said this year’s HumDinger was better than last.” Fi patted her coifed hair. “I believe this entry has a gene se qua that has been missing in years past.”
Kennedy didn’t know what special thing Fi had added, but she was confident the woman spoke fluent French—when she chose.
Ali rolled her eyes. “Barbara Cooper isn’t a judge.”
“Well, she’s the editor over at Southern Cooking Magazine, so the woman has clout.”
“How long are they going to stay back there?” Kennedy asked, scanning the crowd for a sight of the judges. “They disappeared into the town hall over an hour ago.”
“A hundred and one entries are a lot to consider,” Ali said around a mouthful of pie. “They narrow it down to the top ten front runners, then hold a closed tasting in the mayor’s office.”
“That’s why we had to submit two pies,” Fi explained.
“My money’s on you.” Ali sent an apologetic shrug Fi’s way. “Sorry, Ms. Callahan, but Kennedy’s pie is a clear winner. It follows all of the requirements of the contest, but pushes the limits.”
“Are you calling me a rule breaker?” Kennedy thought back to all the rules she’d broken with Luke and giggled.
“No, you just like to see how far you can bend them,” Luke said, walking up behind her, his voice pitched low enough to send a warm sensation sliding through her body.
Kennedy turned around and her heart flipped. Oh my, did he ever look good. Dark jeans, blue sweater, and rugged man good. His hair was windblown, his cap said TWO BAD APPLES, but beneath the sexy cider guy persona was the same hungry look that he’d had last night during their tasting—in bed.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were working the cider booth.”
With all the apple enthusiasts and media present, Hawk and Luke had set up a booth at the entry to the competition, to hand out samples and create a buzz. It was working—their booth had been busy all day.
“Hawk is taking over so I could come and sample your pie,” he said, and that warm sensation headed south, stopping below her belly button.
“Great,” Ali said, throwing her hands up. “I told the kids to throw pumpkins at the big bad Hawk in the pumpkin patch after they announce the winners. Now, who I am supposed to scare with my pitchfork?”
“The judges are back,” Paula said, so excited her cane wasn’t even touching the ground as she toddled over. “They’re about to announce the winners and I overheard someone saying that it was nearly a tie.”
“Nearly a tie?” Excitement and a whole lot of panic flooded Kennedy’s system at the thought. She was about to get her wish—the hard truth of whether she was cut out for this place. A place she’d come to think of as home, and a shop she’d come to think of as hers. Then there was Luke and his mom, both connected to this town, her shop, and her growing sense of home.
Kennedy had always prided herself on the ability to handle the truth. But this time the truth and her happiness were all tied up into one complicated knot of emotions and possibilities—which settled painfully in her chest.
A warm hand slid around hers and gave a little squeeze. “It doesn’t matter what’s in the envelopes, or whose name they call,” Luke said. “There was no other pie talked about as much as yours. People even asked me if I thought it was good enough to beat the Callahan HumDinger.”
“You’re right, son. Who cares what the judges think.” Fi gave Luke’s arm a pat, then tipped her SECOND PLACE IS THE FIRST LOSER visor. “Yet here we all are, standing around waiting to hear who
takes first.”
Kennedy ignored this. “What did you say?”
“Callahan or Sinclair, didn’t matter. All of the pies are Sweetie Pies, but my personal favorite is the Apple Citrus.”
“Because I used your dad’s apples?” she asked, not caring that his opinion mattered so much.
“Because it reminds me of you. Of our day in the sunroom,” he whispered, and if there were any doubt that she had fallen in the past few weeks, that one sentence confirmed it. Kennedy was desperately in love with Luke Callahan.
“Your daddy’s apples, huh?” Fi said, eyeing Luke with suspicion.
They hadn’t told anyone about their relationship, probably because they hadn’t defined it with each other. But it didn’t take a genius to see that there was more heat generated between the two of them than was used to bake the hundred or so pies.
A mic turned on as the mayor took the podium and all eyes went to the stage. All eyes except for Kennedy’s. Hers stayed right on Luke with his handsome face, strong shoulders, and gentle spirit. He not only carried the weight of the world on those big shoulders, but he’d managed to make her world a little easier.
Brighter.
Luke didn’t move, just stared at the stage. “What?”
“Nothing…everything…never mind,” Kennedy said, feeling silly.
He turned just his head, his eyes lit with humor. “That really narrows it down.”
She sighed. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
That got his attention. “Go on,” he said, his gaze zeroing in on her. And to be at the center of that kind of intense focus was unnerving—and thrilling.
“Thank you,” she said to his chest. “For helping me with today and for believing in me when I didn’t have the courage to believe in myself. I wasn’t ready to give up, but I couldn’t figure out how to stay and fight.”
“Kennedy.” He cupped her chin and tilted it up. “I made a call and showed you some apples; you did the rest.”