Fall in Love

by Anthology

  Oh, crap.

  “Is that right?” he asked, pointing at the stove.

  The smoking pot barely registered. She removed it from the burner and turned to him.

  “You should take your clothes off,” she told him.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He started to unbutton. “I’m all dirty.”

  “You haven’t even begun to get dirty.”

  He grinned and moved toward the sink. “Well, there’s dirty and then there’s dirty.”

  She stopped him with a hand on his arm as he reached for the faucet.

  “No. Dirty.”

  He held up his hands. “Ad, I intend to put these all over you. Let me wash.”

  “You love this dirt,” she said, taking his hands and putting them to her face. “Get me dirty like this, Mason.”

  He kept his hands in place when she dropped hers to his hips and brought him closer. He moved his right hand, sliding it from her cheek to jaw and down the side of her neck. Fascinated by the streaks left behind, he repeated the motion. It was strange, but seeing her covered in dirt and mud was hot. He had to be with someone who wasn’t afraid to get dirty—in the original sense of the word.

  “You wouldn’t rather use your work as foreplay?” he asked, eyeing the butter behind her on the counter.

  She grinned up at him. “That’s for everyone else. This is for you.”

  He loved that grin. She’d been looking far too serious when he’d come in, and when she’d turned to look at him she’d seemed…stunned. At least that’s how it had looked. But that didn’t make sense.

  She pulled her T-shirt over her head, dropped it at their feet, unhooked her bra and tossed it away.

  This, on the other hand, made perfect sense.

  “Put your big muddy hands on me, Mason,” she said, flipping her hair back and offering her breasts.

  Want pulsed through him, and it was want for everything she was—not only her gorgeous body, but her heart, her dreams, her future.

  “If we’re going to do this right you need to lose even more clothes,” he said, resisting touching her. For now. “I want you dirty all over.”

  She didn’t take her eyes from him as she skimmed off her jeans and panties.

  “Much better,” he said with approval.

  She moved in and wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her body against his dirty clothes. She slipped her hands into his hair, against his hot scalp, and pulled him down for a kiss. “I love how you look, smell, feel, taste—” She licked her tongue along his lower lip and then pulled back. “This is the real you, isn’t it?”

  “Hard as a rock and ready to take you on the kitchen counter? Yeah.”

  Goosebumps erupted on her skin and Mason bent and licked the curve of her shoulder.

  “I meant dirty and sweaty and totally happy working out there.”

  He ran his hands down her back, pressing close. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “I like it.” She rubbed against him again.

  He pushed her back slightly to look. Dirt streaked her chest, arms, belly and thighs.

  “I do too. More than I ever realized.”

  He grinned and lifted her up on the counter top behind her. She immediately spread her legs and he dragged in a deep breath of air.

  He ran his thumb over the streak of dirt on her face, down the side of her neck to her collar bone, down over her breast to the nipple. He drew a circle around the nipple, loving how she arched and moaned.

  The dirt was faint now and there was a lot of skin to play with. Marking her like this gave him a very primal surge of possessiveness. He swiped a hand over his back hip pocket where he knew there was mud and lifted it to her breast.

  The handprint he left looked incredibly erotic and he again thought some of her chocolate or the plain butter would be great.

  He could at least lick that off. Not so much with the mud.

  Adrianne looked down at her body and gave a little groan. “I like your handprints on me,” she said. “They’re the only hands I ever want on me again.”

  “Damned right,” he said firmly. He ran his hand over her stomach.

  There was all that sweet bare skin on her inner thigh and he had to mark that too.

  She parted her legs for him and he could see she was already wet for him—had any woman ever wanted him like this one did?—but he couldn’t put his dirty hands there.

  “You’ll have to use a part of your body that’s been covered,” she said, reading his mind and reaching for his fly at the same time.

  “This doesn’t have any mud on it,” he said, dipping his knees before she could reach him and putting a hand on each leg to keep her open. Then he leaned in and took a long lick of her.

  Her fingers gripped his hair and she moaned his name. He took his time licking and sucking, making her squirm before finally straightening and letting her free his erection.

  “Better than chocolate,” he told her.

  Without a word, she pulled him forward as she scooted closer to the edge of the counter.

  He didn’t argue, didn’t tease, paused only long enough to roll on a condom before he cupped her ass and brought her forward onto him.

  As he sank deep, they groaned together. For a moment, he paused, his forehead on hers, her arms around his neck, memorizing everything about the feel of her.

  The only woman he’d ever feel like this again. Seemingly every inch of her was against every inch of him. And he still wanted her closer.

  Eventually though, his body drove him to move. He withdrew with excruciating slowness. She shuddered and lifted her mouth to his. She kissed him slow and deep too, her body clinging to his as he thrust forward.

  He tilted his hips so he could drag against her clit. She pulled away from his mouth to gasp and her arms and legs tightened, holding her closer to him. There wasn’t even a centimeter of space between them, as if she was afraid to let go. Buried deep and pressed completely together, he could barely move except to press, rub and give short thrusts. But it was enough. His erection pulsed in her. He wanted to fill her, stretch her, never leave her.

  That last thought seemed out of place, yet when she shifted against him and made that sound in the back of her throat, it really, really fit.

  “This is right where I want to be forever, Ad,” he managed with the little bit of air he could pull in with her holding so tightly. “Tell me I can have this forever.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, moving her hips to get even closer—an impossibility.

  He thrust again and felt her muscles beginning to contract.

  “Come for me, Ad,” he whispered.

  “You too,” she gasped.

  “I’m right with you, babe.”

  As her muscles gripped him, he felt release come racing from his gut through him and into her.

  A moment later, he felt her finally pull in a deep breath. But her hold on him didn’t relax. He kept her close, stroking his hands up and down her spine.

  “Ad?”

  “Yeah?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  “I think you should move in with me.”

  He pulled back and her grip loosened as she took a deep breath.

  “What?” he asked

  “You said you want to stay,” she said. “I want to sleep with you. A lot. Actually sleep, along with this. You should move in with me.”

  He looked down at her, the dirt streaks on her cheeks making him want to kiss her.

  Of course, her breathing made him want to kiss her.

  “I’d love to live with you, Ad. You can move in here.”

  “So you are moving here?”

  “Of course. I’ll have to make trips to Chicago periodically, but yes. And this house is great. You can do your candy here. Maybe go online with it. I’ll farm and—”

  She sat up straight. “You’re going to farm?”

  “Yes.” He felt it in his bones. That was what he wanted—to grow things tha
t had nothing to do with the lab or IAS. He wanted to grow things that didn’t require him to tinker and test and trial. He wanted to plant good old seeds and watch them come up. He wanted to have crops he didn’t have to meet with anyone about, plans he didn’t have to have conference calls for. “Farming here, being with you, this house, this land, is what will make me happy. This is what I want.” He squeezed her and smiled. “I can hang out downtown at the diner with the other guys at lunch and we can play ball and go to barbecues.”

  “You don’t play ball,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe I can learn.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He pinched her butt. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She looked up at him with a mixture of surprise, happiness and worry. “This is what you want, huh?”

  “This. You. Adrianne—”

  “Does the shower in this joint work?” She let go of him and slid to the floor.

  “It should. But are you—”

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and headed toward the front of the house. “Why don’t you grab that jar of caramel sauce too while you’re at it.”

  Over an hour later, they were back in the kitchen. Mason was stirring the butter and sugar on the stove for the second try at the toffee while she finished the truffles.

  “Why’d you leave Chicago?”

  She paused in the midst of swirling white chocolate on the top of the dark chocolate Kahlua truffles.

  “I got tired of it,” she said, semi-honestly.

  “Not tired of the candy.”

  She smiled. No, never the candy. “Selling the candy, the pace, the pressure, competing with my brothers.”

  She took a deep breath and looked up. How much should she tell him? How much mattered? Not many people in Sapphire Falls—really just Phoebe and Matt—knew all the details. Hailey knew she’d gotten sick and chosen Sapphire Falls to be healthier and slow down, but Hailey didn’t know about the heart attack.

  But if this was the man she wanted to be with forever—and she was more sure of that all the time—then she needed to let him close.

  She finished the swirls and laid the decorating pen to the side.

  “I pushed hard,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel and facing him. “I was top seller but it wasn’t easy staying there. I preferred making the candy, inventing new recipes, playing in the kitchen. I loved being in the stores too—seeing customers trying our stuff. We have a huge factory, of course, but attached to it we still run the original Scott Candy Shop that my great grandmother started. It’s this great, old-fashioned candy shop with wood floors, high ceilings, huge windows and glass display cases.”

  “Scott Candies?” Mason asked. “As in Adrianne Scott?”

  Everyone knew Scott Candies. They hadn’t over taken Hershey or Mars, but they did enough business that the top companies watched out for them.

  She nodded. “My family’s business. My great-great grandfather started it. It’s a huge thing, to be a part of it.”

  “But you left it?”

  “Yes. I have three brothers who all intended to take it over, make it bigger, push it forward.”

  “And you couldn’t keep up?”

  She hated that was his assumption, though she could admit that it was probably an obvious conclusion to jump to. “I was the best of the bunch. Biggest sales, the most contacts, the board loved me.”

  “But?”

  “But it can be harder to stay on top than it is to get there. They were all watching me, waiting for me to screw up, trying to get to things before I could, constantly pushing and criticizing.” She rubbed her hand over her heart. “It sucked.”

  “They’re your brothers,” Mason said with a scowl.

  “Yes. But they believed they were doing what was good for the company, and therefore for all of us. Pushing each other resulted in new products, new accounts, new ideas. And they figured that if I could do a great job—wonderful, but if one of them could do better—wonderful. They still compete with each other.”

  Thinking back made her chest, her stomach and her temples tighten. She missed some of it. She missed the product development. She loved having ideas about new things they could try, brainstorming with the candy makers, doing the taste testing and focus groups and the thrill of finding something new that people liked.

  But her father had insisted she and her brothers be more involved in sales. No one knew or cared about the business like they did, he contended. Who better to be out there selling Scott candies than the Scott family themselves? Anyone could mix ingredients, not everyone could sell. Or so he maintained.

  She didn’t miss the frustrations in dealing with him. She didn’t miss the headaches and stomachaches her brothers gave her. She didn’t miss the jet lag, the need for sleeping pills at night and massive doses of caffeine in the morning, the kissing the asses of people she didn’t even like. She definitely didn’t miss the nicotine withdrawal from her attempts to quit four times a year or the sense of guilt and failure when it didn’t work.

  “This is pretty different from what you did with Scott Candies,” Mason said.

  “It is. It’s good. I was in the fast track in Chicago, but I wasn’t happy or healthy. This is better all the way around.”

  “Can you open up your own shop? Don’t they have rights to the candy recipes?”

  “Of course they do.” What did he think? Her family was a bunch of idiots? “My grandmother helped with product development and had some ideas that were never approved. She passed those recipes to me when she died. I’m going to use those to start and then develop my own.”

  She leaned back on the counter behind her. “I learned the ins and outs of the business and the kitchen before I was even twelve. Selling the candy was always the fun part—helping people find what they want, seeing them try it—I mean it’s candy. What’s better than that?”

  Mason was still stirring but his attention was fully on her. “You’re better at the candy making than the selling?”

  Adrianne picked up a pink decorating pen and started on the cherry chocolate truffles. They had a hint of cherry in the chocolate and a rich cherry center. “Nah, I’m a natural seller. I worked hard, long hours and stuff, but it wasn’t difficult. I was great at it. I took off right away and everyone, myself included, assumed that’s where I should be. I missed the creating—which I’m also good at—but I could sell ice to an Eskimo as they say.”

  She looked up to find Mason smiling at her. “What? Keep stirring.”

  He did but said, “I’m trying to imagine you in a conference room in a suit. The jeans and ponytail are so you.”

  She shrugged. She’d successfully shed all of that and felt very comfortable in her new persona. “I look damned good in a skirt and heels.”

  “Hey, at the end of the day I’ll gladly strip you out of whatever you choose to wear,” he said with a sexy grin.

  She grinned back. “Well, no more suits. I love blue jeans. I don’t want high-pressure meetings, high stakes, long hours, traveling—I’m over all of it. I love small town, quiet and simple.”

  “What about short trips and a skirt once in a while?”

  She looked up from the pink squiggles. He’d stopped stirring again.

  “Mason.” She pointed to the pot. When he started moving the spoon again, she said, “You mean like vacations?” Sure, if they could drive to their destination. She didn’t fly anymore. Not since her heart had stopped beating on a plane two years ago. “Because I’ll do sundresses, no problem.”

  “That or trips to Chicago or DC with me.”

  Chicago was drivable. DC—not as much. She raised her eyebrows. “You want me to go?”

  “I don’t want to go without you.”

  She felt her heart flip. “That’s…nice.” To be with Mason she’d figure something out. She could drive to DC if she had a few days head start. “Yeah, I’d go for a few days. I’d even wear a dress.”

  “
When I go its more than a few days.”

  “How long?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

  “Two weeks minimum.”

  “You’ll have to be gone for two weeks or more at a time?”

  He frowned slightly. “Yes. Projects will need overseeing. I’ll need to meet with the key players. If there are problems I’ll have to stay until those are resolved.”

  Just then the smell of burnt butter hit her. Again.

  Dammit.

  She crossed to the stove and moved the pot to the back burner. So it was only going to be truffles for the reception. They were out of butter so no toffee and the jar of caramel sauce was now only half full.

  “Mason, I—” She swallowed hard and turned to face him. “I can’t. I told you that I left Chicago because I wasn’t healthy. I wasn’t kidding—or being dramatic. I had a heart attack.”

  She leaned against the counter, gripping the edge and awaiting his response.

  He stared at her.

  “Mason. Did you hear me?”

  He took a deep breath, the lines between his eyebrows creasing deeply. “I heard you.”

  Okay. She waited.

  Finally, the look on his face eased from confused to concerned. “Are you okay?”

  She was. She knew that. Everyone kept telling her she was. And Mason needed her to be. “Yes. I’m fine. Fully recovered. Have been for a while. But it’s part of the reason I love and need Sapphire Falls. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Slow paced. All the things I want now. I can’t leave for long periods of time.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to.”

  He reached out and she took his hand. He hauled her in and enfolded her in his arms. “God, Adrianne,” he muttered in her hair, stroking his hand from her crown to the back of her neck. “God.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I’m okay, Mason.”

  He leaned back too, her face in his hands, and kissed her.

  It was the sweetest, most heartfelt, most amazing kiss of her life.

  When he lifted his head, he stared into her eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She nodded. “I—”

  Her phone rang “It’s Raining Men.” That was okay. She’d had no idea what she was about to say to Mason. He let her go as she reached for it. “Hi, Phoebe.”