The things people did for their art, right?
“Fine,” she muttered and reached behind her for the clasp to her bra. Grappling with it since that one stupid hook was caught again, Apple huffed and looked at Jake, who was smirking. The jerk was clearly amused. She stilled and demanded, “Remember this moment.”
He laughed. “Oh, I will, trust me.”
That’s not what she meant. Not even close. “I meant, remember this moment, you jerk, because you finally got me out of my bra.” The clasp finally gave, and Apple quickly pulled the straps down one arm, then the other. She was just starting to pull it out the sleeve of her shirt when she caught his expression and faltered, snagging the hook on the V-neck of her shirt and pulling it far to the side. A large portion of bare skin was exposed with the movement, and his gaze zeroed right in on it.
Swallowing hard, Apple unhooked it and pulled the bra the rest of the way loose, dropping it gently on the porch. Her full breasts swung free, her nipples puckering instantly. She was unprepared for how vulnerable and exposed she suddenly felt.
Jake made a strangled sort of sound and coughed, and she darted him a quick glance just in time to see him shift in his seat. Dropping her gaze farther, she gasped at the sight of his jeans stretched tight across his lap and rapidly looked away.
But Jake wasn’t shy. “You’re surprised by that?”
“Surprised by what?” she pretended not to know even as she’d gone slick and achy at the sight of him.
Suddenly the air changed around them, charging with rising energy, and she inhaled, holding her breath.
Jake looked her in the eye. “Are you surprised that your breasts made me hard?”
Good heavens.
Apple couldn’t help it; she glanced at his lap again, becoming transfixed. At his impressively bulging lap. “A little,” she admitted honestly. She absently licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Ask me another question.” His voice came to her then—quietly, coaxing.
For the life of her she couldn’t look away. She knew she should, but she couldn’t. Jake’s thick erection in his jeans was just so erotic. And it made it nearly impossible to think. “D-do you know their names, that couple?”
“I do . . . ” he said casually, his eyes beginning to smolder as they raked over her from hair to toes. “They were Charles Stone and Margaret Ferguson.”
“Thank you.” She jotted their names down while nerves exploded under her skin and raced along her veins as she waited for him to tell her what they were going to take off next. She reminded herself as her breath drew shallow that this was all for a purpose—it mattered. This wasn’t gratuitous nudity.
“Is one of the rumors true about what happened to the Fortune settlement?” she asked, unthinking. “You know—cannibalism, avalanche, rival prospecting party?”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. That’s two questions. Take off your top first.”
Apple’s heart stopped. Just plain stopped for an entire beat. “If I’m taking off my shirt, Jake, you’re taking off your pants.” It was about all he had left.
He seemed to consider it. “Deal.” Standing up, he reached for the button on his jeans and stopped. “I should probably mention something before I do though.”
Her stomach flopped, but damned if she was backing down now. She needed to know what happened, and this was her chance. “Yeah, what’s that?”
Jake’s fingers began working the button loose, and then he tugged the zipper down slowly, exposing golden skin and a small thatch of curly brown hair. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
Apple went hot and throbbing and wet all at once.
Before she could chicken out, she said, “Prove it,” and reached for the hem of her shirt. Yanking it over her head, she dislodged her glasses. Crying out as they fell to the floor, she temporarily forgot her topless state. “My glasses!” she exclaimed, bending forward.
“I’ve got them,” Jake said at the same time and bent down too.
And they nearly collided, his face stopping mere inches from her bare breasts. The heat of his breath fanned over her already puckered nipples. But he didn’t back away.
He was naked.
Full-on naked.
Apple sucked in a breath and held it. She’d never seen anything like him before in her life. Built and sculpted and strong. Bronzed, muscled thighs with their dusting of brown hair filled her vision. Swallowing hard, her heart thundering, she stole a quick glance at the heavy, thick erection between his legs.
Oh. My. God.
Another wave of desire captured her. She wanted to touch, to feel, to taste. Bad.
Apple’s gaze flew to Jake’s, and she waited for him to say something. Anything. But he didn’t. He merely devoured the sight of her breasts, his gaze intense and hungry as it raked over her bare skin.
“Do you like them?” she whispered then, thoroughly aroused and forgetting herself entirely. “I like yours.”
Jake swore and moved suddenly, making her shoot straight up in alarm. Then his mouth covered hers hard. Fireworks exploded behind her eyelids, and she made a sound of surprise, rocking back. One of his hands shot out and cradled the back of her head as he took the kiss deeper. His tongue stroked over hers, and she moaned helplessly, wantonly, leaning into him and feeling his hot, silky skin against hers.
Jake broke the kiss and yanked back, scowling hotly. “Go home.”
Dazed with arousal, Apple blinked. “Excuse me?”
He thrust her glasses into her hand. “I said go home, Apple.”
She forgot they were naked as her mouth dropped open. “But my questions, my book?”
Jake began pacing, every inch of him masculine, turned-on male. She couldn’t stop staring. “Another time.”
Apple reached for her shirt and quickly put it on. “But—”
He stopped pacing. “If you know what’s good for you, Apple, you’ll leave right now.”
She gathered her things and put on her glasses, her bra bunched in her hand. “Why?”
He pegged her with a smoldering stare. “Because I really fucking want you.”
Holy shit.
Apple swallowed hard. That wasn’t anywhere in the rulebook. “I think I’ll, um, just go.”
“Smart woman.”
She backed away, stumbling down the first porch step and laughing nervously. “Clumsy me,” she said before descending the rest. Hitting the grass, she couldn’t help from glancing over her shoulder and wondering about his final words.
Was she smart? When Jake was there with his feet planted wide and muscular arms crossed—complete sex on a stick—and ready for her.
Did smart women just take their bras and run?
Chapter Eight
“HERE, LET ME get that,” Jake said to his father a few days later. Early that morning he’d arrived at Harvey’s place so the two of them could sort through his things. Jake had been encouraging his dad to do it for months now, but his old man had resisted so much as touching any of Harvey’s things. Though Verle had lived in that old miner’s shack along with Jake’s grandpop for going on fifteen years now, to him it would always belong to Harvey. Funny how that was.
Now, three months after Harvey’s death, he’d finally managed to convince Verle to let go. At least a little bit. Starting with Harvey’s clutter was a good sign his pop was starting to process the grief and move forward.
Jake looked over to see that Verle was boosting a fifty-gallon wood barrel on his shoulder and was in danger of falling over. “You know your balance is terrible, Pop.”
His dad wobbled, and instantly Jake was right there next to him, taking the barrel out of his trembling hands. “Sorry, son. Thought I had it.” But he handed over the barrel with a grateful smile.
“No problem.” Jake patted him on the shoulder once he set it down. “Why don’t you start inside sorting through Grandpop’s old books? If you see anything you want to keep, put it in a separate pile.”
Verle inhaled
deeply, looking around. “Still can’t believe he’s gone, Jakey.” His lips pressed tight, and his chin began to quiver.
“I know, Pop. I miss him too.” That was the truth. Harvey Stone had been a good man. A loving one. And he’d been the rock in Jake’s turbulent youth.
Together they surveyed the humble dwelling tucked in among the pines on Jasper’s Peak. Appreciated it for what it was and what it represented. Maybe most important, for what it had taught Jake about living simply and finding peace in modesty.
“If your mom was still alive, I’d fix this place up and move us here. She never liked living in that trailer on the edge of town anyway.” Verle shook his head, smiling fondly. “Always did fancy herself more of a country girl.”
An old familiar ache started around Jake’s heart, and he pulled his dad in close with one arm and kissed him on his unkempt gray hair like a child. His dad was in one of his moods today. They tended to show themselves most when he was in a sober state—which was rare. Still, Jake would take it. It wasn’t often these days he got to visit with his dad when he wasn’t drunk, so when he did it was like a small miracle.
“She sure did, didn’t she?” he said, his mind only on love and support for his father.
Besides it didn’t do any good to remind his pop that Sonia Stone wasn’t dead, that she’d left them right before Jake had started kindergarten. Her last words to him as she’d flung clothes in a crappy yellow suitcase were, and he quoted, “You better hope like hell you don’t turn out like him.” Then she’d hopped in her B-series Datsun with the duct-taped muffler and vanished into the sunset.
But in Verle’s mind, she was dead and buried. Wasn’t anybody going to change that, Jake knew.
“Hey, Pop,” he gently urged. “Let’s head inside and get started.”
Verle looked at him, his brown eyes glazed and slightly unfocused. But he didn’t smell like Jim Beam. Jake had grabbed him that morning straight from bed before he could start drinking.
Feeling that tug on his heart again, Jake pressed his lips together and forced it back. But it was hard, knowing his dad was having an episode and was disconnected from reality. All the straight talk from Jake wouldn’t help—it was just wasted breath.
But, Harvey had also taught Jake a thing or two about compassion, so he kept his mouth shut and let his dad have his beliefs.
“She was the love of my life, you know,” Verle said. Pushing away from Jake, he began spinning in a slow circle, smiling freely. “Being with her felt exactly like this.” He began twirling faster and faster, giggling when he fell to the soft grass.
Love and acceptance, along with that old familiar sadness, settled over Jake as he watched his father behave strangely, knowing it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even the alcohol. It was just the way he was made. Fucking familial glioma. “I bet it was. Just like that. Felt exciting, didn’t it?”
Resting back on his elbows on the small grassy hillside, Verle squinted up at him, his unruly long hair barely contained in its ponytail. Wiry gray hairs sprouted up all around his head. “You ever been in love, boy?” he said, sounding suddenly authoritative.
Youthful one minute, something else entirely the next—that was Verle Stone. The change in him would have been disconcerting for anyone else. They’d have blamed it on him being a drunk.
But for Jake, it was just normal. “Never have.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets and kicked at a clump of dirt, muttering under his breath when an image of Apple topless and perfect popped into his head. It was the very same mental picture that had haunted him every second last night before becoming a full-on fantasy—one that had driven him over the brink before dawn.
Yanking his dad out of bed at six in the morning to clean his grandpop’s place hadn’t been altruistic in motive. It had been a desperate attempt at distraction. He’d have done anything to take his mind off Apple.
“Took you a while to respond,” Verle mentioned, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “You sure about that?”
The man chose the oddest times to display lucidity and intuition. “I’m sure.” The minute the words left his lips a voice in his head called Jake a liar. He told it to shut up. “No woman’s ever gotten her hooks into me.” He smiled lightly.
Verle scratched his ZZ Top‒style beard and laughed. “Then I feel bad for you, boy. Ain’t nothing like a woman’s hooks, that’s for damn sure. Count yourself lucky if one decides to sink hers into you.”
Apple leapt straight to his brain again, torturing him with her amazing curves and sweet, sexy face. He’d been almost close enough to touch her beautiful pale skin last night. A mere twenty-four hours ago—less than, actually. It was testament to the strength of his willpower that he’d been able to keep from caressing her gorgeous, perfect breasts when he’d been close enough to smell the heated scent of her skin.
Jake sighed long and heartfelt as arousal stirred in his belly. Lowering himself to the grass next to his dad, he leaned back on his elbows too and took a look around the hillside property. From where they were lounging, the squat weathered shack sat to the left. Its tin roof was showing more than a little rust, and the front porch looked like it was beginning to settle on one side. But there were two wooden rockers on the front porch, and a few hand-carved wind chimes hung from it.
It had a homey feel to it, even if it wasn’t what most people would consider a home. It didn’t have a dishwasher, an automatic garage door, or a jetted Jacuzzi tub. And it wasn’t a twenty-five-hundred-square-foot, three-bedroom “American Dream.”
Thank fucking God.
“Well, there is one woman. Though she doesn’t have any hooks in me. Claws, maybe. But she’s been harassing me for a while now about something I want to talk to you about.”
Verle dropped all the way down to the grass and stretched out long, his hands cradling the back of his head. “You talkin’ about the Woodman girl?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Apple.” Just saying her name made his gut tighten.
His dad plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing, Pop. She’s writing a book about Fortune, is all.”
Across the clearing at the edge of the trees just down the hill, two elk does stepped out of the shadows, their ears twitching as they braved the open space for some tender green grass. Jake smiled. The rut was beginning. One of the coolest things about Harvey’s place was that elk moved through it coming down the mountain for mating season, and then again on their way up. It was part of the herds’ migratory pattern. If he and his dad were in luck, a bull elk or two would come wandering through and they’d get a show.
“Remember that time when I was ten and you, me, and Grandpop stood on the porch and watched those bull elks fight right there?”
Verle squinted over at the spot Jake had pointed to, grinning. “They stomped the hell out of his spaghetti squash.”
Yeah they did. In fact, they had demolished his entire garden. Harvey had been so pissed. “He cussed a blue streak over it. That was a fun night.” The three of them had grilled dogs over the fire pit, and Harvey and his dad had taken turns telling Jake ghost stories until he’d fallen asleep under the stars. “We had some good times, the three of us.”
Tears welled suddenly in Verle’s eyes. “What am I going to do without him, Jakey?”
That was the very question Jake had been asking himself for the past few weeks. The two of them had taken care of each other—the recluse and the drunk. And now that Harvey was gone, he had some very real concerns about his father being able to care for himself alone up here.
Maybe it was time. “Do you still have those brochures I brought last week from that place I told you about? The one with the apartments?” Sweet Brook was essentially an assisted-living community for people with special needs like Verle. He could still be independent and have his own place; he would just be looked after by a professional full-time staff. “I think you and I should go for a visit. Check it out in person.”<
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Verle swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “You know I’m never leaving this place, Jake. Stop trying to get me to.” His voice was small and shaky, like it was coming from far away.
Frustration tried to rear its head, but Jake forced it to stop. It was the same argument he’d been hearing since Harvey had died three months ago. And getting aggravated didn’t help anything. Verle Stone was a stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to be.
“Look, Pop. I worry about you up here all by yourself. At least when Grandpop was alive you had someone looking after you. But he’s gone, and I can’t fill his shoes. I have my brewery to run. What if something happens to you?”
Clearly agitated now, Verle sat up, pulled his knees to his chest, and started wringing his hands. “You can’t make me go, Jakey. I won’t let you. You’ll be prying my cold dead fingers off the front door, because I ain’t leaving.” He turned to Jake, his eyes bright and darting about wildly. “You can’t make me!”
Feeling his father beginning to unravel, Jake took a deep breath and said in a soft, gentle voice, “Easy, Pop. Nobody is making you leave, okay?”
“What about the librarian?” Verle began to breathe heavily, almost panting. “She knows, doesn’t she? She wants me gone.”
A frown tugged his brow. “Why do you say that? Apple just wants to know about what really happened to our ancestors when they first came here to mine for gold and founded the town.”
Verle’s whole body began to visibly tremble now as he shook his head emphatically, his jaw set in stubborn lines. “I’m not telling her anything.”
Jake looked from his dad to the late summer wildflowers carpeting the ground nearby. “Why not? It wouldn’t really hurt anything to let her know what happened, would it? It was a long time ago, Pop, and nobody is going to blame you or me for what our ancestor did. He was the crazy cannibalistic bastard, not us.”
Verle leapt up and began hopping from foot to foot, his eyes bulging. “No, no, no. They will blame me when they find it! They’ll want it for themselves, and they’ll say I’m just like him to get it. They’ll say I’m dangerous too and lock me away. Make something up. Lie. Nobody but us knows anyway. Do it and she’ll take it—they’ll all take it!”
Talking Dirty Page 9