Taste: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  He dropped the shirt over her shoulders and the chill was gone. She handed him her corn and slid her arms into the warmth that lingered in the fibers. The collar was thick and skimmed her cheek. She knew it was stupid and cliché, but she did it anyway.

  “Did you just smell me?”

  Kara closed her eyes and decided he was messing with her, flirting with her, something, and she was going to something him right back.

  “Hmmm, sure did,” she purred, slowly opening her eyes and taking back her corn. “You showered today, farm boy.”

  Logan laughed.

  “I did. Washed the dirt off just for you.”

  “Oh, I bet. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the brunette in the paint-on jeans who was smiling at your . . . corn a few minutes ago.” She took another bite.

  Logan seemed to suck in some extra air as Kara dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

  “Paint-on jeans. Huh, I’m not seeing a whole lot of room in your jeans.”

  “Please, I can breathe in mine. Hers are, well let’s just say she has a steady pulse. I know because I can see it from here.” She savored the last bite of corn and threw the cob in the barrel lined with a black plastic bag.

  “Tight jeans look good on a woman.” When Kara turned back, his eyes traveled the length of her legs. Good God, was there something in farm air?

  She stumbled. His look was heated, an “I’d like to strip you out of those tight jeans” look. Kara recognized it from years before when Logan couldn’t get enough of her and he had literally peeled her out of her jeans on the floor of her tiny Paris apartment. She had a bed that folded out of the wall, but they were on their lunch break during Egg Week at Cordon Bleu. There had been no time to pull the bed down, and the need threatened to burn them both alive. Their bodies dropped to the floor shortly after her jeans. They were a tangled mess of carelessness and passion. It was . . .

  “Kara?”

  Christ! Her cheeks were warm and for what seemed like an eternity, she couldn’t forget the look on his face back then as he made fast, urgent love to her . . . how desirable he’d made her feel. Her insecurities, her sheltered and proper self had fallen away with each pulse of his body and she’d been so empowered. She could hear the music at the festival and Logan’s voice in the present call her name, as she begged the memory to let her go.

  When she finally pulled herself back, Logan was watching the dance floor, smiling.

  “What?” she asked because he looked smug again, damn him.

  “Looked like you were pretty far away there, princess. Where’d you go? Montmartre? Your apartment? Mine? The storage pantry? Wherever you just went, I was there with you. I could see me in your eyes. Touching you . . . I was there, wasn’t I?” he said softly into her ear as they both stood side by side watching couples dancing to a local country band.

  Her knees softened. Maybe it was the wine, she lied to herself and then finished the contents of her little plastic cup in one last gulp. “Very inappropriate,” her mother would have criticized. “Ladies never gulp.” Oh zip it, Bindi, Kara thought.

  “We were at my apartment, lunchtime, during Egg Week,” she said without a filter. It just slipped from her lips because he was right. He was there, touching her. She saw no point in pretending.

  Logan’s smile broadened, as he continued looking at the dance floor. He brushed his hand past hers, briefly touching her. “Yeah, I’ve replayed that one a few times.”

  She took in a deep breath and tried to collect herself. “I wasn’t replaying, it was only when you mentioned—”

  “Let’s dance.” Logan took her hand and they walked into to the area cordoned off with hay.

  It was a slow song, but she followed him and slid into his arms anyway. Maybe it was the farm or the lilting romantic sound of the fiddle or his shirt. Whatever it was, Kara wanted to stay right where she was. She was a young woman, an ordinary woman with a tiny glass of wine on an empty stomach, unless she counted the corn, dancing with a tall handsome man. She rested her cheek on his chest and did something she hadn’t done since Paris—she let Logan lead.

  “So are you and painted jeans dating?”

  Logan laughed and rested his head on top of hers.

  “No.”

  “Used to date then. There’s no way she hasn’t seen you naked, not with the look she was giving you before.”

  “Then you must have it too.”

  “Have what?”

  “The look. You’ve seen me naked, remember?”

  “I do.” She felt playful. “I have very clear memories when it comes to that particular subject, but I don’t have the look. I erased that a long time ago. It’s a dead giveaway and sort of an amateur move. Every woman knows you have to get rid of the look.”

  His chest rumbled harder. “You’re something else. I plead the fifth.”

  “Yeah, well she’s clearly still . . . into you.” Kara pulled back a bit to catch his eyes.

  “Pretty sure her boyfriend would disagree.” He gestured as they moved into a faster two-step and sure enough, painted jeans was wrapped around a large guy in a cowboy hat.

  “Oh, well, hopefully he doesn’t notice the look.”

  Logan laughed again, the song ended, and they both walked off the dance floor. It was dark now and the entire festival was lit by either bonfire or clear bulb lights that hung above from trees and between the barns.

  Jake appeared next to them with his own little plastic glass of wine.

  “You two looked good out there.” He kissed Kara on the cheek and nodded to Logan.

  Logan introduced himself and extended his hand.

  “Really good to meet you, I’m Jake.”

  They shook hands.

  “Glad you could make it.”

  “How many times has Eli been on the ponies?” Kara asked.

  “I’ve honestly lost count. We couldn’t get her off the black and white one the last time. I’m sure we will hear pleas for a pony all the way home.”

  “That’s great. Happy to help,” Logan joked.

  “Yeah, she and Cotton went to get some more kettle corn. It’s their second trip, although I’m pretty sure Eli’s fallen asleep on his shoulders.” Jake looked toward the food area. “This is an amazing place, Logan. Your family is great, too.”

  “Thanks, it can be a handful and so can they.”

  “Did you grow up here?”

  “Sure did. I’m a farm boy through and through.” He bumped Kara’s shoulder. She laughed and then caught herself, but by the time she looked back at Jake, he was already giving them both the “aren’t you two cute” look.

  “Okay, well I’ll leave guys to it. I’m thinking of trying out the bouncy thing. Can adults do that?”

  Logan and Kara laughed and Jake was gone.

  “He seems like a nice guy. Good friend?”

  “My one and only. Well and Grady, but he’s my brother.”

  “Jake is your only friend?”

  “Yup and Cotton, but that’s through marriage. Jake is a plumber.”

  “That guy in the sweater vest is a plumber?”

  “Yup, he gets that look a lot from people, but he’s actually very well respected. Third generation. He likes to tell people he’s a plumber without the coin slot.”

  Logan laughed, clearly getting the reference to plumbers’ frequent wardrobe malfunction.

  “We met when he came to give me a quote for some work on my house. He also did a lot of work in my backyard, all the plumbing when I was building my . . . I mean . . .”

  “Your what?”

  “Oh, nothing. I lost my train of thought there for a minute. Anyway, we met when he was working on my house. I love him; he’s family.” Kara walked toward one of the barns. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but her body followed his. She was so aware of his every move that it was almost painful, sort of like she had an itch out of reach and if she could just reach up a little farther . . .

  “Why do you only have one friend?�
�� Logan asked, picking up a cup that had been left on the ground and throwing it away.

  “My life is complicated.”

  Logan laughed. “What, like which car to drive?”

  His laughter grew louder and Kara was lost in it. She wanted to touch him, so she did. As soon has her hand made contact with his chest, her control slipped further. She tightened her hand on his shirt.

  “You know what you need, Logan Rye?”

  “Oh, we’re using last names now. What’s that, Kara Malendar? What is it I need?” He smiled and even though her face was pleasantly numb, the feel of his body, the tilt of his head, and the humor in his eyes, finished her off.

  She grabbed his shirt tighter and pulled him into the breezeway of the nearest barn. She was doing this. She was going to show him exactly what he needed, but by the time they were alone, her nerves chased away her fuzzy wine buzz. She chickened out, let go of his shirt, and they stood in the silent barn lit only by the glow of the outside festival.

  “Kiss me, Kara.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Stop looking at me like that. I can’t take it anymore. Make your move, or I will.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’m not looking at you any—”

  Logan took her arm, and then the other one, and pulled her into him. The words she thought she had were gone and she tried to steady her breath.

  “Here’s the thing. You look at me and I like it. I look at you too, but now I want to touch and so do you. It’s stupid, I know that.”

  “Why is it stupid?’

  “Because I’ll kiss you, taste you, and then you’ll destroy me. You’re like some huge storm that just rolled overhead.”

  “Did you just say I’m huge?”

  Logan grinned, heated and sexy. He was still holding on to her. “A hurricane—that’s what you are. Beautiful, out of nowhere, cool rains on a hot day, incredible storm. I want a closer look, I want to close my eyes and soak the whole damn thing in, but I should know better. There’s dust and wind. Shit, people get killed in hurricanes.”

  Kara had been around smooth talkers all her life, but Logan’s jumbled, breathy words as he ran his hands up her arms, were almost eloquent and he again pulled her closer as if that would somehow give him his next breath. He was so close, pushing her to admit things she wasn’t sure she could. She had far too many people in her life pushing her. At least with Logan, she could push back. She could try.

  “I am not a tornado, I’ll have you know that—”

  “Hurricane.”

  “What?”

  “I said you were a hurricane, not a tornado. Big difference.”

  “Whatever, I’m not that and while your ego clearly needs its own room right now, I have no intention of kissing you.”

  “Suit yourself.” He held the back of her neck, tilted his head.

  Her hands went to his chest and clung to him like magnets. She could feel his breath on her skin. His eyes narrowed and the deep gold was mesmerizing. Despite her very best efforts, Kara’s eyes fell to his lips: full, moist, and wanting. Logan seemed to settle in. Was he waiting for her to protest, to slap him? She was going to disappoint him then because she couldn’t move.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  “No.”

  Logan smiled and it reached his eyes. What was already sexy became an older, scarier version of familiar. She knew his lips, knew he would take her right out of her skin with the simple slide of his tongue. Kara brought her hands to his shoulders and allowed herself to feel the muscles beneath his shirt. A sigh escaped her lips. She wasn’t closing her eyes; she wasn’t about to be taken.

  “You close your eyes,” Kara instructed in a tone that almost disguised her racing heart.

  Logan licked his bottom lip, smiled, and closed his eyes. She noticed his lashes. They were bleached on the tips. He stood before her rough, worn, and yet a little vulnerable with his eyes closed. He was beautiful and Kara hesitated for a moment as she admired him.

  “Exactly how long do you want me to—” Logan’s words fell as Kara gently put her lips on the dip of his neck, the part at the end of the suntanned, corded muscle, and moved toward his shoulder. She could feel his pulse pounding.

  “Shhh.” She slid her other hand into his hair, kissed along his stubble-lined jaw, and then found herself at his mouth. The anticipation of his lips was unbearable. It hung in the air between them. She waited one more beat and as her own eyes softly closed, she heard him moan and she was ready to “make her move,” as he’d said. She kissed him and his arm snaked around her waist. Their lips strained and then Logan was taking over, driving the kiss. She let him. She knew better than to interfere.

  Unlike most men Kara had dated, Logan seemed perfectly happy to stay in the kiss forever. As he tilted her head for better access, her hazy mind acknowledged that nothing had changed between them. It was as if they had been transported back to Paris, standing in line at the Louvre on their day off, his fingers making tiny circles under the hem of her T-shirt. His hands had driven her so crazy that day. The same hands were now on her face and all she could do was hold on and move with his lips. Her fingers closed around the fabric of his shirt as he gave it his all. Good Lord, the man could kiss. Soft and then nipping. He seemed to love lips and tongues, her tongue in particular at the moment. She was about to surrender completely when he pulled back.

  “Shit,” he whispered, his lips barely off of her.

  Kara’s eyes flew open and she pulled away. In that moment, she demanded that every insecurity threatening to come bubbling to the surface stay right where it was. Maybe he didn’t feel what she felt. Maybe he was just screwing with her for leaving him. What the hell was she doing in a damn barn?

  This is not your life, she reminded herself, and now you’ve given him the upper hand, genius.

  She turned to walk out of the barn and Logan followed. They walked in silence for a few steps, nothing but hay and gravel crunching. She wanted the safety of her car. A full moon lit the entire farm and the crowds began making their way toward the front parking lot. Rows and rows of crops that seemed to go on forever were laid out in front of her as she walked toward the side entrance where she’d parked. It was magical, even though every instinct in her told her to leave. She could smell the smoke from the fires still burning at the festival. Taking off the shirt he had loaned her, she welcomed the shiver of the night air, recognized it as reality.

  Still walking, Kara handed the shirt back to Logan. He grabbed her instead and pulled her to the side of the barn.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” He kissed her again. This one felt reluctant and then frustrated.

  Their eyes met for one quick look, pooled in moonlight, and they went back under. When his hands moved down her back, Kara knew she needed to leave before she made a fool of herself. She yanked free.

  “I thought it was shit. Do you often go back for more shit?”

  Logan shook his head. “You honestly think I meant that kissing you was shit?”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Shit.’ Not exactly what a girl wants to hear.” Kara pushed the hair out of her face.

  “Pretty sure I’m never going to understand you, princess.” He followed her again as she approached the side gate.

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  “I know you did. Back to the kiss, ‘shit’ can mean a lot of things. It amazes me that someone who prances around like you do needs to have—”

  She turned on him, pushed his chest. It didn’t move. “I do not prance.”

  Logan lifted his finger to her lips. “A woman who carries herself like you do, as if any man on the planet would be lucky—”

  She’d had enough, interrupted him again, and continued walking. She was not going to stand there, moonlight or not, and have one more person tell her who she was and what she was lacking. Logan followed, but gave her space. When they reached the fence, he opened the gate for her and walked
the rest of the way to her car. Kara beeped the lock open, took the little purse she was carrying on her wrist, and threw it in the car. She steadied herself and turned to him.

  “Goodnight, Logan. Your family’s farm is . . . well, it’s truly lovely. I’ll have some great material to work with for the third piece of the article.”

  He nodded and held the door open as she got into her car. She turned the engine and he knocked on her window. She rolled it down.

  “Did you put your seatbelt on?”

  Kara scrunched her forehead in frustration and pulled the strap across her chest.

  “Good. Strapped in. Now, ‘shit’ can mean a lot of things. In this case, in my case, I would have gone with ‘holy shit,’ but forming two words at that moment was damn near impossible.”

  Their eyes met and Kara’s breathing eased down from angry.

  “‘Shit’ in that situation,” Logan continued, “meant I’m in trouble, or shit I’m on the edge of the storm and I just got knocked on my ass.” He bent down, rested his arms on her window. “I can’t figure you out, Kara Malendar, but kissing you . . . Hell, I could do that for at least a few days straight.”

  Kara wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She simply stared at him as he stood and patted the top of her car.

  “Night, Kara. Drive safe.” He started to walk away.

  “Hey.” She finally found her words.

  He turned back, still looking thoroughly kissed in the moonlight, and she smiled.

  “You’re shit too,” she said.

  Logan let out a full-bodied laugh and Kara realized she liked him—liked who he was as a person. Every part of her body wanted him, and that was wonderful, but above all he was a good man. Before she got out of the car and jumped him again, she drove home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kara knew it was only a matter of time before Jake would want some one-on-one time with Logan. When she reminded Jake that they had just met at the Fall Festival last week, he had countered with, “I know, but that wasn’t good question-and-answer time. Besides Cotton hasn’t met him yet.” The look on his face told Kara there was no point in arguing, which was why they were currently sitting in the large black leather corner booth at The Yard. Logan was busy, but Travis must have given him a breather because he came over to take their order and “chat,” as Jake liked to call it.