Damn, he’s good.
How did he know I needed this so much?
And why is he so happy to give it to me?
His forefinger found her clit hard and ready, and he answered its subtle call by rubbing in circles that slowly increased in pressure and speed. Harriet’s hips were no longer under her own body’s control it seemed; she thrust into him, against him, around him, and grabbed his massive shoulders.
Fuck, his muscles were iron. Smooth, taut, hard. Just like his entire freaking body at that very moment. She’d never been with such a physically attractive man—and here he was, hard and on top of her and ready to make love to her all night long with that incredible body.
He moved his finger from her clit, making her sigh unhappily, but he replaced the digit with a thumb and then slid three fingers into her tight, wet walls.
Harriet loudly cried his name. She’d whispered it several times already that evening, but this time his name was pulled from her very depths in a long, guttural moan which he smothered with a long kiss, his tongue tracing the soft contours of her lips. And during that kiss, Goose kept his hand at work. He put his thumb down hard on her nub and moved in slow circles, drawing her toward her peak. Her breaths came in heaves, and Harriet felt herself clenching around him as the tension in her body increased until she came hard on his hand.
And this time Goose wasn’t quick enough to stifle her voice as she called out his name.
Harriet arched her back and clung to his broad shoulders as her orgasm ripped through the very core of her being. After several wonderful, ecstatic seconds, she relaxed and collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closed and nearly unconscious.
It had been that good. He’d nearly knocked her out.
Just with his hands.
* * *
He held her to him, her head on his chest and her long dark hair splayed across her shoulders and down her back. Harriet’s light breaths betrayed that she’d fallen asleep, and for the second time that night Goose was looking at his own sleeping beauty. He had no idea how long he watched her before she stirred awake, and when her eyes opened, Harriet’s reaction to seeing him was markedly different from the one she displayed on the porch.
She smiled.
And in that moment, he knew he’d fallen for her. His entire world had shifted. How had she done that? And of all women, why her and why now? Was he finally growing up, shrugging off the craziness of the past? Or was this the natural culmination of years of attraction?
It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know those answers, didn’t need to analyze it.
All he needed was her.
She put her hand on his face and stroked his cheek with her thumb. “All those rejections I gave you…,” she said, almost reading his mind.
He brushed the hair from her face. “And yet here we are. A wish granted, a dream come true.”
Her smiled vanished. “Wish? Dream?”
“It’s certainly been my dream to be with you, Harriet—just to go out with you on a date would’ve been spectacular. Hell, I never thought I’d even get you to have coffee and pie with me at The Windmill much less—” he stammered, and briefly glanced down at their naked bodies.
“I have a hard time believing I’m a dream come true.”
“You’re any man’s dream come true.”
Wrong thing to say.
“My fiancé—my ex-fiancé—certainly didn’t think that,” she choked out.
He wiped her tears away with the edge of his thumb. “No, no tears tonight. Not now, not like this, not in this instant. Because your ex was dead wrong—and so are you, Harriet Hensley. You are a dream come true. You’re my dream, at least for tonight. Let me show you—no, let me share it.”
He kissed her and rolled her onto her back, taking care to go slowly as he sensed her sadness and hoping she wouldn’t be consumed by dismal memories. But her grief seemed dissolved by his attentions, and soon her hands were roaming over his body as her tongue swept into his mouth. He pulled back, staring at her in determined amazement. How could this beautiful woman think so little of herself?
Goose’s head dipped to Harriet’s chest, where he devoured her breasts while moving a hand lower to slowly stroke her. His lips traced a line from her mouth to her folds, and he delighted in the moans she made as he tasted and pleasured her. She was so wonderfully wet, and he could wait no longer. And neither could she. Her hips ground against him in need, and he was ready to answer that call.
He reached for a condom, opened it, and sheathed it upon himself. Hovering above her, Goose paused to remember her face—calm but eager and yet still tainted with sorrow.
He slipped into her. The soft sigh she emitted chilled him, and for a moment he thought he might cry. But when she wound her long legs around his waist, his animal instinct took over and he thrust deep. His rhythm increased, and to his surprise, she matched his passion. Harriet’s hips met his, and he found he had to slow himself as he was peaking fast. But even as she kept her gaze determinedly fixed on his face, Harriet didn’t stop her movements, and soon she cried out, spasming around him. The sight and sensation of her climax undid him; in the next second he came, and a primal, harsh growl was ripped from his lungs.
With his head resting on her shoulder, Goose fought for breath. He rolled away, their bodies no longer joined, and he hurried to the bathroom. Back in seconds, he scooped her into his arms, finding Harriet once again barely awake.
“Sweet, sweet dreams,” he whispered against her forehead before they both tumbled into sleep.
4
It was morning and she was—
Where the hell am I?
Harriet blinked and images slowly came into focus; a spring dawn was brightening the room. She lingered at the edge of consciousness until something fully pushed her back into the land of the living.
Behind her, she heard a grunt, and she became very aware of a thick, heavy arm around her waist.
And a large male body snuggled up right behind her.
Make that a large naked male body.
Goose.
I slept with Goose Davenport.
As she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms a few hours earlier, she’d had fleeting thoughts about how this moment would unfold.
The moment she woke up after a roll in the hay with the baddest boy in Craig County.
She didn’t feel any regret and was relieved for that. If anything, she was quite content and happy—yet confused.
Because something was wrong with this picture.
Harriet picked through her sleep-deprived and mildly hungover brain and tried to suss out the thing that seemed amiss.
When Goose gave a little twitch, she realized he was the thing out of place.
Because when she’d envisioned The Morning After, Goose hadn’t appeared in that part of the story. Harriet had imagined that in the wee hours he’d leave her sleeping, slipping away into the dark morning after their one-night stand.
A very satisfying—emotionally and physically—hookup, granted.
But still a hookup. No strings. No ties. Just memories and good-byes.
Yet Goose was holding onto her as though for life. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck and found herself wishing he would awaken and replace the soft rushes of his respiration against her back with his lips.
She tried to move and roll over, thinking her actions would surely rouse him.
Instead, he tightened his arm around her so she could barely move.
“Goose,” she whispered and placed her arm lightly across his. “Are you awake?”
He responded by granting her wish. Goose began to kiss the nape of her neck and loosened his arm around her torso.
“I’m awake,” he mumbled as he planted little kisses on her neck. “And it would seem you are too.”
Harriet rolled over, free from his overly amorous clutches, and he pulled her into a long, tender kiss.
She liked this kind of Morning After.
* * *
“Good morning,” he said and laughed. He could tell his kiss left her breathless.
Again.
It had been a very, very good night.
The best ever for him.
How do you tell a woman something like that after your first time together and not sound like an emotionally manipulative asshole?
First time.
Hopefully not the only time.
His thoughts and feelings astounded him, thrilled him, terrified him.
Because he’d never woken up with a woman like this.
In his arms, pressed against him.
Not wanting to let her go.
Not just thinking about the next sexual encounter; that kind of daydreaming was easy, common, expected.
He wanted Harriet, but not just in the physical, sexual way he had always wanted women.
Why was this different? Because he’d wanted her for years, but never thought he’d be with her like this? Because someone so wonderful had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her?
“Want to go get some breakfast?” he asked, kissing her nose.
“I think I’d rather order in, if you don’t mind.” She moved against his erection.
His eyes grew big in wonder.
“Damn, I like the way you think,” he said before kissing her again, this time with more passion and longer than the simple wake-up kiss they had shared.
Harriet draped a leg over his hip, her invitation unmistakable. He was already hard again, and she slipped a hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around him. Inhaling sharply, he closed his eyes, surrendering to Harriet’s touch before moving his own hand to her folds. He found her clit already taut and ready for his caresses, and he slowly moved his thumb in circles as he slipped a few fingers into her. Harriet moaned, released him, and fell back against the bed, her leg sliding off his body.
In this light, he had the best view of her form since before they had fallen into bed together and she had given him the honor of simply drinking in the sight of her naked body before making love to her.
The faint but increasing morning light cast a warm glow over Harriet’s flushed skin. Goose savored how he was giving her such pleasure by his own hand and with such ease. Her responsiveness to him amazed him; she seemed to crave not the sensation he gave her, which was intense and joyfully lustful, but rather his touch. He noticed that she tried to keep her eyes open and on his face as he touched her most intimate places.
“Goose…” she moaned. He heard the desperation and summons in her voice.
He smiled, slipped his hands from her wetness, and turned to the table beside the bed.
No more condoms.
He got up from the bed, leaving Harriet panting and quivering, ready for him, to search his wallet.
Nope. They’d used up his stash.
“Sorry,” he sighed.
“It’s okay.” She pulled the thin sheet over herself, disappointment evident on her face.
“No, it’s not,” he said, moving back to the bed. “I got you all worked up. Least I can do is put you out of your misery.”
“But… we don’t have…,” she stuttered as he swept back the sheet to reveal her body.
He held out his hand and smiled. “Shower time.”
Harriet laughed, took his hand, and he pulled her from the bed.
* * *
Taking a shower with Goose was quite the experience.
He’d made her come almost immediately—she’d barely stepped into the spray of the water before his hands were on her and in her once again. He’d already primed her for such a quick climax, and she had fallen into his arms, hoping she wouldn’t slip out of them since she had trouble standing up on her own power after such an intense orgasm.
And of course it was no problem at all getting Goose off. She’d stood behind him and pumped him, his hand wrapped around hers to signal just how quick and hard he wanted it.
After the shower, they ordered room service and sat at the table by the window overlooking the creek eating pancakes with blueberry-bourbon syrup.
“Mmmm,” she intoned and closed her eyes as she took a bite. Harriet was wearing one of the white terrycloth robes she’d found in the bathroom; it had The Cooperage’s logo embroidered over the left front chest. A little card in one of the pockets had kindly informed her that if she took the robe, there would be an extra $200 charge added to her bill—well, Linsey’s bill. Nice robe, but not that nice.
Goose was in the shirt and pants from his tux. He said he’d texted the friend in whose room he had left his regular clothes and asked him to drop them off at the sheriff’s station in town.
“Like these pancakes?” he asked.
“I love them. I’ve not had these here before, even though I’ve been to The Cooperage plenty of times for their Sunday brunch. Must be a new thing.”
“I could do better than this.” He forked a big chunk of the fluffy cakes and stuffed it into his mouth.
“What do you mean?
“I happen to be a decent cook. Had an excellent teacher.”
“Really? You cook?”
“Not really seeing that, are you? The big burly guy who cooks?”
“Something like that,” she admitted. A lot of illusions about this man had been completely shattered in just a few hours, although he’d certainly lived up to his reputation in the sexual prowess department. “So who’s your teacher?”
“My mom. Learned everything from her. I think she always wanted a little girl so she could teach her how to cook. But when that didn’t happen and she was left with rough old me, she decided I’d get the benefit of her knowledge.”
“I’m having a hard time seeing you as a good student.”
“I wasn’t at first. But she finally told me something that convinced me it was a good idea to learn.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That I should not only learn how to cook, but to cook well. That by doing so, I’d—” He stopped short.
“What?”
“Make a good impression,” he admitted.
“So will you cook for me sometime?” Harriet sat back in her chair, crossed her legs under the robe, and brought her coffee cup to her lips. The robe was too big for her and falling off her shoulders. As a result, the smooth space between her breasts was fully exposed to him, although her nipples were still concealed under a fluffy white cocoon.
“You bet I will. Next time, that’s what we’ll do. Name the date and time. My place or yours. Doesn’t matter.”
“You—you want a next?” She nearly dropped her coffee cup.
“Don’t you?” he asked, sounding hurt. “And by a next time, I’m not talking about that,” he said, pointing to the bed.
She stared openmouthed at him over her coffee.
He wanted her, and not for only one night.
And damned if she didn’t want him too.
“Yes,” Harriet replied, knowing what they were saying to each other. “I do want a next.”
* * *
Harriet was giddy on Monday morning. But it wasn’t a new job that had her all happy.
It was because she was in some serious like with Goose Davenport.
After breakfast and another round of heavy petting, they had parted ways with contact info and mutual promises of seeing each other again, and soon. Goose had been eager to cook for her that night, Sunday, but she’d begged off, pointing out that she was starting a new job the next day and would need to get some rest.
Because even though Goose had claimed he hadn’t been merely talking about getting together again for sex, Harriet wasn’t stupid. If they saw each other again so quickly, she knew they’d end up in bed together all night. And sleep deprived and sexed up wasn’t the best way to start a new job, especially in a small town like Bourbon Springs.
And especially since no one knew she’d slept with Goose. That was going to be an awkward conversation to have with friends and family.
Guess what? I’m goin
g out with Goose Davenport, the sheriff’s deputy and locally known nutjob who’s probably slept with more women than I have pairs of shoes.
The guy who wants to cook a meal for me and says he’s not doing it to get in my pants.
The guy who I think is actually sexy, sweet, cute, and pretty damned special.
Had he already gone around bragging about what had happened between them? As soon as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer was no. When they’d parted, he’d been so eager to see her again; he wouldn’t risk that chance and her wrath by telling tales about their intimacy. The fact that they were a couple would eventually come out, but hopefully in a quiet manner, like a date at The Windmill or running an errand together at the grocery or hardware store.
Harriet tried to put Goose out of her mind as she arrived for her first day of work. Her new office was in an old home on Main Street in Bourbon Springs, just one short block from the courthouse. To make a good impression on her first day, Harriet had worn her most boring, basic, and conservative suit: black with a long, full skirt and medium-length heels. She was tall, around five eight, so she didn’t want the heels for their height, and she certainly didn’t need them for comfort.
“Here you go,” said Jon Buckler as he opened a door into what was to be her new office.
It was not much more than a closet with windows, but it was still better than a damn cubicle at the auditor’s office.
Jon, a year or so older than her, was another Bourbon Springs local who’d practiced at Colyard and Borden for around two years. No longer the new kid, he seemed happy to finally have an attorney in the office who could be considered his junior.
But even though she was on the lowest rung of the firm ladder, Harriet still had nice digs.
Her office, although minuscule, was on a corner of the building on the third floor. She had three windows, allowing abundant natural light to flow into the room, and an old desk was positioned to face the door as one entered. Sitting at that desk, she would have a view out the two windows to her left and be able to see the tall, pointed roof and cupola of the Craig County Courthouse.
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