Hitched

by Pippa Grant

  “Later,” Ruthie May echoes, “but I still want details!”

  “Let’s just say we both finally ended up where we were supposed to be,” Blake says with a wink tossed over his shoulder.

  Ruthie May and Maud both swoon.

  “You think she bought it?” he murmurs as soon as we’re clear of the bakery and approaching his truck.

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” I say. “You’re very convincing.”

  “Why don’t you sound happier about that?”

  I look up at him. “Of course I’m happy about it. And so grateful. You’ve been flat out heroic today.”

  “You liked my breakfast sandwich that much, huh?” he asks in a flirty voice that I answer with a serious one.

  “Your breakfast sandwich was delicious, but I’m talking about bringing Chewy to the rescue. And listening hard enough last night to know that it was exactly the right thing to do. Most people wouldn’t have remembered that I mentioned the babies like Chewy. But you did.”

  “I listen when you talk.” He rests a hand at the small of my back, making my traitorous body hum all over. “You make me want to pay attention.”

  “And you make me want to say thank you with something better than words.”

  The confession slips out before I realize my traitorous tongue is flapping, so I punch the crosswalk button as an excuse to put distance between us.

  I can’t keep letting him touch me or I’m never going to make it through our marriage without climbing him like a tree. A really sexy tree. Every brush of his fingers over my skin is a wave sweeping onto the shore, eroding my resistance like grains of sand, helpless in the face of the tide.

  “Meet me for sandwiches at the Kennedy Family Day School at six?” I ask as we cross the street toward his truck and the big trailer, where Chewy is already tucked safely inside. “I should have my surprise sorted by then.”

  “I thought you were going to let me cook for you.”

  “I think you deserve a treat tonight, and since my cooking is far from something to write home about, I’m going to treat you to a Kennedy School feast.” I stop by the trailer’s gate to open it and let Honey scamper inside to take the ride home with her favorite Uncle Chewpaca. As expected, she practically dances over to meet him, wagging all over, probably telling him all about her harrowing adventure in the land of UnderDaBakeryBooth.

  I count the goats, and breathe a sigh of relief.

  We have them all. Thank goodness. And George is gone, leaving a mess that the yoga class is almost finished picking up.

  “I like your cooking, but I’ll take a gourmet sandwich treat too.” Blake puts an arm around my waist. I start to pull away, but he leans in, murmuring into my ear. “Better kiss me, Mrs. O’Dell. Our shadow is over by the playground.”

  “Oh,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, more relieved for the excuse to give in to the chemistry simmering between us than I should be. And then we kiss, and I’m even more grateful. And warm. Tingling all over, my soul dancing in my chest just like Honey danced, because that’s what we do when we’re close to someone special.

  We tingle and soar and dance.

  Sometimes without moving a muscle.

  “See you at six.” He presses a final kiss to my temple that makes me spin a little higher.

  “See you then.” I turn to walk away, so dazed that I don’t think to look toward the playground until I’m halfway to my truck.

  When I do, there’s no sign of Dean.

  I spin back to Blake to find him watching me go with a shameless grin. I prop my hands on my hips, feigning anger, but he just laughs—a head tossed back, throat exposed laugh that makes me want to run back and bite him in the sexy way—before saluting me and sauntering toward the driver’s seat.

  He’s made the same gesture countless times, but today, it feels different.

  Today, I feel different.

  And tonight, I’m going to show him.

  Fifteen

  Blake

  * * *

  She’s all I can think about the rest of the day, even while I’m trying to enjoy hanging out with Clint, who has no qualms about razzing me about my wife.

  But I don’t care.

  Every minute until I get to see her again crawls by with aching slowness. Like watching paint dry in a monsoon.

  I want her so fucking much.

  And not just her body—though I want that too. Desperately. But I also crave her company, her smile, and her trust. Most of all I want a sliver of her faith, just enough to convince her that we should give this till-death-do-us-part thing a real shot. If I can get her to believe in me, in us, even a little bit, I know I can carry us both the rest of the way.

  I’m at the Kennedy Family Day School, an old school that kept its name when the new owners turned it into a general store and restaurant, ten minutes early, eager as hell and not ashamed to show it, but I’ve barely settled into a rocker on the porch when Lizzie, the owner, sticks her head out the screen door. “Hey, Blake. Hope was just here.”

  My welcoming smile morphs into a brow pinch as I glance down at my watch.

  “Oh, no, you’re not late,” Lizzie says, pushing through the door, a picnic basket hanging from one arm. “She was early. And she’s got plans for you.” She glances pointedly at the basket. “She ordered all your favorites and told me to tell you to meet her at your tasting room.” She winks. “I guess she’s in the mood for wine, good food, and some alone time with her hubby. Can’t say I blame her.”

  Alone time.

  Damn, that sounds good, and the hope filtering into my chest feels even better.

  Maybe my reluctant bride is coming around.

  And maybe tonight will be the night I finally get to show her how much she means to me.

  I wouldn’t object to spending several devoted hours worshipping every inch of her perfect self.

  Operation: Real Romance is about winning her over heart, mind, and soul first, but physical intimacy is a part of that too. When I finally get to make love to her again, I’m going to make sure she realizes I’m in this with every part of me.

  “Thank you,” I say, accepting the basket and backing toward the porch steps. “We’ll probably be back for cinnamon rolls tomorrow morning.”

  Lizzie laughs. “Aren’t you even going to check and see what she ordered for you guys?”

  “Nope,” I say cheerfully, beeping open the truck. “Whatever it is, the sooner I get to my girl, the better it will taste.”

  I slide into the cab, setting the basket in the passenger’s seat. It’s not easy, but I force myself to go slow until I reach the edge of the Day School’s gravel lot and pull onto the narrow country highway. And then I put the pedal to the metal, racing through the golden evening light to get to my wife.

  Ten minutes later, I’m parking beside Hope’s truck outside my brand-new and sadly as-yet-unused tasting room. It’s built of Georgia pine, so fresh it still smells incredible. You can catch a whiff of it from the parking lot, clean and crisp, like a splash of gin in a warm wooden cup.

  I had that once, with Clint, who started drinking it that way after one of his deployments. He’s been all over the world, my baby brother. I used to be a little jealous, but lately it feels like everything I could ever want is right here in Happy Cat. It was so good to spend the afternoon walking my vineyards with him today, and I can’t wait for the bachelor party tomorrow night, but much as I love and miss my brother, right now there’s only one person I’m truly dying to see.

  I bound up the stairs, picnic basket in hand and a smile on my face, even before Hope opens the door wearing a tight pair of jeans I haven’t seen before—but which I like, a lot, a whole lot—and a white buttonless blousy top sheer enough that I can just make out the outline of her bra through the cotton.

  It’s a lace bra and one of those half-sized cups that do more plumping than covering, and it’s damn hard to rip my gaze away from her chest.

  “See something you li
ke?” she asks.

  “Um, yes. Very much,” I say, biting my lip as my face goes hot. Fuck. Caught in the act.

  “Which one?”

  “Uh…” I frown. It’s an unexpected question, but I’m game. “I don’t know. I guess I’d have to see them both up close to be sure.”

  She circles her arm. “Then come on in and let’s unwrap them.”

  I frown harder. “Unwrap them?”

  “The sandwiches,” she says, cocking her head with a chuckle. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  I grin harder, and my grin isn’t the only thing feeling hard. “The sandwiches. What else?”

  I step past her, taking in the orange sleeping bag spread out in the middle of the floor, in between the two tasting bars and the two communal tables, where I have dreams of pouring drinks for as many as twelve people at a time if my license is ever approved.

  “I set up an indoor picnic.” She bites her lip like she’s afraid I won’t like it. Or possibly like she’s afraid of something else. “It’s nice enough to have it outdoors, but fewer bugs in here, and I thought maybe we could open a bottle of wine to celebrate.”

  I turn to her, relief and sadness rushing through me in equal measure. I’m glad Chewy’s safe, but I’m not ready for this marriage to be over, not by a long shot. “So Kyle signed the paperwork?”

  Her brow furrows before she shakes her head with another laugh. “Oh, no. No, he didn’t. He’s still being a dick, and I’m pretty sure Dean was trying to take pictures through the kitchen curtains today with one of those long telephoto lenses. Guess he really wanted a snapshot of me sneaking a mid-day hot chocolate as reward for getting all the baby goats back to their mamas in one piece.”

  “I’ll break that for him when we get home.” Anger strikes in my chest like a match catching. “Teach him an important lesson about respecting a woman’s privacy.”

  She waves a hand through the air. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just get some thicker curtains in there. Ones that will stay closed.” She smiles. “I don’t want to think about Dean or Kyle. This is a celebration night. Rick is going to feed all the animals for me so we can linger as long as we want.”

  “Sounds amazing.” I set the picnic basket down on the edge of the sleeping bag, admiring the fresh cut flowers she’s placed in a mason jar in the center. “This is beautiful, by the way.”

  “It’s just a sleeping bag and some wildflowers. I didn’t have time for much more by the time I got done running errands.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I insist, holding her gaze, hoping she knows I’m talking about so much more than the flowers.

  She bites her lip again and glances away with a grin, and I can’t help feeling a little proud of myself for making her blush.

  “So what are we celebrating if not alpaca freedom?” I ask, stepping closer.

  Her gaze returns to mine, the light in her eyes enough to stop my heart. Thankfully, her smile restarts it again with a firm tha-dump as she says, “Why don’t you pour us a glass of wine and I’ll tell you.”

  “All right.” I nod, clapping my hands together as I start toward the bar on the left. “What are you in the mood for? White, red, or pink? We can open something to start and I can always grab something else if we decide our first choice doesn’t pair well with the food.”

  “Ooo la la, so fancy.” She slides up to the customer side of the bar as I step behind it, grabbing a wine key and placing it on the smooth wooden top. “Pink, I think. That’s the one in the little fridge, right?”

  “Yeah. And good choice. Most people look down on a pink wine, but the new ones are floral and fruity without being too sweet.” I turn, reaching for the fridge handle. “And this one is…” My hand drops to my side and my words trail away as I see the framed paper sitting atop the fridge. I spin back to Hope, my stomach going tight. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She smiles and claps her hands. “Surprise! You’re ready to open for business, Mr. O’Dell.”

  “Oh my god.” I release the breath I’ve been holding for the past two months, as it began to look like I might never be approved to serve liquor as long as Gary was head of the Department of Revenue. Or, as I’d come to think of it lately, the Department of Fuck-With-You. “Thank you. So much.” I jog around the bar, pulling her into my arms for a hug.

  “You’re so wel—” Her words become a squeak as I lift her off her feet, swinging her in a circle before setting her back down and pressing an impulsive kiss to her cheek.

  “No, seriously,” I say in a softer voice as that electricity that’s never far away when we’re together crackles to life between us. “I appreciate this so much.”

  “Well, you were my hero today. It only seemed right to return the favor.” She sways closer as I wrap my arms more tightly around her waist. “And I did make a few vows the other day.”

  My heart pitter-patters again at the mention of our vows.

  Does she mean it?

  That our vows meant something to her?

  Is she finally seeing me? Trusting me?

  “Blake?” she whispers while I search her beautiful brown eyes with the soft honey flecks, looking for a deeper meaning to her words.

  “Yes, my lady-hero?”

  “Kiss me?”

  That’s one request I will never—ever—deny her. Never again.

  I cradle her head while I lower my lips to hers, intending to make every moment count tonight. I don’t want to just make love to her body.

  I want to make love to her heart.

  To her mind.

  To her soul.

  I want this kiss, this touch, this press of our bodies, to show her that I’m here.

  Forever and always.

  Whatever she needs. Whenever she needs it.

  Her fingers smooth up my shoulders to tease through my hair while I make a leisurely exploration of her mouth, coaxing low, happy hums from her throat while our tongues glide together, teasing and savoring instead of clashing.

  She pulls me deeper into the kiss, and I follow, because I’ll go anywhere with this woman.

  She’s had my heart since that moment in Vegas when she lifted sad eyes to mine and asked if I wanted to sit with a loser who couldn’t finish what she started.

  We’d been friends in high school, pretty good ones—attending the same float trips and lock-ins with various clubs—but I’d never seen her with her guard down. Never seen capable Hope St. Claire so vulnerable. I’d instantly wanted to fix everything for her, to be the reason she found her happiness again.

  I’d wanted to make her smile—just once, to prove that there was still good in the world and she could find it.

  That kiss though—that first kiss.

  It was like my first sip of good wine.

  Life-changing. Paradigm-shifting.

  And I know she felt it too. We’d only had a couple of drinks at that point. It was the kisses—not the booze—that inspired her proposal mere hours later.

  This kiss is the same.

  No holding back. No worries about the past or the future.

  Just the two of us, connecting so raw and deep that I feel her touch all the way to my marrow. She tugs on my tee, and I slip my hands under her top.

  Her skin on my skin is just— It’s like wine made from grapes grown on my own land, so singularly sweet, unique, and hard-won that I could never mistake them for anything other than mine.

  Just like her.

  And I only want more.

  Her hands flatten over my stomach, and I break the kiss just long enough to pull my tee over my head while she dips her head and licks my chest.

  “Hope,” I gasp.

  “Do me next,” she orders.

  I don’t have to be asked twice, and I’m smiling while I grip the edges of her wispy shirt and lift it over her head.

  “Peach,” I say, tracing the edge of that glorious lace bra.

  My tongue follows my fingers, and I let the sound of her ragged breath be my guide,
taking liberties with lowering her bra straps while I lick every inch of her breasts above the cups.

  She arches her chest up, offering me more, her hands gripping my hair and holding me right where I am. “Blake,” she gasps, “take it off.”

  In a wink, I’ve unhooked her bra, and her breasts come free, those pert rosy nipples just begging for kisses.

  “So damn beautiful,” I murmur. “I’ve missed you two.”

  A breathy laugh slips through her lips. “They’ve missed you too.”

  I graze my teeth over her nipple, and her knees buckle. “Blake.”

  “I’ve got you, baby.” I help her to the sleeping bag and lay her on her back, kissing and stroking and indulging in that fantasy of loving her slowly all over.

  Taking my time.

  Learning her body again.

  Whispering her name, letting her direct me, I help her out of those tight jeans and her matching peach lace panties, kissing my way down her legs, and back up again, until I’m worshipping her between her legs with my tongue. Her gasps get higher, her breath more ragged, until my bride comes undone with my name on her lips.

  “I missed this pussy,” I murmur as I kiss my way back up her body.

  “She missed your mouth,” she confesses shyly.

  “Just my mouth?”

  “So much more than just your mouth.” She’s barely speaking above a whisper now, like the words are physically painful, and I want to promise her I’ll never hurt her ever again.

  That I’ll only make her feel good. Protect her and her animals.

  Be the man she needs.

  I don’t know what’s holding her back, but I’ll love her until she’s willing to tell me. And then whatever it is, I’ll keep loving her.

  I can’t imagine ever not loving this woman again.

  “Did she miss my Dildo Shaggins?” I whisper.

  Hope laughs, her skin glowing, her eyes taking on a sparkle again. “You’re way better than Dildo Shaggins.”

  “I don’t know, he might have a quarter inch on me.”

  She pushes me onto my back and reaches for my button. “But you’re so much thicker than he is,” she says, reaching into my pants and stroking my aching cock, which is now preening under her praise too.