Much Ado About You

by Samantha Young

  It surprised me that his parents hadn’t updated the place.

  Shadow led us to our right, and we stepped into a large, lovely farm kitchen. The ceilings were low for two tall people but just high enough to stop Roane from smacking his head. It appeared as if the kitchen had been updated sometime in the last twenty years. The cabinetry was of the farmhouse style and painted a pale green with bronze handles. An island with a sink sat in the center of the room, while a countertop ran along the back wall, where one large wood-framed window let light in. On the opposite side of the island was a six-seater table situated between the two small wood-framed windows on the front of the house.

  But the most eye-catching aspect of the room was the end wall. A huge brick chimney opening took up the entire length of it to accommodate a stunning ceramic farmhouse stove.

  It was a cook’s kitchen and I loved it. Even though I wasn’t much of a chef. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still clung to the air, and I sighed happily. “This kitchen is amazing.”

  “Aye, it’s a good family kitchen. Great place to cook. Caro comes out to bake here sometimes.”

  On the left side of the house was a large family sitting room. Again, I was bemused by the old-fashioned wallpaper and dark wood. The only sign of Roane’s influence in the room was the seventy-inch flat-screen television and the dark leather sofa and armchairs.

  Overall, I’d say the house needed a little lightening, a little touch of femininity perhaps.

  The smell, however, I would not change. There was no denying this was Roane’s home. His woodsy, citrusy, ocean-layered scent was in every room we walked through. I wanted to rub myself against that scent so that I would take it with me.

  Aware of Roane’s eyes on me as I took in his surroundings, I turned to him, crossing my arms over my chest. Embarrassment flooded me at the idea of his knowing my thoughts, and I asked a little snappishly, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He just smiled. Softly. Tenderly. “I like you here.”

  At his sweet confession, I felt my cheeks heat.

  I liked me here too.

  Too much for my own good.

  The temptation to give in to my attraction to Roane was great, and my willpower was weakening by the second.

  “It’s, uh . . . it is a tad warm in here. Isn’t there something I could help you do today . . . outside?”

  He studied me a moment, expression unreadable, then he nodded. “Aye. We need to bring the rest of the sheep in out of this heat and into the hoop house. It needs to be done in shifts. You can help Shadow and me herd them.”

  In all the time I’d known Roane and Shadow, it had never occurred to me that Shadow was a working dog. “Wait, Shadow herds sheep? I thought border collies were the best for sheep farming.”

  “They are.” Roane rubbed Shadow’s head affectionately as we wandered out of the sitting room to the porch to put our boots back on. “And Danes aren’t the go-to for it. But I trained Shadow. He’s a big gentle giant and knows when to stop being playful and get down to business.”

  And that was how I spent my afternoon. I wasn’t particularly helpful as we drove out to the fields in a high-bed, high-sided truck with Bobby. The truth was, all I really did was stand there and enjoy watching Roane as he and Bobby unlatched the ramp on the truck so the sheep could climb up into it. Shadow and Roane herded a flock up the ramp onto the truck, while I kept an eye out for any strays.

  We then drove back to the second hoop house and unloaded the sheep, only to drive back to the fields to load up more.

  It was slow work, and I could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down between my breasts. Roane’s T-shirt was soon soaked through like Bobby’s, with damp patches across his back and under his arms.

  Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was weeks of denying myself, but my body was tingling and throbbing with need as I watched Roane at work. I found myself mesmerized by the beads of sweat that trickled down the back of his neck, and the way the muscles in his biceps flexed as he helped Bobby fix the ramp to the truck.

  The veins in his forearms held particular appeal.

  I was in a state.

  Slick with sweat and need, throbbing deep in my core.

  When we got back to the hoop house and unloaded the last of the sheep, my thighs were damp, and my limbs were trembling. After counting the sheep, they realized there were three not accounted for, so Bobby took off to find the strays that had wandered away from the larger flocks.

  Roane, completely unaware of how he was affecting me, cursed under his breath once the sheep were behind the pens, and whipped off the T-shirt that was sticking to every inch of his torso.

  My jaw hit the floor as he strode past me, oblivious, and bent toward an old-fashioned water pump that I hadn’t even noticed situated by the side of the house. He ducked his head under it, yanking on the pump handle, the movement making his muscles known.

  When he stood, he flicked his head, water flying off the ends of his unruly thick hair.

  I think I might have moaned.

  It was like watching Darcy coming out of that pond or Poldark cutting the fields with his scythe.

  Was I drooling? I felt like I might be drooling.

  Roane bent down under the metal channel beneath the pump, pulled out a water bowl, and began to fill it. Shadow was already at his side, waiting for the offering, and eagerly bent to the bowl when Roane put it down for him.

  When Roane straightened, he looked toward the hoop house, his brow furrowed as if he was contemplating something.

  And I ogled.

  He wasn’t roped and ripped the way a man who had time for visits to the gym might have been. No, he was something better. Although broad shouldered, Roane was lean and muscular from daily physical activity on the farm. Plus, he wasn’t waxed to an inch of his life. There was a fine sprinkling of hair over his chest, and he had a happy trail.

  I hummed under my breath.

  He was sexy and strong without making me feel bad about my own lack of gym visits.

  Roane was what Greer called “naturally manlicious.”

  A deep tug low in my belly made me bite my lip to stop a moan, and despite the heat, I felt a familiar tightening in my breasts.

  Then he looked at me.

  Roane’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared at whatever he saw in my expression. His face darkened with heat, and I hungrily watched a droplet of water take a path down the center of his chest, stomach, and then disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  “Oh, screw it.” I ran.

  Actually ran.

  I threw myself into his arms with the intention of locking our lips together.

  Unfortunately, Roane wasn’t expecting my assault, and the water from the pump had turned the dirt under his feet soft and slippery.

  As his arms closed around me, the impact of my body forced his back and his feet out from under him.

  Roane landed on the ground with a pained groan, the impact made all the worse because the weight of my body flattened him.

  “Oh my God.” I scrambled on top of him, my hands moving off his chest to brace on either side of his head. His handsome face was strained as he blinked up at me, apparently disoriented. “Are you okay?”

  After a second of humiliating silence, Roane’s hands suddenly tightened on my waist and he rolled, pushing me to the ground. The water from the pump seeped into my tank top, but I couldn’t care less. Roane Robson was braced over me, half-naked, his gaze hot and searching. “Are we about to have sex?” he asked bluntly.

  The question set my heart to racing.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  His grin was immediate and oh so wicked. “Then, aye, angel. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.”

  Seventeen

  Roane jumped to his feet with more grace than a big guy like him should have
been capable of and then bent down to haul me to my feet. Without a word, he grabbed me by the wrist and began marching us into the house. Shadow barked and followed us inside, and Roane paused momentarily to push the kitchen door open. “In, boy,” he directed, closing the door on Shadow, who gave another bark of disgruntlement.

  Roane glanced at me. “It’s cool in there for him.”

  I could only nod.

  My heart was thundering in my chest, and my already sweat-slicked body was burning now from the inside.

  Something voracious and sexual flashed in Roane’s eyes, and suddenly he was running up the stairs and I was hurrying to catch up with him. It was only then I realized we were both still wearing our dirty Wellington boots.

  Not that we cared. It was the last thing on our minds.

  He led me down a dark, narrow corridor and into what I surmised was the master bedroom at the front of the house. It was surprisingly light compared to the rest of the house. There was no heavy floral wallpaper in here. It was all pale gray walls, his large bed covered with dark gray linen.

  The two small windows let light pour into the room.

  It was stuffy and hot, and made me want to rip my clothes off even more than I already did.

  Roane stopped by the side of the bed, turning to me, pulling me close until the length of our bodies pressed together. His hands coasted leisurely up and down my back, while his beautiful eyes searched my face.

  “You sure this is what you want?” he asked, but before I could answer, his caresses stopped and his voice became gruff when he confessed, “Because this isn’t just sex for me, Evie. I want us to take a chance on each other, for real. And if you can’t do that, you need to walk away now.” His hands suddenly pushed deeper into my back, holding me tighter, closer, the gesture at odds with his words.

  I trembled in his arms, despite the heat, a shiver tickling down my spine. I knew Roane. I knew that it would never just be sex for him. He wasn’t that guy. And he didn’t look at me like a guy who just wanted one thing.

  He looked at me like a guy who wanted everything.

  It was seductive, compelling, and despite all my concerns about how a relationship might derail me from working out my future plans, I couldn’t deny myself him anymore. Hadn’t I told myself all those months ago that if I realized love was something I wanted in my life, then I had to actively start pursuing it? Well, Roane Robson was one of a kind, and I’d be an absolute fool to walk away from the chance to see if what was between us could be something real.

  Something epic.

  In answer, I lifted my arms into the air, inviting him to remove my tank top.

  Relief sparked in his eyes, hunger following quickly on its heels. My chest heaved with my labored, excited breaths as Roane’s fingers curled into the fabric. He fisted it and then slowly tugged the tank top up and over my head.

  He dropped it to the floor, and a feeling of self-consciousness came over me as he dragged his gaze down, drinking in the sight of me in my bra. I might have legs for days and an impressively large chest, but I also had a rounded stomach that turned into belly rolls when I sat.

  Maybe I tensed or Roane read my expression because he suddenly cupped my face in his large hands. His palms were hot and rough against my skin. “You’re perfect, Evie.”

  “I’m not perfect.” I shook my head with a wry smile as I lifted a hand to tickle my fingertips across one of his pecs. Not like you. His eyes fluttered at my touch, a shudder moving through him that made me feel extremely powerful. Okay, maybe I wasn’t perfect, but Roane seemed to like all that I was anyway.

  “You are to me,” he said, supporting my suspicions. He swept his thumbs over my cheeks, the touch tender, but as he moved his hands down my neck, there was a sexy possessiveness to his exploration.

  Roane’s eyes followed his fingertips as he trailed them with frustrating slowness across my collarbone and down toward the rise of my breasts. His gaze filled with intense want as he stared at them.

  “I can almost taste them, feel your nipples on my tongue,” he whispered.

  My body jerked at his surprising words. I hadn’t imagined Roane to be much of a talker during sex. It was arousing, and goose bumps prickled in the wake of his touch as his fingertips lightly caressed the upper curves. My nipples peaked against my bra in anticipation for his mouth. I made a guttural sound in the back of my throat, bringing Roane’s gaze back to mine. Whatever he saw there made him cup my face in his hands, and he lowered his head toward mine.

  I sucked in a breath as I clasped his biceps, his skin damp from the heat, his muscles hard beneath my fingertips.

  Roane was going to kiss me.

  I felt the heat of his breath first, the warning before his lips touched mine. And when they did, it was a barely there brush, a hot, glancing touch.

  My fingers dug into his arms, silently urging him to really kiss me.

  I was desperate for it.

  But Roane was determined to take his time. Another whisper of a kiss, then a slightly deeper press, a nibble on my lower lip.

  A whimper escaped me.

  It shattered whatever restraint Roane had lassoed around himself. His hands clasped the back of my neck, hauling me against his body as his mouth pressed hard to mine. I opened my mouth to let him in, and his groan of satisfaction rumbled through me.

  The tickle of his beard was surprisingly erotic on my skin. I’d dated guys who had stubble, which was abrasive, but Roane’s thicker beard was slightly wiry and softer than the prickle of stubble. It felt rugged, masculine, my opposite, and it was a big turn-on. Roane was aroused too. I could feel evidence of how much he wanted me digging into my stomach as he savored me with tender reverence that was sexier than any kiss that had ever come before his. Sliding my hands down his back, feeling the hot, smooth strength of him under my touch, I melted into him. His hands drifted down from my neck, and with teasing strokes, Roane studied my body—my ribs, my waist. When he touched my stomach, I fumbled the kiss and he broke it to gaze down at me through lust-fogged eyes.

  Watching me, he deliberately ran the backs of his knuckles across my belly. “Every inch, angel.” His voice was hoarse.

  I relaxed, feeling a little embarrassed by my self-consciousness, but that abashment didn’t last long as he bent to recapture my mouth. Roane’s hands glided around to my ass, where he cupped both cheeks and drew me against his arousal. As he ground into me, his tongue caressed mine in deep, wet strokes, growing wild and almost bruising. I wondered what that beard would feel like between my thighs.

  I groaned at the thought.

  Roane suddenly broke the kiss, our breaths mingling as we panted against each other.

  “Why did you stop?” I whispered.

  “Because.” He squeezed his eyes closed as he rested his forehead against mine. “There’s plenty of time for us to fuck. I don’t want that for our first time. I want to make love to you.”

  Oh my God, this man. “Are you even real?”

  He chuckled and squeezed my ass, bringing me closer against his throbbing body. “What do you think?”

  I moaned and reached for his mouth, nipping at his lower lip and then frowning when he let go of my ass to ease away from me. Amusement danced in his eyes at my consternation. “It’s good to know you want me too, angel.”

  “Have you ever doubted it?”

  He considered this. “When I tried to kiss you and you pulled away . . . aye, I doubted it.”

  Guilt suffused me. “Roane, I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want you. I just . . . I didn’t come here expecting to find you.”

  “But now that you have?”

  I moved back into his body, sliding my hands to his front to caress his chest, my thumbs catching his nipples. His lashes fluttered, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. “I want you to make love to me. Then after, I’ll
want that fucking you mentioned.”

  He grabbed me near the ribs, his squeeze almost bruising as he huffed, “You trying to speed things up, angel?”

  I ran my fingertips down his happy trail. “No,” I confessed softly as I followed the line of his waistband, feeling his stomach ripple with my touch. “I like the way you savor me.”

  Gaze hot and tender, Roane gave me an almost imperceptible nod before he reached around to the back of my bra. With excruciating slowness, he unhooked my bra and began to tease the straps down my arms. The cups caught on my nipples, and my breathing faltered as he seemed to become mesmerized by the sight. He gave the straps a slight pull and the bra fell away, dropping to the carpet with barely a sound.

  Roane curled his hands around my upper arms, easing them from my side. My breasts weren’t delicate or perky. I suffered from the problem of side boob a lot, but if a guy was a breast man, then he usually liked what he saw.

  Roane was clearly a breast man.

  His hands tightened around my biceps while he devoured me with his eyes. My nipples peaked under his perusal, tight, needy buds that begged for his mouth. For his tongue.

  He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as he reached up and cupped me with both hands. My legs trembled so badly, I felt my knees give a little, and I arched into his touch with a moan. His calloused thumbs caught on my nipples, strumming and pinching them as he played with my breasts, sculpting and kneading. Arousal rippled deep and low inside me. Seriously, I couldn’t remember ever being this turned on in my life.

  What was he doing to me?

  “Roane,” I begged, “please—” I was cut off by his mouth crashing down on mine. This kiss was different. It was rough, desperate, greedy as he pinched both my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. I bowed against his touch, breaking the kiss to gasp for breath. “Roane . . .”

  Could I come like this?

  I felt like I might.

  However, suddenly Roane was no longer touching my breasts but bending to lift my left foot. I grabbed his shoulder for balance as he tugged off my Wellies one by one. And then he was fumbling for the zipper on my shorts. I shuddered with desire as he curled his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulled it down my legs along with my shorts. As I stepped out of them, he pressed a kiss between my legs, his beard tickling me, but it was so quick, I barely even had time to register it. Trembling with need, I stood, naked, as Roane stared at me like Christmas had come early. He kicked off his own boots, unbuttoned his jeans, and lowered his zipper before removing them along with his boxer briefs. After he kicked away his jeans and underwear, he gazed at me, a small smile on his lips, completely unabashed by his nakedness.