Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(23)

And so here we sat, a half mile away from the cow pasture, and I was wondering if there was a one o’clock train back to the city.

“What in the world, Natalie? Really, what’s going on?” Roxie asked, and I groaned inside my turtleneck.

“If I knew, I’d tell you. I just go to pieces around this guy.” I pulled down my turtleneck to just above my nose. “When I see him, I literally lose my mind. I can’t talk to him when I see that face, and those eyes, and those lips, and all that gorgeous ink, and those hands—did you see those hands? And—”

“Okay, I got it. So, what if you couldn’t see him?”

“How can you not see him? How can you not see that face, and those eyes, and those—”

She held up her hand. “I’m not going to sit here while you go through another round of Sexual Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.”

“Knees and Toes,” I sang back. Which made her smile, which made me smile. A little.

She sighed. “I need to get back to the barn to make lunch.”

“Great! I’m starved!” I announced, tugging down my turtleneck, anxious to sweep this whole thing under the Jeep.

“A lunch that Oscar is attending.”

“I’m actually still full from breakfast.” Up went the turtleneck.

Roxie’s hands tugged it from my face. “You’re going. This ends today, one way or another.” She started the Jeep and pointed it toward the farm.

I sat on my hands the entire way back to the barn to stop myself going full turtle. And as I sat on my hands, I thought about every time I’d seen Oscar, and how I’d reacted. I was fine when I was in the market, I was fine when I was in line, I was even fine when I was paying for my Brie. It was when we were full frontal, his eyes all over me and the force of him turned up to eleven, that reduced me to mush.

And an idea began to take shape . . .





Chapter 7

Roxie chopped.

I paced.

Roxie stirred.

I paced.

She sautéed.

Still . . . I paced.

I was making her nervous. I knew this because every three or four minutes, she’d set down her knife/spoon/ladle/grinder and say, “You’re making me nervous, dammit.”

I kept an eye on the road. Leo had texted to let Roxie know they were coming for lunch soon—they being the key word. They were on their way, they included Oscar, the tattooed godlike creature that I’d humiliated myself in front of for the last time.

I chewed on a piece of celery, gnawing almost angrily as Roxie told me again that she thought I should go easy on this one, let things happen naturally, cool my jets and maintain my composure, and simply remember that I was a knockout who could have any man I wanted. But while I placated her with a few “yeses” and “you got its” and “shit yeahs,” I knew that I’d be using a different tactic when the milkman cameth.

And just over the ridge, here he came, thundering down the road on a shit-yeah motorcycle. I almost couldn’t take it. Hair flying in the wind, sunglasses on like an ad for Ray-Ban, Oscar came to rest just outside the kitchen door, kicking up dust. Leo followed in his old Jeep, the two of them almost overkill.

Just as my skin tingled and my thighs clenched, Roxie’s voice brought me back from the brink of a public orgasm.

“Remember, Nat, be cool,” she said, flipping the chicken cutlets.

Be cool? Tell that to my clitoris . . .

Time to nip this in the bud.

I nodded as I stood, my eyes locked on the tall drink of gorgeous as I went to the door and strode purposefully toward the man on the motorcycle. Leo took one look at me and wisely beat feet toward the kitchen, where I could see Roxie peeping through the flour-sack curtains.

“Oscar, right?” I said, keeping my eyes focused on the pastoral scene just above and beyond his left shoulder. Powerful muscles, beautiful golden skin, swirled with enticing ink.

I let my eyes run down toward his hand, which I grabbed before I could lose my nerve. Avoiding eye contact, I headed toward the unrenovated part of the barn, where Roxie had shown me the old milking stalls. I could feel the heat of his hand as he held my fingers tightly in his grip, making me fully aware that he was along for the ride.

I could also feel that his gaze was firmly on my backside. A smile crept over my face as I felt Normal Natalie show herself for the first time around this guy.

Sweet-smelling hay crunched underfoot and the sun fell through the space between the rafters as I led him toward the stalls in the back of the barn.

Reaching the end of the aisle, I turned to face him, keeping my eyes straight ahead. He was so close behind I nearly crashed into his chest. I noticed, not for the first time, how very tall he was. I was used to men being only a few inches taller than me, the same height when I was wearing my heels. Which I almost always was. But this guy’s collarbone was exactly the same height as my mouth.

Oh.

I released his hand and placed both of mine on his warm, broad chest. Inhaling, I got an intoxicating noseful of Oscar. My eyes were drawn up past the sight of my hands on him, which made me shiver, to the sliver of skin above his T-shirt with just the barest hint of ink. Licking my lips, I lightly pushed him backward toward the side of the stall. And when we were there, I ran around the wall to the adjoining stall.

Where I couldn’t see him.