Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(25)
From the back of his throat came a rumbling sound halfway between a groan and a moan, and I reveled in the knowledge that he was as lost as I was. But just as his tongue swept out to lick my lips and scramble the very last part of my brain, he pulled away abruptly, leaving both of us panting.
He ran his hands through the hair mussed by my roving hands, then scrubbed at his face as though trying to get his bearings. His eyes burned as he took me in again, messy and still glued to the back of the stall, wondering where all the heat had gone. He reached out to run one thumb across my swollen lips, which I quickly took into my mouth ever so slightly and nipped.
There was the heat again, flaring in his eyes, and I could see him weighing his options of whether to pursue once more (yes yes and a little more yes) or back away and save some for later (also a fan of this).
“Those naked very good times you mentioned?”
I dropped a kiss on his thumb. “Mm-hmm?”
His eyes raked over me, thrilling every inch. When those eyes focused once more on mine, I was on fire. “I’m in.”
And then I heard a metal triangle being clanged, and Roxie’s voice calling that lunch was ready.
Now what?
I smoothed my shirt, shaking out my hair and trying to make myself look like I hadn’t just mouth-f*cked a god.
Oscar stood aside, suddenly a gentleman with a devastatingly ungentlemanly grin, allowing me to go first. And as I walked past, I heard that same rough, rumbly sound from Oscar.
So I put some extra sway in my great . . . big ass.
Internal soundtrack picked up the cue and immediately hit Play on the Commodores’ “Brick House” . . .
Chapter 8
I’d just been kissed within an inch of my life, and now I was expected to eat prawns in a reduced fig and chili demi-glace over a bed of mustard greens and baby bok choy?
Apparently, yes. And the prawns were delicious. But sitting across from Oscar, watching him lick a bit of errant sauce from his lower lip after he was licking my lower lip only moments before? Pure, sweet torture.
And during this sweet torture, no one said a word. But as I watched everyone’s faces, I could read their minds. Roxie was scheming, her eyes darting from Oscar to me, trying to work out what had happened and how she could further things along. Leo was oblivious, enjoying the exquisite meal his girlfriend had prepared for him. Oscar was eating as well, but his eyes were fixed solidly on me, watching every move I made. I could feel the heat of his gaze as I lifted a bite of bok choy to my mouth, and most especially when my lips parted to take it in. I was getting eye-f*cked, and how. How scandalous.
Eventually the silence became too much to bear, and Roxie jumped right in.
“So, Oscar, did you know that Natalie is here to help put Bailey Falls on the map? From an advertising perspective, that is.”
“Your name’s Natalie?” he asked, once again conveying an entire world of words in a simple three. He’d had his thigh between mine, his hands on my hips, and his mouth all over my face earlier, and only now is he realizing he doesn’t even know my name? Mmm, how scandalous!
“It is,” I answered, brushing my strawberry-blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the full power of my bosom. His eyes flared. Naturally. “Your town councilman Chad Bowman wrote to our firm in the city asking for some help. They want to bring more money into your adorable town, more tourists.”
“Tourists.” He chuffed like a horse. Go back to the part where his thigh was pressed between mine, and I can attest that his chuffing wasn’t the only resemblance to a horse. Hung like a . . . “Why do we need tourists?”
“They can add significant income to any small town—especially one that not only captures the natural beauty of the landscape, but also has something that I haven’t seen featured in any other travel publication regarding the Hudson Valley.” I popped in a prawn.
“What’s that?” Leo asked, as Oscar continued his laser lock on me.
I chewed, thought about how to phrase this, and then decided on the direct approach. “Hot f*cking farmers, that’s what.” Leo’s eyes grew to the size of Oreos. “I mean, you two are ridiculous—how do the women in this town get any work done?”
“There’s a reason why Leo and I don’t work together,” Roxie snorted as Leo looked at her in surprise. “What? It’s true. I don’t know exactly where Natalie’s going with this, but I have to agree with her assessment.” She then turned to me. “Where are you going with this?”
“You’ve got Leo Maxwell here, heir to the Maxwell banking fortune, who gives it all up to run upstate and raise organically produced eggplants—you don’t think there’s a great story there? Before you say anything, I’m not talking about exploiting anyone here—but think about it. It’s interesting, right? When the entire country is starting to really consider where their food is coming from, and who is growing it, it’s a perfect fit. Show New Yorkers how coming to the country and touring that gorgeous farm is a great way to not only do something good, but bring new eyeballs to this fantastic town.”
Leo was shaking his head, unsure.
Undaunted, I prattled on, working on the pitch out loud as I ran with it. “I’m not talking about a Men of Bailey Falls calendar—just a few key stories placed in exactly the right magazines, exactly the right social media platforms, all about getting back to nature and experiencing a quieter way of life. Brought to you by these hot f*cking farmers. All very tasteful of course, no one would even have to take their shirt off. No beefcake. Just implied gorgeous. Accidental hotness. And this guy,” I said, pointing at Oscar. “I don’t know the story here yet, but I know there must be one. A hot dairy farmer? The copy writes itself.”