Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(46)

“You. Again.” His brief words spoke volumes as he dragged one hand down between us, licking his fingers, then sliding them against me, knowing already exactly how I liked to be touched.

My back bowed off the bed as I came again, ridiculously loud and long and fierce, him following only a moment after, his own groans filthy and primal.

He collapsed onto me, his head on my breast, my arms and legs wrapped around him as I held him to me. And we panted heavily, a shuddering pile of “sweet f*ck, that was good.”



Oscar’s house was old and rustic, with wide-plank floors, wainscoting, beadboard—all the architectural details you’d look for in such an old farmhouse. He’d told me it wasn’t nearly as old as the barn but still from the last century, and had been in the family he’d purchased the farm from for generations. It had the requisite farmhouse sink, the farmhouse kitchen table, the Franklin stove in the corner, and even an old outhouse hidden behind a stand of old trees.

And there were things all over the place that just didn’t look like Oscar. A series of framed pictures depicting black-and-white-spotted cows shopping for groceries, mowing the lawn, and look, here’s one of the cows playing poker. In the hallway bathroom there were tiny cow figurines dancing down the counter, black-and-white-cow-printed wallpaper, and little paper Dixie cups with—you guessed it—black-and-white cows.

And hung over every single doorway were sprays of dried flowers. You know the kind: dusty eucalyptus, big sunflowers, mauve roses; gathered together with raffia, and tied into a big floppy bow.

None of these things looked like something Oscar would have paid money for, much less walked around his house and deliberated which he’d put where.

They looked suspiciously Missy-like.



We’d returned downstairs after the shower, and I’d made a beeline for the giant comfy couch in the family room. Wrapped in a fluffy blanket from the back of the couch, I’d made a little nest for myself. Once I was settled, Oscar tucked himself behind me, his head pillowed on my behind. His sigh of contentment made me smile broadly.

There was something good about a guy who liked a big, comfy butt.

“Hungry?” Oscar asked, his voice a bit muffled.

My stomach rumbled. “I’m famished.” I’d texted Roxie earlier, letting her know where I was and not to worry. She texted me back that the key was under the mat, to have fun, and to use a condom. That’s a good friend.

“I don’t have much to eat in the house,” he said, running his hand absently along my bum. “Want to go into town? There’s a great pizza place on Main Street.”

“Great pizza, huh? I’m from New York, sweetie. You can’t say such things to me.”

“We’re in New York,” he said, lifting his head.

“You’re adorable,” I replied, patting it sweetly. “Gimme a few minutes to get dressed, and you can take me out for pretty good pizza.”

“I’ll make you eat those words, City Girl,” he growled as I jumped off the couch and danced out of reach of his grabby hands.

“I’ll make you eat something else,” I teased, relishing the look I got in return. Then I gasped when I saw how fast he could move—he was already halfway across the room with a devilish expression.

His playful attack stopped when his phone rang. Like any new “friend that was a girl,” I motioned to him that I was heading into the kitchen for my purse . . . and then I stood right around the corner and listened in.

Though I could only hear his side of the conversation, I could make out most of what was going on.

“What’s up? . . . Again? . . . I’m telling you, that thing needs to be replaced . . . no, not a problem . . . nope, nothing that can’t be postponed . . . sure . . . twenty minutes . . . no, I’ll pick something up on the way . . . yep . . . yep . . . on my way.”

By the time he walked into the kitchen, I was nonchalantly sitting at the farmhouse table, twisting my damp hair up into a bun and admiring his black-and-white cow-shaped salt and pepper shakers.

“Gotta take a rain check on pizza, is that okay?”

“Sure, everything okay?” I replied, swiping on a coat of fresh red lipstick and looking unconcerned.

“Yeah, just gotta go take care of something,” he said, reaching for his coat and shrugging it on. “Can I drop you back at Roxie’s?”

“That’d be great,” I said lightly, and meant it. This was new and exciting, sure, but new was the operative word. Play this one too clingy, and it could crumble before it even became anything.

But as he held my jacket open and helped me put it on, I planted a surprise deep, searing kiss on him, letting myself get lost in our combined warm scent.

“Oops, look at that!” I pulled away, leaving him panting and looking a bit wild. “I got some lipstick on you—let me fix that.” I took a tissue from my purse and quickly dabbed it around with a laugh. He chuckled along with me, clearly grateful that I’d cleaned him up.

Which I did—a bit.

When he dropped me off at Roxie’s, I made him call me so I’d have his number.

“Now I can text you dirty words whenever I want to,” I teased as he held open my door once more, catching me on the way down.

“Don’t send me anything too dirty until midmorning. I’m driving in for the farmers’ market,” he explained, his hands lingering on my waist. “And if I’m thinking about you, I’m liable to drive right off the highway.”