Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(26)

“I can put my other sock on,” she said.

Her voice trembled as if it were reading the pulsing in his body. He lifted her shoe and slid it onto her foot. But again, she reached to stop him before he could help her with the other one. Her fingers brushed his. Their gazes met. She scooted up to her knees. His pulse leaped when she reached her hands to his face. Her lips parted under his. In the slide of tongues and lips, want slammed hard, breaking through the dam that had held his restraint in place.

On a mission of their own, his hands slid behind her head, his fingers pressing her tighter against him, sending pleasure coursing deep.

Barely aware of her hands roving the muscles of his back, he pressed her to the ground, cradling her. Not breaking their kiss, he leaned onto his elbow and traced his fingers along the warm curve of her breast. Her mew of pleasure shocked through him. But instinct fired and had him drawing back.

“No, Tasha. Not like this.” He stroked where color rose in her cheek. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I want to court you properly. To make up for whomever or whatever has frightened you. You deserve so much more than, than this. Will you trust me? For one more date?”

She nodded, and he wanted to leap with joy.

“But for now”—he gestured to the roiling clouds darkening the sky to the north—“we’d better get off this mountain before that storm breaks.”

She didn’t let him help her don her other shoe. Good thing, as he was inches from running out of leash. One touch, one word, and he’d give in to the raging hunger screaming in him.

As they made their way back to the parking lot, it wasn’t the storm on the mountains that had him fighting for his bearings. He had a tough road to navigate if he wanted to win Tasha.





Chapter Eight



WE’RE SURE GOING TO MISS YOU AFTER you move out next week,” Mary said to Tyler.

Tyler was up to his elbows in cookie dough. Natasha had to laugh. He’d eaten twice as much dough as had gone onto the baking sheets. But all morning he’d ordered the gathered women with the confidence of a field marshal.

“I’ll be back to visit.” He stirred the dough so hard the wooden spoon bowed. “Mark is my throwing buddy.”

Natasha and Tyler had been approved for the low-income housing. She couldn’t believe it had happened so fast. Mary had gone to bat for her and the planets had aligned. One of the families on the wait list had moved out of state. It was all too good to be true.

“Don’t work that dough too hard, Tyler,” Debra said. “You’ll end up with tough cookies.”

Mary laughed. “Plenty of tough cookies in this room.” Tyler didn’t get the joke.

Debra had once owned her own bakery and café. Before her divorce. Before her sorry excuse of a husband had lit the place on fire in a drunken rage. She’d had it rougher than Natasha, but she always had a good word and a sense of humor.

“Mr. Henderson said that if we sell out, we’ll make enough to win the prize.”

“It’s a challenge grant, Tyler. The Giants will fund the new bleachers and scoreboard if you boys raise one thousand dollars on your own,” Natasha reminded him.

“An electric scoreboard. With a video screen. We could have replays.”

“Most boys sell popcorn,” Debra said.

“I think these boys figured out early that moms making cookies and baked goods was an irresistible marketing ploy.” Mary shook her spoon at Tyler. “And free labor. We have an entrepreneur on our hands.”

“What’s an entrepreneur?” Tyler asked between licks at the bowl of butter and sugar Debra had whipped up.

“A boy who cajoles three grown women into making forty dozen cookies in one day to win him an electric scoreboard,” Mary said.

Tyler wrinkled his nose. “Brandon got his mom to agree to fifty dozen.”

“Brandon Exeter?” Mary raised a brow.

Tyler nodded. “He’s our pitcher.”

“This I have to see. I doubt Monica Exeter has ever baked a cookie in her life.” Mary snorted.

Natasha hadn’t met any of the moms from Tyler’s school, and she was dreading the bake sale. She was still uncomfortable with the well-dressed, sophisticated women she’d encountered at his new school. But Tyler’s enthusiasm was heartwarming. And he was one of the two boys chosen to lead the project, so she could endure. She fervently hoped the boys hit their goal. And that Monica did know how to bake.

She stirred oatmeal into the bowl of batter and her thoughts wandered back to Adrian.

How could she feel such affection for him after such a short time?

The answer always rose insistent and clear—Adrian was a kind man. Thoughtful. An old-fashioned gentleman in a wildly modern world. And sexy. She could still feel the branding of his lips, feel the way her whole body wanted to leap into his arms and be carried away into a land of pleasure. Maybe she was marked for life.

And maybe there was no explanation for how deep affection happened. Or love. She’d loved Tyler since before he was born and her mother since before she could remember. Her love for friends often sneaked up on her and then latched on and wouldn’t let go. One thing was for sure—she’d never settle for tepid love, convenient love, half-good love from a just-okay man. The passion she felt for Adrian had made that message come through clearly, hard as it was to admit.