Sugar Creek (14 page)

Once Rachel got past her own weird shock, she had to admit that, like before, something about Edna’s story had her feeling oddly…envious. What must it be like to be that young and in love with a man who adores you? Rachel would never know.

She’d never realized she missed that in her life, that maybe she’d actually
wanted
some romance. From a young age, she’d been all about career and independence,
and for her, romance had been mostly about sexual urges and deciding what to do about them and with who. But maybe she
had
missed having all those other emotions.

Of course, it was too late now. And Rachel was a big girl, not one to get sappy.
Soon you’ll be back in Chicago, back in the world you know, and you’ll stop feeling things so much.
Yep, that would be good. Because ever since she’d come home to Destiny, nothing inside her had quite been the same.

Mike hadn’t particularly planned to stop by the orchard, but it was his day off, the sun was shining, and he wasn’t in the mood to go home yet after doing some errands. He needed to replace a board on his front porch and clean out a clogged drain, tasks he wasn’t particularly looking forward to, so it seemed easy to put them off a little longer. As he passed by Creekside Park, he made the split decision to flip on his turn signal and cross the stone bridge over Sugar Creek toward Edna’s house.

He hadn’t seen Edna in a while, and he supposed all his run-ins with her granddaughter had the old woman on his mind. It wasn’t unusual for him to stop by from time to time—besides wanting to convince her to sell him the orchard, he figured it wasn’t a bad idea to check on her occasionally, given that she was an elderly person living alone. Of course, Rachel was with her for the time being. But he still felt overdue for a visit to the place that had once belonged to his grandfather.

Never mind that his groin tightened a little at the thought of Rachel Farris. His stomach contracted, too. And it wasn’t the memory of sudden, unstoppable sex that caused the reaction—he’d had that before. And it wasn’t the “forbidden Farris” aspect of it, either. It was…the sex itself. After all, that had been some
seriously good
sex. When their bodies had come together, the chemistry had felt…almost electrical, like some force that had
pulsed through his veins, driving him to deepen the connection with her—over, and over, and over.

Shit. He glanced down. He didn’t need to have a hard-on when he saw Edna.

And Rachel Farris wasn’t the reason he’d come here anyway.

But he guessed seeing her wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. As long as she wasn’t speeding or breaking any other laws. And if they could keep from yelling at each other. Since they
had
shared some pretty mind-blowing sex in that concession stand last week, he guessed at least saying hello would be the decent thing to do.

Not that Mike generally worried that much about being decent to women he hooked up with—which, according to his mother, was an unfortunate Romo male trait he’d inherited. According to her, even his usually mild-mannered dad had been “a tomcat” in his teenage years.

Though as he parked his truck and got out…hell. Yep, he had a sizable erection now.
Thanks a lot, Farris.
Damn it, even when she wasn’t around, she was affecting him.

Well, it was a nice day, and a glance at the house showed Edna wasn’t coming out to greet him, so maybe he’d just take a short walk through the orchard and let himself calm down. Maybe he’d think about all the years his family had wanted this land back and felt it should be theirs. Yeah, that should kill a hard-on pretty damn quick.

As he’d told Rachel, he didn’t know the details—his grandpa had never wanted to talk about it, right up to his death almost ten years ago. But he could still hear his grandpa’s voice, gravelly with regret.
It was mine and it should have been yours. I built the house and the barn and the root cellar with my own hands, I planted the first trees—and it should have been passed down to all of you.

As the oldest son of Giovanni’s oldest son, Mike would have likely inherited the place directly if the Farris family
hadn’t taken it—so maybe that was why he wanted the orchard now. But mostly, he thought it would make his parents and other relatives happy. And as he’d told Edna, he’d welcome a side income and a business to run for whenever he retired from the force, whether that was in five years or
twenty
-five.

As he meandered through the front grove, then deeper into the orchard as it stretched past the barn, he met his goal—his arousal faded while thinking about all his family had lost. It brought over him a familiar feeling of…emptiness. But he quickly pushed that down. Because he’d gotten pretty good at that. Except for when he thought about Anna.

Yet he wasn’t going to let his mind go there today—no way. And sometimes he could even control
that
, if he worked really hard at it, if he just turned everything off inside him for a little while.

Besides, it was a good time to focus on better things—next weekend was Grandma Romo’s birthday and his parents would be here. While they kept in pretty close touch with him, he only saw them a couple times a year—so this was no time to be thinking depressing thoughts about Anna or the lost Romo family legacy.

Although—damn—it reminded him that his mother
would
give him a hard time about the whole bachelor thing, and not just on the phone now, but in front of the whole extended Romo clan. And shit—once Grandma Romo got her hooks into him, it would be even worse. All she’d need is a little ammunition on the subject from Mike’s parents to get her on a roll, too—and probably in Italian.

He felt bad about the situation—although he’d started out with a brother and sister, he’d effectively become an only child somewhere along the way and his parents’ only chance to do the grandma-and-grandpa thing. But he didn’t feel guilty enough to live his life any other way than how he wanted to live it.

Before Mike knew it, that familiar empty feeling began to threaten again—yet like before, he pushed it aside. Because that was what he did—he had to be tough, not let it touch him anytime he could avoid it. Of course, sometimes things set him off—like that asshole in the Mustang a couple of weeks ago. Something like that, something he couldn’t fix or stop or change, was enough to keep him in a bad mood for days. So whenever he
could
take power over anything—including the emptiness—he sure as hell had to.

Just then, he heard a rustling sound in nearby branches—too big to be a bird—and glanced to the right to see a pair of tennis shoes on a ladder. A woven fruit basket hung from the ladder, and as he stepped closer, he caught sight of a large, billowy smock and, up above, a big floppy straw hat.

“Hi, Edna,” he said.

Then Edna turned to look down at him. Only it wasn’t Edna. It was Rachel Farris—looking like she wanted to die of embarrassment.

Which he could easily understand—since she looked ridiculous.

He couldn’t hide his amusement. “That’s a pretty good disguise, Farris.”

That’s when she shifted slightly to scowl at him, lost her balance—and came tumbling to the ground with a hard
thud
. She let out a yowl.

Aw, shit. “Are you all right?” he asked, moving toward her.

She lay on her back in Edna’s clothes, glaring up at him. “No, actually, I don’t think so. But as soon as I am, Romeo, I’m going to kill you.”

O
h, good God. Just what every girl wanted: for a guy she’d had sex with to mistake her for her grandmother. Rachel wished she could disappear. No wonder she’d fallen. It was all his fault. And she couldn’t even get up and stomp away from him—no, she could only lie there on the hard ground in the McIntosh grove wondering what she’d done to deserve this.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

She started to try—when he bent down to take her hands, helping her.

So he was touching her again. And the mere sensation of his large hands closing around hers rippled up her arms. That was all she could process, despite the pain and embarrassment of the hideous situation:
He’s touching me again and it feels good.
.

“What hurts?” he asked, stooping down beside her.

“My left ankle.” It throbbed with a dull but intense ache—which she felt a lot more now that he
wasn’t
touching her.

In response, Mike reached over and jiggled her left shoe back and forth—producing shooting bursts of pain. “Ow!” she screeched, smacking his hand away and flashing a look of disbelief. “I tell you my ankle hurts, so you think it’s a good idea to wiggle it?”

“Sorry,” he said—yet he went right on acting like he was Doctor Romo or something, now gently lifting her heel and pushing up the leg of her blue jeans. Then he felt around on her ankle for a few seconds, which she discovered she didn’t mind quite so much. “Starting to swell,” he informed her. “Hopefully you just twisted it and didn’t do any serious damage.”

“What on earth are you doing here anyway?” she snapped, remembering she was still irritated by the whole situation, even
with
his hands on her.

“I came to see Edna.”

“
Why?
” She didn’t care if she sounded accusing—she continued to feel very protective of Edna where he was concerned.

But his incredulous expression implied she was making too much of it. “Calm down, Farris. I just dropped by for a visit. I told you we get along. Far better than
you and I
get along, that’s for damn sure.”

“Well, she’s in the house taking a nap,” Rachel informed him. “She was tired this morning, so I told her I’d work by myself awhile.”

Suddenly, she found him smiling at her…oddly. So even though the smile was kind of
sexy
, she said, “What’s so funny?”

“Your hat,” he told her, still looking amused. “Can you take it off? I don’t mean to laugh while you’re hurt, but I can’t help it.”

Fairly outraged, she gasped, then shot him her best death glare. “For your info, Edna insisted I wear this stuff. She thinks my clothes are too nice to pick apples in.”

“Yeah, the clothes are awful, too,” he said, sweeping
his gaze down over her, “but that doesn’t explain the hat.”

“She’s afraid I’ll get a sunburn,” Rachel said.

In response, he looked doubtful and clenched his teeth lightly, as if weighing the options. “Um—if I were you, Farris, I think I’d risk the burn.”

“Fine,” she snipped, then untied the ribbon beneath her chin, again lamenting that Mike Romo had found her looking like some crazed, overgrown version of Little Bo-Peep. She’d feared this very thing, of course, but Edna had promised no one would see her.
Yeah, right—thanks, Edna.
As she slipped Edna’s big straw monstrosity off, she hoped like hell she didn’t have hat hair.

“Okay, that’s better,” he said. Then his eyes dropped back to the big, flowery smock. “Mostly. Anyway, guess we better get you inside.”

Hmm—
we
? They were a team now? But she decided not to put too much stock in the statement—he was a cop, after all; it was his duty to serve and protect. And besides, as he anchored an arm around her waist to help her to her feet, she was suddenly a little too busy smelling that sexy, musky scent again to analyze it all.

Only—“Mother of God, put me down!” she yelled the second she tried to sink weight onto her ankle.

Mike lowered her hurriedly back to the grass.

“That’s not gonna work. I don’t think I can walk—at all.”

“Shit,” he said. “That means I’m gonna have to carry you.”

She glowered up at him. “Is that so terrible?”

He gave his head a frank tilt, his face close to hers. “It’s not that I mind touching you, Farris, as I think I proved the other night. It’s that it’s a damn long way.”

She sucked in her breath. “Fine then—leave me here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Quit being ridiculous.”

“Well, then quit complaining. It’s not my fault you snuck up on me and then insulted my clothing.”

“It’s not
my
fault you can’t take a joke.”

“Oh. So you were joking about thinking I was Edna.” This changed everything.

“No, that part was real,” he replied, extinguishing her relief. “I was talking about when I said it was a good disguise.
That’s
when I was joking. Sort of.”

She just blinked at him, getting more irate with each passing second. “So are you carrying me to the house or not? If you’re not strong enough,” she accused, “you could go to the barn and get one of the wagons. Or…I’m sure I could scoot there on my ass eventually.”

He simply peered down at her, fists at his hips. “Your ass is too nice to wear it out that way. And screw the wagon—I can carry you.” Good, her little jab had worked—she’d known he wouldn’t be able to handle the implication he was weak.

And with that, he stooped down and scooped her up into his arms. She automatically looped one wrist around his neck, latching on. And now they were
really
close. The kind of close that had led to sex last week.

She resisted saying anything, though, deciding instead to just enjoy the ride. Since it was kind of nice being pressed up against him again, even with clothes on, even the big, billowy, ugly ones she wore at the moment. And even with her ankle throbbing. She’d just learned something new about herself: Apparently, with the proper stimulation, she was able to lust through pain.

Although it turned out Mike was right—it was a long way to the house, and toward the end of the walk he started breathing heavily, his chest starting to heave, and she hoped like hell they’d make it or she’d end up all the more mortified by this whole event.

So it was a relief when he carried her up the back steps and said, “Can you grab the handle?” She pulled the old
screen door open and Mike maneuvered her inside without banging her sore ankle on the door frame.

“Where to?” he asked, sounding impatient now.

“The couch,” she said, then directed him through the dining room to the parlor.

“Damn,” he muttered, breathless, as he lowered her there.

“Sorry.” She was beginning to feel, for the first time, a little sheepish about the fact that he’d had to lug her all that way. And she immediately missed being in his arms.

“No problem, Farris,” he said, slightly gruff—but not
too
gruff. Then he glanced down at her. “You mind if we get you out of that sad excuse for a shirt?”

“It’s a smock,” she pointed out.

“Whatever. It’s horrible.”

“What do
you
care?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just used to seeing you look…the way you
usually
look.”

“Which is?”

“Uh…good.”

Hmm. Something inside her warmed. “So you think I usually look good, huh?”

Kneeling down beside Edna’s antique sofa, he gave his head a skeptical tilt. “You know damn well you look good, Farris.” And then, to her surprise, his bedroom eyes suddenly got a little more bedroomy, and he spoke a bit slower, his voice deeper. “And…guess I was just remembering the last time I saw you. You looked
damn
good then.”

Oh. My. Rachel bit her lip as a vision filled her head: the two of them writhing on the concession-stand floor together. Now feeling
extremely
sheepish, she whispered, “I was, um, naked.”

“Right. And I’m not saying you have to be naked to look good, but
this
”—he reached out to finger the
smock—“isn’t working.” Then he reached up to begin unbuttoning it.

She let him, since she wore a fitted black tank underneath—her original choice this morning before Edna had chimed in, as she had pretty much every day since she and Rachel had started harvesting apples together. She sat up slightly, already propped on couch pillows, and he helped her free of it, tossing it aside. “There, that’s better. Now you’re the Rachel Farris I’ve come to know—reckless and belligerent, but at least nice to look at.” Then he returned his attention to her ankle, slipping his hand beneath the hem of her jeans to give a gentle squeeze. “Still hurt?”

She nodded. But even so, his touch skittered all the way up her leg.

“Still swelling, too,” he told her. Then he set about removing her gym shoes and propping her left foot on a pile of more throw pillows he assembled. He did it as comfortably as if…as if he knew her. And even after having had wildly intense sex with him, something about the simple act felt strangely…personal. She sure hadn’t planned on Mike Romo ever touching her again, after all.

“Does Edna keep ibuprofen in?” he asked, and a moment later, he’d gotten her two Motrin and a glass of water. After that, he went into the kitchen, returning with a dish towel and a bag of frozen peas.

“What the hell?” she asked at the sight of the peas.

He laid the towel across her ankle, placing the freezing cold bag on top. “Instant ice pack,” he replied. “Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off—and change it out for a fresh bag after Edna wakes up. She has some frozen broccoli in the freezer, too,” he added with a wink.

“Quit being nice to me,” she demanded, letting her brow knit, “or I won’t recognize you.” She really wouldn’t know how to function around a truly pleasant, considerate Mike Romo.

“I’m not being nice,” he assured her. “I’m being a cop.
We all have a little first aid training.” Then, as his hand came to rest on her knee as comfortably as if they were a couple, he glanced around the quiet house…and got an undeniably wicked look in his eye. “So—you think Edna’s still asleep?”

“Must be.” The house was too small for them not to have heard or seen her if she was awake. And Rachel liked having his hand on her knee, but she had no idea why he looked so…mischievous.

Until he slid that hand oh-so-slowly up her thigh and said, “That means we’ll have to be quiet.”

Oh. Good Lord. She sucked in her breath and peered up at him from her pillows. “Quiet?” He wasn’t serious?

“While I take you your mind off your ankle,” he said, grazing his warm palm a little higher, and making Rachel feel light-headed, even while lying down. The juncture of her thighs began to spasm. Oh God, he was serious.

“It’s…freezing,” she said of her ankle, trying not to feel what she was feeling. Because Edna was in the next room, for heaven’s sake. And what had happened to this being a one-time thing?

“That’s my point,” he said, bending lower, his gaze on her mouth now. “You need a distraction.”

“I do?”

“Yep.”

Uh-oh. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t let this happen. Once was…an accident. But twice was…something more. “Stop,” she said.

“Stop what?”

She sucked in her breath. “Whatever exactly it is you’re planning on doing.”

“Be quiet, Farris, or Edna will hear you.”

Mike hadn’t really intended to put the moves on her, but hell, by the time he’d gotten her on the couch, his hard-on had reappeared. And he knew he couldn’t do what he
really
wanted to do given that Edna was in the house,
but he couldn’t resist the urge to fool around with Rachel again at least a little. Now that he had her out of that ridiculous get-up, her body looked just as ripe and curvy as he remembered, and the mere sight had sent his mind barreling back to that concession stand.

That part kept surprising him—that he kept thinking about it. Once sex was over, he didn’t usually sit around dwelling on it, reliving it. But he’d revisited that concession stand in his mind more than once since it had happened, and right now, their sizzling encounter at Destiny High was all he could think about, all he could feel. It pumped through his veins the same as if they were still there right now, doing it on the floor.

So he didn’t hesitate to bend down and kiss her. Slow, deep. Just like their sex had been. He let his mouth play over hers, felt her response between his legs, and obeyed the impulse to ease his tongue between her lips.

She tasted like apple, and it made him smile a little inside—apparently she’d been eating on the job. But he didn’t take the time to comment—he was much more interested in following other urges. Like slipping his hand between her thighs.

Aw, damn, she was so soft there—even through her jeans. He used his fingertips to stroke, his palm to mold, and when she began to move against his touch, his gut clenched with heat.

But then she was pushing him away, her hands to his chest, her breath thready as she said, “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, besides the fact that we don’t like each other…” She let out an impassioned breath even as she glanced toward Edna’s bedroom.

“Shhh,” he soothed her, lowering another small, warm kiss to her lush lips. Then promised, “We’ll hear if she wakes up.”

“What if we don’t?” she whispered.

Tired of talking, he only answered by kissing her again.

And yeah, he knew it was risky—it was exactly the kind of reckless thing he might expect
her
to do, now that he examined it. But…hell, it was just easier not to think about that as he sank deeper into the warm kiss and resumed massaging between her thighs.

Soon her soft, ragged breathing twined around him the same as if it were her arms and legs, making him almost painfully hard as he deftly unbuttoned her jeans and slid the zipper down.

So it surprised him when she protested yet
again
. “Mike, stop,” she breathed.

He simply gazed into her blue eyes, so close to his right now—then leaned near her ear, his mouth almost touching it, to rasp, “I want to show you outrageous again.” After which he slid his fingers down into her panties.