M Leighton - Some Like It Wild

“I can see that. But why? What did he ever do to you?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. I just hate it when people assume the worst about me.”

“Assuming you’re a good girl is not a bad thing.”

“He sure made it seem like it was.” I start walking again and look back at Tori until she catches up. “Besides, weren’t you just fussing at me for not living a little?”

“Yes, but this is not really what I had in mind.”

I smile and loop my arm through hers, hoping for a quick reconciliation so we can leave the topic of Jake behind. “Be careful what you ask for then, right?”

She sighs. “I guess.”

“Now then, let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m regretting my rash decision. I’ve kissed the cheek of every pimple-faced boy in town. Tori has jumped in front of me to take all the cute guys that have come. Not that I have a problem with that. I guess I owe her since I messed up her plans for Jake. Besides, I’m not interested in any of the boys from Greenfield. The only reason I’m working the booth at all is to raise funds for the church.

I smile politely as I take two dollars from the next boy in line. He looks like he can’t be a day over twelve. I bend forward to give his cheek a peck. I press my lips to it and then offer mine. He kisses it sweetly then looks shyly away. “Thank you for the kiss,” I say for the hundredth time. I look down as I put the money in my till. When I glance up, prepared to ask for the next person in line, my heart stops and the words die on my tongue.

Standing in front of me, smiling like he knows I can’t breathe, is Jake Theopolis. He’s wearing a T-shirt now, a blue one that fits snugly over his wide shoulders. His pecs shift beneath the material as he digs in the front pocket of his jeans. I see him toss a ten dollar bill onto the counter in front of me. Confused, my eyes flicker back up to his. The bright, liquid orbs are intent on mine.

“I came for the peaches,” he says quietly. He reaches up to take the toothpick from between his lips. I watch, spellbound, as his face gets closer and closer. “I need a taste before I go,” he whispers, his sweet cinnamon breath fanning my lips.

And then his mouth is brushing mine. I don’t even think to resist. In fact, I don’t think at all. I only feel.

His lips are soft against mine and he smells like soap and clean sweat. His touch is featherlight until he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss. I feel his tongue trace the crease of my lips until I part them to let him in. In long, leisurely strokes, his tongue licks at mine, like he’s savoring the flavor of it. I savor him right back, drinking in the hint of cinnamon in his mouth. I lean toward him, bracing myself on the counter, afraid my legs won’t hold me up much longer.

Finally, he leans back and looks down into my stunned face. “Mmm, that’s the sweetest peach I’ve had in a long time,” he purrs. When he winks at me, I feel a gush of heat pour into my stomach like hot lava.

Without another word, he turns and walks away.

Present day

The screen door bangs shut behind me. After having been out in the fresh air of the orchards, the sweet, fruity smell of the house is even more pronounced. My family’s farmhouse has seen too many harvest seasons not to smell like peaches.

It smells exactly the same as it has my whole life. In fact, very little about the house has changed at all over the years. Except for the dwindling of its occupants, of course.

First Mom, now Dad. It took a few years for it to feel like home after Mom died, but it finally did. With Dad, it’ll be different. I can already tell. Although his death was sudden and accidental (he fell off a ladder out in the orchard and hit his head on a rock), I don’t mourn him like I did Mom. Or like Jenna mourns him. She can barely come into the driveway, much less spend time indoors. Then again, she was always his favorite. But that’s understandable, all things considered.

Feeling the sting of old wounds, I walk to the fridge for a beer. I jerk the door open with much more force than what’s necessary. It feels good to get a little of my aggression out, though. It’ll do until I can get back to work, making a living at staring death in the eye. Adrenaline—it’s my drug of choice to numb the pain of the past. And of the present, if it decides to act up and give me shit.

But right now, I have to shower before the bloodsucking douche paralegal from the estate attorney’s office arrives to start cataloging all our family holdings.

I pop the top on the bottle and down half of it before I even reach the stairs. I try not to think of the good ol’ days, just a few short weeks ago, when I was living the life I chose rather than the life my father left behind when he died.

What the hell was I thinking, coming back here?

Less than half an hour later, I’m freshly washed, cleanly shaved, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that reads: SKYDIVING: THE GROUND IS THE LIMIT. I grab another beer from the fridge and sit in the den, waiting for the tight-ass from the attorney’s office. The only sounds are the dog, Einstein, barking at something out back, the tick of the grandfather clock in the dining room, and the wind whistling through the crack in the screen door. It takes exactly seven minutes for this quiet combination to drive me nuts. Finishing my beer, I decide to get some stuff from the garage and wash my Jeep while I wait.

And if this straightlaced asshole doesn’t like it, he can kiss my puckered ass.

Twenty minutes later, I’m rinsing soap off the Rubicon when I see the flash of sun on a windshield, drawing my eye to the far end of the driveway. A little dusty blue car is making its way slowly along the path, moving in and out of the dappled patches of shade thrown onto the pavement by the trees stretching overhead. Every now and then, the sun will shine through the glass and hit the platinum blond hair of the driver. The long platinum blond hair of the driver. This immediately piques my interest. I never considered they might send a female.

I continue spraying, keeping an eye on the car as it comes closer. I watch as it rolls to a stop a few feet from where I am, parking in front of the house with its rear facing in my direction. The engine shuts off, and I see the driver reach onto the seat beside her. She fiddles with something before opening the door.

The first thing that comes out is legs. Two mile-long, perfectly toned ones capped in a pair of high, high heels. I wait anxiously to see the rest. She pauses for a second before scooting out of the car.

I see her first in profile as she reaches down to tug on the rising hem of her slim black skirt and then tucks her hair behind one ear.

When she finally turns toward me, her head is down as she looks at something in her hands. That’s fine by me. It just gives me time to ogle the shit out of her without getting a nasty glare for it.

The long legs were only the beginning of the package. Narrow hips curve into a tiny waist and lead up to what looks like a nice-sized rack. Not too big, not too small, although it’s hard to be sure through her loose-fitting blouse.

She walks gracefully toward me and, when she’s a couple of feet away, she looks up.

Just as my jaw drops in surprised recognition, the spray of the water hose hits the front bumper of the Jeep and shoots water all over my chest and stomach.

“Shit!” I yelp, jumping back when the cold water makes contact.

I redirect the hose and glance at the girl standing just outside spray reach. She’s smiling down at my wet shirt.

My mouth waters when I look at the lush pink lips spread over her perfect teeth. I remember the way they taste—sweet and innocent.

Like peaches.

And like a challenge.

I knew going into this whose estate I’d be recording. I saw the names on the paperwork and recognized one immediately.

Jake Theopolis.

It’s been a long time since that kiss at the fair, so I didn’t think twice about taking the assignment. It gets me home for a while and that’s what I wanted most.

Space.

Distance.

Escape.

Although I’d forgotten how incredibly handsome he is, I feel perfectly in control of myself as I look at him in his soaked T-shirt.

That is, until he lays the hose to the side and peels the dripping material from his body.

My breath is suddenly stuck in my chest, my pulse is racing, and my skin feels warm and damp.

Inches and inches of glistening golden skin cover wide shoulders, a powerful chest, and rippling abs. His jeans sit low on his hips, as though they were made to fit his lean body. If all that weren’t enough to get me flustered, the cocky grin on his face would be.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Might’ve even done it on purpose. I guess that’s what I get for smiling at his mishap.

Who’s laughing now?

“Something wrong?” Jake asks, his deep voice dripping with knowing amusement.

My eyes fly up to his, hoping for a break from the onslaught of his hotness. But I don’t get one. I fall headlong into those honey yellow eyes of his. I’d forgotten how disconcerting they are.

I’ve never seen honey like that before!

The movement of his hand draws my gaze downward again. Jake is wiping his wet palm on the leg of his jeans. The action causes the muscles in his chest to flex, making me feel even warmer.