For the best.

For the best.

I walk to the bed and gently touch her side. Her brow wrinkles and she mumbles something, but she scoots over and I slide in beside her. It isn’t long before she rolls back toward me and curls up with her head on my chest.

Damn, she feels good there.

My mind blinks back to the way she responded to me tonight, pressed up against a cold metal pole and not seeming to care. Sugar and spice.

For my own good, I try to put her out of my mind.

But it’s her face and her body that fill my dreams.

It’s hot and I’m sticky, and I could use a break. With Laney. I’m feeling a little restless and I think she sounds like the perfect distraction.

Heading into the house, I find her holed up in the dining room, as usual. This time she has a book and a bunch of pictures of different items in the house spread out in front of her.

“Wow,” I say as I take my customary place leaning against the jamb, watching her. “That looks boring as hell.”

“Does it?” she asks, looking up at me. She’s wearing glasses today. I’ve never seen her in them before, and I’m not normally fond of that look (or that type of woman, for that matter), but these are a turn-on. At least they are on Laney. She looks like a hot librarian or something. Uptight and all. And boy is she uptight today, especially since last night! It makes me that much more anxious to get her loosened up.

“It does. But lucky for you, I have the perfect antidote. Come with me.”

“I really need to get this done.”

“This is work, too. Just a variation. Something with a little more fun worked in.”

“And just how do you plan to make work fun?”

“Well, for starters, I’ll be with you. How can you go wrong?”

She grins and rolls her eyes, but it’s a playful expression.

We’re off to a good start.

“What does this ‘fun work’ that you speak of entail, exactly?”

“It’s a surprise. But I can tell you that it will involve some walking, so you’ll need to change.” I let my eyes drift over her prim form, sitting so straight and tall in her chair. “Not that I don’t love the thought of loosening every one of those buttons . . .” I say, looking pointedly at where her breasts are straining against little pearl closures down the front of her shirt.

Although still casual, she’s wearing some slacks and a little blouse, something far too dressy for this house. But, more importantly, it’s far too dressy for this excursion. I wasn’t lying, though. Seeing her in her standoffish clothes really does make me want to get her out of them even more. To leave her with nothing for cover, nothing to hide behind.

She eyes me wryly, but it doesn’t hide the pretty blush that stains her cheeks. Although I have no desire to pursue any kind of relationship with her, I don’t want to leave her in any doubt that I want her.

Badly.

“Come on. Chop, chop!” I prompt.

Laney lays her glasses aside and gets up. When she’s even with me in the doorway, I lean down and whisper, “If you need help with those buttons, holler.”

I wink when she looks up at me.

“I think I can manage,” comes her sassy reply, but I can tell by the way her eyes dart away that I’m making her nervous. And, for my purposes, that’s a very good thing.

“Suit yourself. Just hurry. We need to be back by dark.”

With that, she moves off a little more quickly.

Less than five minutes later, I’m standing at the bottom of the steps when she hits the top one. She’s twisting her hair up and securing it with a clip. The action makes the thin material of her yellow tank top stretch across her chest. I can see the outline of her nipples perfectly. My mouth waters with thoughts of having one of them against my tongue again.

I look away from her chest to take in legs that look a mile long in her khaki shorts, feet covered in cute little hiking boots. I’d much rather throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bed, but that’s not an option.

Yet.

“You brought a little bit of everything when you left your dad’s, huh?”

Laney stops mid-descent and looks down at herself. “What do you mean?”

“Hiking boots?”

“I always bring them when I come home. I hadn’t unpacked yet, so I just grabbed my bags and took off. Pretty much everything I own is on your bedroom floor.”

“That’s exactly where I picture your clothes every time I look at you.”

“You could do this all day long, couldn’t you?”

“Do what?” I ask, assuming my most innocuous expression.

“Tease me.”

I wait to answer until she’s on the next to last step, nearly tall enough to look me in the eye. “Baby, I haven’t even begun to tease you.”

“Well, maybe it’s best if you don’t.”

As I suspected, she’s still stinging from last night.

“No, I can guarantee you that it’s best for both of us if I do.”

“How would you know what’s best for me?”

It’s not a sarcastic question, but more a genuine one. I wonder if she asks herself that same thing often.

I step up on the last step, my chest close enough to brush hers. “You need to let your hair down a little. And I can help you with that. Neither of us wants anything serious. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. And I’m perfect for you.”

“You’re perfect for me right now maybe, but normally . . .”

“I know, I know. Normally you’re a good girl. And I’m the kind that corrupts them. Normally, you’d stay far away from me. And I’d probably stay away from you. But this isn’t normal. I’m willing to go with it. And I think you are, too, if you’ll get the hell out of your own head.” I reach out to take a thin wisp of hair that’s lying by her ear. I wind it around my finger. “Leave ‘normally’ behind, Laney. Leave all this shit with your dad and your friend and your shithole-of-an-ex behind. Give me a try. I promise I’ll make you glad you did.”

I see her swallow. Hard. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not this girl?”

I stroke her trembling bottom lip with my thumb. “We already talked about this. Trust me. You’re this girl.”

To show her what I mean, to show her how good we are together and how much her body knows that her mind denies, I bend my head and press my lips to hers. I take it slow and easy at first, brushing her mouth with mine, tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of my tongue. When she parts them for me—not because I ask her to or because I’m pushing her, but only because she wants to taste me as much as I want to taste her—I slide my tongue between them and lick it like I licked her last night. Like I’m tasting the world’s finest ice cream. Like I’m savoring every last bit of it. Of her. And I am. Something about her is sweet. The sweetest I’ve ever tasted. And it’s got me hard and ready for her, even now.

As much as I want to take her back upstairs, I pull away instead. That’ll come soon enough . . .

And then so will she.

“Believe me now?”

She looks down at my chin and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s a shy gesture, but she nods in agreement.

“Good. Let’s go.” I take her hand in mine and lead her from the house and across the yard toward the orchard gate. “You wanted to see the property, right? Well, there’s a lot to see, but today I think a good place to start would be the east grove. It butts up against the river, which will be a cool and refreshing place to visit on a day like today.”

She stops dead. “I’m not wearing a suit. And I’m not going skinny dipping.”

“Damn, you really are going to be difficult. But who said anything about skinny-dipping?”

I tug her hand, and she reluctantly resumes her walk at my side. I tell her what I know about the orchard—number of acres, average yield each year, labor and upkeep, the average season length. She takes it all in.

She listens and looks around as we walk, never saying a word or asking a question. Then we fall silent. It’s when she speaks after a few minutes that I realize why she’s been so quiet. She hasn’t been thinking about the orchard or work at all.