Cream of the Crop Read online

  “Stop!”

  “Keep going!”

  “Turn around!”

  “Over here!”

  “Over there!”

  “What the hell are you doing to my cows?”

  Luckily, by the time I’d made it back to the Jeep, the men were in the herd, calming down the Bessies, while Roxie was left to calm down this Bessie. And this Bessie directed her to get us the fuck out of there right the fuck fucking now.

  And so here we sat, a half mile away from the cow pasture, and I was wondering if there was a one o’clock train back to the city.

  “What in the world, Natalie? Really, what’s going on?” Roxie asked, and I groaned inside my turtleneck.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. I just go to pieces around this guy.” I pulled down my turtleneck to just above my nose. “When I see him, I literally lose my mind. I can’t talk to him when I see that face, and those eyes, and those lips, and all that gorgeous ink, and those hands—did you see those hands? And—”

  “Okay, I got it. So, what if you couldn’t see him?”

  “How can you not see him? How can you not see that face, and those eyes, and those—”

  She held up her hand. “I’m not going to sit here while you go through another round of Sexual Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.”

  “Knees and Toes,” I sang back. Which made her smile, which made me smile. A little.

  She sighed. “I need to get back to the barn to make lunch.”

  “Great! I’m starved!” I announced, tugging down my turtleneck, anxious to sweep this whole thing under the Jeep.

  “A lunch that Oscar is attending.”

  “I’m actually still full from breakfast.” Up went the turtleneck.

  Roxie’s hands tugged it from my face. “You’re going. This ends today, one way or another.” She started the Jeep and pointed it toward the farm.

  I sat on my hands the entire way back to the barn to stop myself going full turtle. And as I sat on my hands, I thought about every time I’d seen Oscar, and how I’d reacted. I was fine when I was in the market, I was fine when I was in line, I was even fine when I was paying for my Brie. It was when we were full frontal, his eyes all over me and the force of him turned up to eleven, that reduced me to mush.

  And an idea began to take shape . . .

  Chapter 7

  Roxie chopped.

  I paced.

  Roxie stirred.

  I paced.

  She sautéed.

  Still . . . I paced.

  I was making her nervous. I knew this because every three or four minutes, she’d set down her knife/spoon/ladle/grinder and say, “You’re making me nervous, dammit.”

  I kept an eye on the road. Leo had texted to let Roxie know they were coming for lunch soon—they being the key word. They were on their way, they included Oscar, the tattooed godlike creature that I’d humiliated myself in front of for the last time.

  I chewed on a piece of celery, gnawing almost angrily as Roxie told me again that she thought I should go easy on this one, let things happen naturally, cool my jets and maintain my composure, and simply remember that I was a knockout who could have any man I wanted. But while I placated her with a few “yeses” and “you got its” and “shit yeahs,” I knew that I’d be using a different tactic when the milkman cameth.

  And just over the ridge, here he came, thundering down the road on a shit-yeah motorcycle. I almost couldn’t take it. Hair flying in the wind, sunglasses on like an ad for Ray-Ban, Oscar came to rest just outside the kitchen door, kicking up dust. Leo followed in his old Jeep, the two of them almost overkill.

  Just as my skin tingled and my thighs clenched, Roxie’s voice brought me back from the brink of a public orgasm.

  “Remember, Nat, be cool,” she said, flipping the chicken cutlets.

  Be cool? Tell that to my clitoris . . .

  Time to nip this in the bud.

  I nodded as I stood, my eyes locked on the tall drink of gorgeous as I went to the door and strode purposefully toward the man on the motorcycle. Leo took one look at me and wisely beat feet toward the kitchen, where I could see Roxie peeping through the flour-sack curtains.

  “Oscar, right?” I said, keeping my eyes focused on the pastoral scene just above and beyond his left shoulder. Powerful muscles, beautiful golden skin, swirled with enticing ink.

  I let my eyes run down toward his hand, which I grabbed before I could lose my nerve. Avoiding eye contact, I headed toward the unrenovated part of the barn, where Roxie had shown me the old milking stalls. I could feel the heat of his hand as he held my fingers tightly in his grip, making me fully aware that he was along for the ride.

  I could also feel that his gaze was firmly on my backside. A smile crept over my face as I felt Normal Natalie show herself for the first time around this guy.

  Sweet-smelling hay crunched underfoot and the sun fell through the space between the rafters as I led him toward the stalls in the back of the barn.

  Reaching the end of the aisle, I turned to face him, keeping my eyes straight ahead. He was so close behind I nearly crashed into his chest. I noticed, not for the first time, how very tall he was. I was used to men being only a few inches taller than me, the same height when I was wearing my heels. Which I almost always was. But this guy’s collarbone was exactly the same height as my mouth.

  Oh.

  I released his hand and placed both of mine on his warm, broad chest. Inhaling, I got an intoxicating noseful of Oscar. My eyes were drawn up past the sight of my hands on him, which made me shiver, to the sliver of skin above his T-shirt with just the barest hint of ink. Licking my lips, I lightly pushed him backward toward the side of the stall. And when we were there, I ran around the wall to the adjoining stall.

  Where I couldn’t see him.

  Where I could finally talk to him.

  I took a deep breath, then opened my mouth to speak.

  “So here’s the thing, Oscar. Can I call you Oscar?”

  “My name is Oscar,” he said, sounding a little amused.

  “Right,” I nodded, screwing up my eyes in frustration. Hmm. That was actually even better. I couldn’t see him, and now I couldn’t see anything. Much better. I reached out, catching hold of a wooden slat, rough under my fingertips, yet grounding somehow. “Here’s the thing, Oscar,” I repeated. “You’re fucking incredible to look at, and when I see you, I turn stupid. Weirdly, oddly stupid, because normally I can talk to any guy. But with you, it’s like all I can say is what I always say. Oh. Yes. Which believe me, I’ve thought about all the different ways that I could say that. And obviously your cheese is amazing, but it’s not all about the cheese for me. What I mean to say, is . . .” I bit down on my lower lip. Should I just come out with it? “I think about you all the time, naked all the time, with me, and I’m naked and I’m doing things to you, and holy shit are you doing things to me, and it’s so very very good, and if you were any other guy we’d already be doing the naked very good things, but you’re not, it’s like you’ve got some kind of mysterious hold over me—speaking of which, I’ve thought about you over me, and under me, and behind me.” I laughed out loud, realizing that my brain had clearly decided to just come out with it. “So—I needed to say this, and you needed to hear this, and now maybe I can be in the same room with you and actually have eye contact and not turn stupid anymore, because it’s out there now. We’re both aware of it, and now when I come to see you in the city and you ring up my order, you’ll know and I’ll know that while I definitely want your Brie, I’m also imagining banging the ever-loving fuck out of you.”

  There.

  Said it.

  And he wasn’t saying anything. Not good.

  “You know who I am, right?”

  Still nothing from his side of the stall.

  I climbed up one rung, the
n the second. Was he still there? I made it to the top, peered over—but the stall was empty.

  “I know exactly who you are,” a deep voice said behind me.

  I startled, then realized Oscar was exactly where I wanted him to be. Behind me, getting a great view of my exceptional—

  “You’re the Brie girl with the great big ass.”

  I turned slowly on my precarious perch, a slow burn building toward the top of my head.

  As I turned, his eyes flickered up from my ass to my face, and he blinked in surprise when he saw my expression. Springing lightly to the ground—a feat I’m sure someone with all this great big ballast wasn’t supposed to be able to do—I poked him squarely in the chest and looked him dead in those beautiful gray-blue eyes. “You want to say that again? To my face?”

  A slow grin spread across his face. “Which part?”

  “You know exactly which part.”

  He moved closer. “Oh, the part about your great big ass?”

  I blinked in total surprise. “I can’t believe you have the balls to say that out loud.”

  “What, that you’ve got a great ass?”

  “Come again?” I asked, confused.

  He took a step closer to me. Which made me take a step backward from him. “Seeing you standing in my line is the second-best part of my Saturday,” he said, taking another step.

  I was up against the wooden wall with nowhere to go. “What’s the first-best part?”

  “Watching you walk away.” He placed his hands on either side of my head and leaned in. “I love watching your great big ass.”

  “Hold up,” I said, placing one hand on his chest and slowing his roll. “Are you saying great big ass? Or great comma big ass?”

  He looked at me quizzically. “Great comma big ass?”

  This was going to be harder than I thought. “Okay, I’m confused. So you’re not saying that I have a great big . . . ass, you’re saying that I have a great . . . big ass. Meaning—”

  “Your ass is big. And it’s great.” He dipped down to bring his face to within inches of mine. “How is that confusing?”

  “You’re not supposed to say something like that to a woman,” I said, narrowing my eyes and trying not to notice that he’d just licked his lips, making them look even more delicious. I lifted my chin. “Luckily for you, I’m aware that it’s a great ass. And yes, it’s big.”

  He studied me. “You sure talk a lot. If you’re going to talk this much, say more about the naked stuff you want us doing.”

  “Oh, you mean like the—”

  Oscar grabbed me by my hips, his giant hands wrapping around my look-how-tiny-he-makes-it-look waist, and pulled me against him. Before I could even take a breath, he kissed me. Intense heat burned against my lips, crushing, twisting, slanting this way and that as he consumed me.

  My breasts were pressed against his chest as he moved impossibly closer, and I slid my hands up his arms and around his neck, tangling into the hair that I’d been dying to touch. I wrapped my fingers around the thick, coarse strands as I tugged his head down toward mine while he kissed me again and again. My feet slipped on the hay, but he held me against the stall with the strength of his body.

  From the back of his throat came a rumbling sound halfway between a groan and a moan, and I reveled in the knowledge that he was as lost as I was. But just as his tongue swept out to lick my lips and scramble the very last part of my brain, he pulled away abruptly, leaving both of us panting.

  He ran his hands through the hair mussed by my roving hands, then scrubbed at his face as though trying to get his bearings. His eyes burned as he took me in again, messy and still glued to the back of the stall, wondering where all the heat had gone. He reached out to run one thumb across my swollen lips, which I quickly took into my mouth ever so slightly and nipped.

  There was the heat again, flaring in his eyes, and I could see him weighing his options of whether to pursue once more (yes yes and a little more yes) or back away and save some for later (also a fan of this).

  “Those naked very good times you mentioned?”

  I dropped a kiss on his thumb. “Mm-hmm?”

  His eyes raked over me, thrilling every inch. When those eyes focused once more on mine, I was on fire. “I’m in.”

  And then I heard a metal triangle being clanged, and Roxie’s voice calling that lunch was ready.

  Now what?

  I smoothed my shirt, shaking out my hair and trying to make myself look like I hadn’t just mouth-fucked a god.

  Oscar stood aside, suddenly a gentleman with a devastatingly ungentlemanly grin, allowing me to go first. And as I walked past, I heard that same rough, rumbly sound from Oscar.

  So I put some extra sway in my great . . . big ass.

  Internal soundtrack picked up the cue and immediately hit Play on the Commodores’ “Brick House” . . .

  Chapter 8

  I’d just been kissed within an inch of my life, and now I was expected to eat prawns in a reduced fig and chili demi-glace over a bed of mustard greens and baby bok choy?

  Apparently, yes. And the prawns were delicious. But sitting across from Oscar, watching him lick a bit of errant sauce from his lower lip after he was licking my lower lip only moments before? Pure, sweet torture.

  And during this sweet torture, no one said a word. But as I watched everyone’s faces, I could read their minds. Roxie was scheming, her eyes darting from Oscar to me, trying to work out what had happened and how she could further things along. Leo was oblivious, enjoying the exquisite meal his girlfriend had prepared for him. Oscar was eating as well, but his eyes were fixed solidly on me, watching every move I made. I could feel the heat of his gaze as I lifted a bite of bok choy to my mouth, and most especially when my lips parted to take it in. I was getting eye-fucked, and how. How scandalous.

  Eventually the silence became too much to bear, and Roxie jumped right in.

  “So, Oscar, did you know that Natalie is here to help put Bailey Falls on the map? From an advertising perspective, that is.”

  “Your name’s Natalie?” he asked, once again conveying an entire world of words in a simple three. He’d had his thigh between mine, his hands on my hips, and his mouth all over my face earlier, and only now is he realizing he doesn’t even know my name? Mmm, how scandalous!

  “It is,” I answered, brushing my strawberry-blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the full power of my bosom. His eyes flared. Naturally. “Your town councilman Chad Bowman wrote to our firm in the city asking for some help. They want to bring more money into your adorable town, more tourists.”

  “Tourists.” He chuffed like a horse. Go back to the part where his thigh was pressed between mine, and I can attest that his chuffing wasn’t the only resemblance to a horse. Hung like a . . . “Why do we need tourists?”

  “They can add significant income to any small town—especially one that not only captures the natural beauty of the landscape, but also has something that I haven’t seen featured in any other travel publication regarding the Hudson Valley.” I popped in a prawn.

  “What’s that?” Leo asked, as Oscar continued his laser lock on me.

  I chewed, thought about how to phrase this, and then decided on the direct approach. “Hot fucking farmers, that’s what.” Leo’s eyes grew to the size of Oreos. “I mean, you two are ridiculous—how do the women in this town get any work done?”

  “There’s a reason why Leo and I don’t work together,” Roxie snorted as Leo looked at her in surprise. “What? It’s true. I don’t know exactly where Natalie’s going with this, but I have to agree with her assessment.” She then turned to me. “Where are you going with this?”

  “You’ve got Leo Maxwell here, heir to the Maxwell banking fortune, who gives it all up to run upstate and raise organically produced eggplants—you don’t think there’s a great stor
y there? Before you say anything, I’m not talking about exploiting anyone here—but think about it. It’s interesting, right? When the entire country is starting to really consider where their food is coming from, and who is growing it, it’s a perfect fit. Show New Yorkers how coming to the country and touring that gorgeous farm is a great way to not only do something good, but bring new eyeballs to this fantastic town.”

  Leo was shaking his head, unsure.

  Undaunted, I prattled on, working on the pitch out loud as I ran with it. “I’m not talking about a Men of Bailey Falls calendar—just a few key stories placed in exactly the right magazines, exactly the right social media platforms, all about getting back to nature and experiencing a quieter way of life. Brought to you by these hot fucking farmers. All very tasteful of course, no one would even have to take their shirt off. No beefcake. Just implied gorgeous. Accidental hotness. And this guy,” I said, pointing at Oscar. “I don’t know the story here yet, but I know there must be one. A hot dairy farmer? The copy writes itself.”

  Everyone had stopped eating. Leo’s forkful of prawns was poised a few inches from his mouth, frozen there as he listened to me position this in the worst possible way. Oscar gave me a long, hard look, then shrugged and returned his attention to his plate. “There’s no story here.”

  Hmmm. No one without a story has ever said there’s no story here. But this wasn’t the time to dig.

  “You know what, let’s table this for now. Let me finish touring the town, get to know the DNA a bit more, before we start thinking about anything concrete.” I turned to Oscar. “So, I hear you’ve got a huge barn. Care to show it me sometime?”

  Roxie started coughing, and Leo handed her a glass of water and patted her on the back. “You okay there, Sugar Snap?”

  I just grinned at Oscar. Who actually grinned back. Now that I’d talked to him, and been kissed by him, my old confidence had returned. He’d be putty in my hands soon enough—they always were.