Bittersweet (True North #1) by Sarina Bowen
“Evening,” Zara muttered. “You need something?” Her dark eyes dared him to ask her for anything.
“Just need to say hello to Audrey,” he said, dropping a hand on my bare shoulder. My skin heated beneath his hand, and I fought off a giddy shiver. My libido was like a Golden Retriever puppy, ready to jump all over him and lick his face.
Down, girl.
Steeling myself against all that hotness, I looked up at him. “Evening, Grumpy Griff.”
The corners of Zara’s mouth turned up. But then her gaze traveled down to his hand, which was still on my shoulder. And the girl’s dark eyes filled with something like a mixture of irritation and hurt. She turned away, heading down to the other end of the bar.
“Come sit with us,” he said, his voice rumbling right through my core.
“I’m waiting for my meal,” I piped up. “And something tells me the bartender doesn’t like you. If I’m at your table, she might never feed me.”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Well, it’s a risk.”
“What did you ever do to her?” I asked, taking sides with a woman I’d known for about three minutes.
“Eh, it’s what I didn’t.”
We stopped talking because Zara came toward me again, my salad bowl in her hand. She plunked it down in front of me, then Griff picked it right up. “Put this on our tab,” he said, taking the roll of silverware out of her other hand.
“Yes, master,” she sniped, giving him a salute before marching off.
“Whatever you did or didn’t do, you might want to consider apologizing,” I said as I rose from the stool, grabbing my beer.
“I’ll take it under advisement.” He carried my dinner over to a vintage wooden booth where three guys watched my approach with fascination.
“Hey there, Audrey,” Zach said, jumping up. He held out a hand, offering me the inside seat.
I slid in, and Griff sat beside me, setting my salad down in front of me. Zach pulled up a chair to the end of the table.
“These chuckleheads are Kieran and Kyle, my cousins,” Griff explained as I began to eat my salad. “Boys, say hi to our friend Audrey.”
“Hi-to-our-friend-Audrey,” they droned in tandem, then laughed and high-fived each other.
Griff shook his big head as if in pain, but I had a feeling that Kyle and Kieran were going to be fun. The night was looking up. And the salad I’d ordered really wasn’t bad. If a restaurant had a decent Caesar salad, I knew it was worth going back again.
Of course, I’d probably come here every night like a loser if it meant sitting hip to hip to Griff Shipley. Pathetic much?
“So. How are things?” I asked, cutting my chicken with my fork. “Where’s the new guy? I wondered if he’d work out okay.” I shoved a bite into in my mouth, wishing I hadn’t said it. I didn’t mean to advertise the fact that I’d thought about the Shipley farm every day since I’d left it.
“Jude is doing great,” Zach volunteered. “Mrs. Shipley’s been feeding him up. Tonight May drove him to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in Norwich.”
“That was nice of her.”
“It really is,” Griff agreed.
“Let’s see…” Zach put his chin in his hand. “The peaches are almost done, and the apples are just beginning…”
“You have peaches?” I squeaked. “Damn. The things I could make with tree-ripened peaches.” I gave a shuddering sigh just thinking about it. Peach cobbler. Ginger-peach muffins…
“Whoa,” Kyle said with a grin. “You okay over there? They’re just peaches. The wasps like those trees, too. Just yesterday I got stung on my bare…”
“Quiet, moron,” Griff barked. He turned to me. “Did BPG send you back to Vermont?”
“They sure did. Their old approach wasn’t working, so they upped their budget. I think the numbers are decent now. Guess I’ll find out.” I knew there’d be some new problem, though. There always was.
“How did you like that kitchen where you were temping?” Griff asked, his forehead furrowing into a thoughtful expression. “The high-tech place.”
I was surprised he even remembered. “It was fascinating, and I learned a lot about cutting-edge foodie technology. But the kitchen was sort of…joyless. And the chef was a dick. They all are. He didn’t bother learning my name for the first two weeks. The last two weeks he spent grabbing my ass and calling me ‘Tawdry.’ That was his funny little joke.”
Griffin made the grouchiest face I have ever seen on him. And that’s saying something. “This asshole is the boss?”
Kieran spoke up for the first time. “Can’t you report him to HR?”
“I could,” I said, picking through my salad. “But they don’t care what he says as long as he’s getting good reviews and selling out of forty-dollar truffle dishes in his dining room. Besides—this company is going to fund my dream, even if they don’t know it yet. So I don’t want to be the girl who’s accusing them of a hostile work environment.”
Nobody spoke for a moment, but Zach’s face went all endearingly gloomy.
“That sucks, princess,” Griff said eventually.
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “This calls for more beer. I’ll get it so Zara doesn’t poison it.”
Kieran chuckled. “It’s like clockwork—there’s a woman present, so Kyle finds his wallet.”
They all chatted about the bar and about picking the rest of the peaches while I finished my salad.
“How long are you in town?” Griff asked when I pushed my plate away.
Kyle waggled his eyebrows at Griff, who silenced him with a Griff Glare.
“At least a couple of weeks. I’ll have to drive around a lot to find all the produce they’re looking for.” There wouldn’t be anyone from BPG around to monitor my daily activities. That meant lots of time to explore and eat local peaches. I could even try cooking them in the crappy little kitchenette at the motor lodge where I was staying. I was looking forward to a little unstructured time away from the stressful kitchen where I’d worked so hard for the last month. The bottom of the foodie totem pole was a lonely place.
“The cranberries won’t be ripe for a while,” Zach was saying to Kieran. “You’re heading out of town at the wrong time.”
“Wait, you have cranberries, too?” I asked. “I thought you needed a bog for that.”
Griff shook his head. “Big commercial growers flood the field to make the harvest easier. But the plant itself grows anywhere you put it.”
“In November, Mrs. Shipley makes her famous apple and cranberry pie with a crumb topping,” Zach said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “It’s my favorite time of year.”
“Truth,” Kyle said, sitting down again with the pitcher. “That pie gives me a foodgasm. It’s pretty much the reason I work the orchard in the first place.”
“Naw,” Griff scoffed. “It’s because of my winning personality.” He pushed my beer glass toward his cousin for a refill.
At the same moment, Griff’s free hand landed on my bare knee, spanning so much width that his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.
I gave a whole-body shiver.
“You okay?” Kyle asked again.
“Fine,” I said quickly, taking another gulp of beer. But those naughty fingertips stroked slowly across my skin, firing up every nerve ending in my body. My brain began to short circuit, sending sparks flying willy-nilly in every direction.
If he kept that up I was going to do something very, very stupid. So I did what was necessary. Slipping my hand under the table, I pushed his hand off of my knee. “You are not a nice man,” I said under my breath.
“Not true,” he returned quietly. And as his hand retreated back to its own territory, it took mine with it. Griff’s big fingers closed gently around my own, and for reasons that were a mystery to me, I let them.
Griff flattened my hand onto his leg, my palm spread out on his muscular thigh, my fingertips grazing his bare quad where his shorts ended. The hai
Gah. I didn’t know how a girl was supposed to stop thinking about a thing like that.
“Who’s doing the Norwich fair tomorrow?” somebody asked. “I went last week.”
“I’ll take it,” Griff said as his fingers slid down the back of my hand. “Jude will come with me.”
“Bring us back some donuts,” Kyle requested.
They kept talking, but all my focus was on my hand and the way Griff was stroking it with just the lightest touches. Then he lifted my hand into his and massaged my palm with his roughened thumb, teasing me with a slow caress that had me thinking about other places he might be touching…
I wanted to lie back and close my eyes. I wanted to throw myself at him again.
But I wasn’t going to do it.
I wasn’t.
Really.
His tricky fingers curved around my wrist, making me feel deceptively fragile compared to his great bulk. Who knew that the wrist was an erogenous zone? I’d begun to prickle with awareness everywhere. And he was only holding my hand.
“Sleepy?” Kyle asked me as my eyes went to half-mast from pleasure.
“Mmm?” I shook myself. “It was a long drive up here after a long day at work.”
The conversation went on, but I was fixated on Griff’s touch. Those naughty fingers brushed my leg again, but only the outside. Maybe I really was “Tawdry” because I regretted shoving him away from me. Unbidden, my leg drifted ever so slightly closer to him beneath the table. Griff chuckled quietly, then skimmed his palm over my bare knee again.
I stopped breathing.
Those thick fingers spread, caressing the tender skin of my inner thigh. Then his hand slipped upward, under my skirt. “You know where I found some vole damage?” he asked, though I could barely focus on the words. “By the Greening trees, the ones beside the Pippins…” He drew a little map with his finger on the table, and the other three men focused their attention on whatever he was telling them. Meanwhile, a single finger passed lightly up my thigh, between my legs, over the cotton of my panties.
I bit down on my lip to keep from whimpering. In my life I’d done some irresponsible things. Tonight I felt myself on the verge of one more.
“You okay, Audrey?” Zach asked me, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. “You’re kinda flushed.”
“Uh,” I said, trying not to pant. “I think I need some air.”
Griff’s hand retreated instantly. Then he slid out of the booth. “I’ll come outside with you.”
“There’s something I needed to ask you, anyway.” And there really was. If I could just stop lusting after him for ten seconds, I’d planned to ask for his help.
He took my hand and led me outside. The summery air smelled so sweet I wanted to drink it in. But the only thing I’d be drinking in was Griff. He pushed me up against the wooden clapboards and kissed me.
Apparently Griff and I didn’t do slow and subtle. Our tongues tangled about two seconds into that kiss. He tasted like a potent elixir of heat and man and beer. And I wanted every drop I could get. His big hands landed at my waist, where they nearly encircled me. I wanted to stay there, pinned by Griff Shipley, forever.
I’d always been a practical girl.
Not.
When we came up for air we were both panting. I tipped my head back against the wall and looked up at the brilliant display of stars. “Is this what we do?” I asked with a wheeze. “We attack each other at every outdoor opportunity?”
“Apparently,” he mumbled, bending down to suck on my neck. My girl parts shimmied, hoping he’d never stop, unless it was to use that incredible mouth elsewhere. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?”
“What?” I gasped, pressing my legs together against the ache. “No. I…”
He lifted his head and waited.
God. My breasts were heavy and my lips were swollen. “Just know that I enjoy revenge.”
“Yeah?” His big, sinful mouth curved into a smile. “I’ll remember that. Now what did you want to ask me?”
“Uh. It was a favor. Wanted to ask for…” His thumb caressed my cheekbone, and it was hard to stay focused. “…help.”
He made a low sound in his throat. “What kind of help?” His hips pushed against me, and I felt the most glorious erection pin me to the wall. While he waited for my answer, he ran his fingers through my messy hair.
“Um…” I took a deep breath, calling on the last few brain cells I still had left. “I wondered if you’d introduce me to some farmers. You told ’em all not to talk to me. But now my prices are so much better.”
His eyes fell shut, and he sighed. Then he backed off a few crucial inches, taking his hands off my body and standing at least a foot away.
I braced myself for his rejection.
“Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes. He studied me, his expression thoughtful. “I could do that. Sure thing.”
“Really?” I squeaked, putting both hands on his broad chest.
“Really,” he repeated. “You can come to the Norwich farmers’ market with me tomorrow morning. It’s the biggest market in the area. Lots of farmers in one place.”
“Great,” I breathed, looking up into his rugged face. Kiss me again, I inwardly begged.
Instead, he gently removed my hands from his chest.
“W…why’d you do that?”
He sighed. “You asked me for help with business. I’m not gonna be like that asshole chef who’s grabbing your ass when you’re just trying to get a job done.”
“But…but…” I stammered. All the nerves in my body (particularly the ones below my waist) screamed, Nooooooooo!
“Besides,” he said, reaching for my hand. “I drove my guys here tonight…” He kissed my palm, and the soft brush of his beard taunted me. I wanted to feel it everywhere. He must have seen it in my eyes. Because he placed my hand at his neck, then dipped his head to kiss my jaw again. His voice dropped low and smoky. “The things I want to do to you would take all night, anyway. If we ever get a chance, I want you all spread out underneath me.”
Unggh. The idea had me absolutely throbbing. Tawdry Audrey at your service.
“But not tonight,” he whispered. “Not in a parking lot, princess.”
I said nothing at all for fear that I’d start begging. So instead I just stared up at him like a puppy hoping for one more treat. He leaned in and gave me a single, soft kiss. When he pulled back, I wanted to reach for him, but I made myself stand still.
The back door banged open and Zara lurched into view with a plastic bin in two hands. She stopped short when she saw us, her eyes tracing the narrow distance between me and Griff. Jerking her gaze away, she took two steps forward and slammed the bin to the ground, the recyclables rattling around with a deafening crash. Then she stormed inside and slammed the door.
“Is that your girlfriend?” I asked. Please say no.
“No, baby.” He sighed. “It never got that far.”
Oh. But it was obvious they’d had something. Of course they had. Zara was beautiful. Griff Shipley probably had every woman for a hundred miles pining for him.
Don’t fall for him, I ordered myself. Don’t you dare.
“Where are you staying?” Griff asked. “Not like there are a lot of options. It’s either The Three Bears Motor Lodge or a hotel in Montpelier.”
“The, uh, motor lodge,” I confessed. Until that moment I hadn’t realized that I’d chosen the option closer to the Shipley Farm. Thanks, subconscious.
He chuckled. “Is your room okay? I always wonder how Mrs. Beasley keeps that place up. She’s about ninety.”
“She looks it.”
“I’ll bet. She doesn’t retire, though, because then there wouldn’t be any visitors to spy on anymore.”
“Oh.”
The main door opened this time, and Griff stepped back just as his cousins came out. Kyle looked from Griff to me and back again. “Everything okay?”
“Just fine,” I said quickly.
Kyle nodded at his cousin. “Thought you’d want to get back.”
“Yeah,” he said, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “Dawn comes soon enough. Where is your car, princess?”
God, I hated that nickname. “It’s right there.”
“You need directions or…”
I shook my head. “It’s two miles down the road, Griff. Even a fuck-up like me can find it.”
Kyle laughed, but Griffin looked like he’d tasted something sour. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty,” he said.
“In the morning?” I squeaked.
His bearded face broke into a smile—and the man’s smile was potent. “Be ready, princess. It’s a long day selling apples.” He turned away and headed toward his truck. All four guys got in.
I headed for my rental car, because what else was I going to do with the last bit of a Friday night in Tuxbury, Vermont?
I noticed that Griff waited until I’d left the parking lot and turned in the proper direction before he drove away into the night.
He really did think I was supremely incompetent. Just like everyone else did.
Chapter Thirteen
Griffin
It was nearly impossible to work a fourteen-hour day on the farm and then lay awake half the night. But somehow I managed it.
As a quarter moon rose and set outside my window, I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to a nearby barred owl hoot, while my problems chased each other around in my head.
I was a selfish man at heart. We all are, I suppose. But saving our farm required a level of selflessness that was difficult to maintain. I’d told myself that I could do it—I could give up football and run this place the way it had always been run. I could employ my father’s brand of Yankee ingenuity to forge on, selling milk and apples to bring in cash for things like clothes and cars and tuition. And doctor’s visits for gramps and Dylan’s contact lenses.