Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

Finished brushing his teeth, he rinsed his toothbrush, then his mouth, all while watching her graceful fingers travel over her pink cheeks in the mirror. “You’re going to present the plan with me, aren’t you?”

Her fingers stilled as she met his eyes in the mirror, then resumed their task with greater speed. “If you’d like me to. I don’t know what I’d bring to the table that you haven’t already covered. They’re lucky to have you in New York. You’re excellent at what you do.”

“You had as much input as I did, if not more. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Holding his gaze in the mirror, she lowered her hands, her chest lifting on quick breaths. After a moment, she looked away, and her eyes focused on the other side of the sink.

“Could you pass me that—”

“Do you mind handing me—”

Their outstretched arms bumped as they each reached for something on the opposite side of the vanity.

Mitch stilled, savoring the sensation of her warm skin pressing against his. Her forearm slid away as she pulled back, and he followed, curling his palm loosely beneath her elbow and stepping closer. “You asked me if I needed anything else,” he said softly.

She glanced down at his hand, then focused on his bare chest, her eyes darkening. “Yes?”

He grinned. “I’m not above a good luck kiss if it’ll help us pull this off.”

Us. Man, that felt good on his tongue and sounded even better out loud. If only he could make it feel and sound as good to her.

Kristen looked up at him, a small smile forcing its way to her lips and a gleam of humor entering her eyes. “All right.” Her attention drifted down to his chest, and she jerked her eyes back up to his, her smile fading. “But just one.”

“Just one,” he promised.

Nodding, she lowered her arms to her sides, closed her eyes, then lifted her chin and pursed her mouth just a tad.

A chuckle rose in his throat, but he stifled it, stepped closer, and cupped her jaw. Just one, he reminded himself, his laughter trailing away. Though he sensed she was pulling away from him, this was one of the few times she’d offered to let him in. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t make it a good one.

He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers. Nudging her lips apart, he swept the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, savoring the taste of her and absorbing her soft cry of pleasure.

Her arms encircled his waist, and her small hands slid over his bare back, her fingers trailing along each dip and rise of his muscles, until they reached the towel. Curving inward, they tugged him closer. Then she went on her toes, pressed tighter against him, and urged him to deepen the kiss.

He complied, angling his head, touching his tongue to hers and sliding his hand around to cradle the back of her head. He walked her toward the wall slowly until the back of his hand and her bottom bumped it, and then he slid one leg between hers.

She moaned and squeezed his lower back with her fingertips. The gentle pressure of her touch, the sensual movement of her mouth, and the soft press of her breasts against the hardness of his chest were incredible.

His stubbled jaw rasped against her smooth, moisturized cheek, and the light scent of lotion mixed with the sweet smell of her shampoo as she hugged him closer.

Lord, he wanted her. Wanted to touch her, hold her . . . make love to her. Show her how much he needed her. But this wasn’t the right time or place.

Every inch of his body hardening, he groaned, then forced himself to pull his mouth from hers, lift his head, then step back. And there she stood, gazing back at him with heavy eyes, flushed cheeks, and plump, thoroughly kissed lips, every bit of which intensified the waves of pleasure moving through him.

“I think that did the job,” he rasped.

For now, but he wanted forever with her. He wanted the chance to wake up to her sleepy smile every morning, hear her throaty laugh in the fields while they worked every afternoon, and caress her soft, warm body every night, giving her pleasure, showing her love and proving every damn day what a rare gift this feeling was that she inspired in him—this unconditional, unwavering devotion to love her despite whatever challenges came their way.

She touched her mouth, her fingertips lingering on the moist curve of her lower lip. “Yes.” Clearing her throat, she blinked rapidly, dropped her arm back to her side, and straightened. The eager, welcoming light left her eyes, and a blank, empty look took its place. “We should finish getting ready. It’ll be time to leave soon.”

Thirty minutes later, they did. Mitch drove, and Emmy sat in the passenger seat, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Sadie and Dylan sat in the back of the cab, with Kristen in between. Every couple of miles, her eyes would meet his in the rearview mirror for a moment before she looked away, and he’d voice a silent plea for fate to tip the scales in his favor for once.

The fifteen members of the committee were already seated at the large table in the conference room of the community center when they arrived. Charles, Zach, and Iris smiled at them in greeting, as did fellow farm owners Al and Stephanie Jenkins and Jenny Yarrow, who sat in their usual places. Local mechanic Terrance Smith and teacher Elena Martinez had taken their seats beside the mayor, Bud Watson, and they gave a brief hello, as well. A few new faces were present, too. Two men and a woman Mitch didn’t recognize watched the group from their seated positions on chairs lining the wall.

Dana Markham left the podium at the front of the room, walked over, and put out her hand. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hart.”

A strong pleasant sensation unfurled inside Mitch at the greeting, and he smiled at Kristen as he shook Dana’s hand. His smile fell a little when Dana moved from him to Emmy and shook her hand, too.

“Good to see you again,” Emmy said, laughing, “even though I wish we’d met you somewheres else.”