Tempt (Cloverleigh Farms Next Generation Book 4)

NOVEMBER

My last few weeks at Cloverleigh Farms flew by.

October was booked with weddings every weekend, and when I wasn’t busy preparing for them, I was getting everything in order to ensure a smooth transition for Winnie. Mr. and Mrs. Fournier at Abelard said they were sorry to lose her, but they totally understood her decision to move over to Cloverleigh Farms.

During my weeknights and days off, every moment was spent preparing to launch my new business. Even mundane things like securing my tax identification number from the state gave me a thrill. I hired a website and graphic designer, opened a bank account, finalized the terms of the loan from Hutton, signed the lease for my dream space, hired a contractor, switched the utilities into my name, and scheduled interviews with potential employees.

On my last day at Cloverleigh Farms, my co-workers threw me a little farewell celebration in the bar at the inn, complete with a cake made by Frannie’s bakery that said Good Luck, Millie with Cloverleigh’s signature four-leaf clover on it. I was moved by all the kind things everyone said, all the hugs and well wishes, and by all the encouragement from women who heard about the shop I was opening and said, “It’s about time.”

During the party, my dad caught me wiping tears from my eyes. “What’s this?” he asked. “Second thoughts?”

“No,” I assured him. “I’m just overwhelmed by everyone’s support. And I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a chapter of my life, you know? I have a lot of happy memories in this place.”

He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my head. “You’ll always have a home here.”

I tipped my head onto his shoulder, my heart too full to find words.

Starting the very next day, I dedicated every hour and all my efforts to turning Millie Rose from a vision in my head into reality. During the first week in November, I picked up the keys and drove straight to my new business address. My sisters surprised me later that afternoon by showing up with a bottle of champagne—we popped the cork and poured three glasses.

Goosebumps blanketed my skin as I turned around inside the empty space.

“To Millie Rose—the shop and the woman!” shouted Winnie.

“To chasing your dreams!” added Felicity.

“To all the brides who will find their wedding gowns here,” I said, lifting my glass. “I cannot wait to be part of your story.”

We clinked glasses with shining eyes.

“I have keys to my shop!” I told Zach on a video chat later that night, dangling them in front of the phone. “It’s really happening!”

He laughed, relaxing on his couch. “So now what? The renovations begin?”

“Yes. I have so much work to do.” As I talked, I made dinner, moving back and forth from the fridge to the pantry to the counter while my cats watched me like observers at a tennis match. “My family is going to help me as much as they can, but I also ended up hiring some guys to fix the plumbing issue, tear out the previous tenant’s interior, and build what I need. Then my dad can help me with the floors and the walls. And my sisters are going to help me with the furniture and decor. I have stock arriving in December, so I need to work fast!”

“What about employees? Need me to do any background checks?”

I giggled. “Not yet. I have some interviews scheduled for tomorrow, and guess what? One woman who answered my online ad is a seamstress with tons of experience! Her name is Diane Tucker. She’s worked in a bridal salon outside Nashville for fifteen years, but her husband just retired and they’re moving up here to be closer to their daughter and grandchildren.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I know. She’s definitely the most qualified candidate I’m interviewing. I hope I can afford her.” I sliced some lemons on a cutting board.

“What are you making for dinner?”

“Lemon chicken. Frannie’s recipe.”

“My stomach is growling.”

“Awww. Come over. I’ll feed you.”

“I wish I could. I’ll probably end up with takeout again.”

He listened to me babble on about light fixtures and fabric textures and wood floor stains and paint colors and even hanger styles, asking the occasional question but mostly just letting me talk. Sometimes I’d stop meal preparations to run over to my laptop and make a note about a call I needed to make or a task I feared I’d forget to handle or an idea I wanted to run by the contractor.

“I’m sorry, Zach, I’m totally monopolizing the conversation.” I grabbed a spatula from a drawer and flipped the chicken breast over in the pan. “How are you? How was your day?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Nothing new or exciting here. And I like hearing you talk about your shop. I wish I could see it.”

“Me too.”

“I wish I could see you. Have you given any more thought to meeting me in Las Vegas next weekend?”

“Of course I have. I think about it all the time.” I glanced at my cats, as if they might hear and judge me. “I’m just nervous. Where will I say I’m going and why?”

“Las Vegas is the wedding capital of the world, isn’t it? Say you’re going for research.”

I laughed. “There is a veil wholesaler out there. I guess I could say I’m going out there to look at stock.”

“Perfect. I’m booking your ticket. I’ll be there Thursday to Monday. What days work for you?”

“I can get away for a weekend. Friday to Sunday. And I’ll see if I can visit that wholesaler on Saturday.”

“I’ll make sure you have a car too. And a driver if you want one.”

I smiled as my stomach fluttered with excitement. “Then I guess I’ll see you next Friday.”

The ticket Zach purchased for me was first class. The hotel was five star. The bed was king-sized and made up with 600 thread count sheets that felt like satin against my skin.

We spent a lot of time in them.

The hotel room door had barely closed behind me and Zach was striding toward me, his eyes dark and hungry. I tried to say hello and his lips consumed mine with a kiss. I tried to pull back and look at him—my eyes were desperate to get their fill after two weeks apart—but his arms were locked tight around me. I tried to unbutton his shirt, eager to feel his bare chest under my palms, but he wouldn’t let me get him naked until he’d pulled every stitch of clothing off me and gotten his hands and lips and tongue on every inch of my skin.

He was still fully clothed, his face buried between my thighs, my fingers fisted in his hair, when I had my first orgasm, leaning back against a mountain of pillows like a queen.

Only then would he allow me to undress him, and I took my time—savoring every new part of his body revealed to me as I peeled off his clothes piece by piece. I removed his shirt and brushed my lips against the hair on his chest. Ran my tongue along the lines of ink on his biceps and ribs. Caressed the ridges of his abs with my nose, breathing in his scent. I pulled off his jeans and boxer briefs and pushed him onto the bed, kneeling between his legs. I ran my hands up his legs, appreciating the firm muscles of his calves, his thick, powerful thighs, the V lines bracketing his erection, which rested on his abdomen, massive and heavy and hard.

I traced those V lines with my tongue. I watched his stomach muscles flex and his cock twitch with anticipation. I rubbed my lips against his crown and swept them down the thick, veined shaft, relishing in every texture of his skin.

He lay back against the pillows like I had, watching me, his jaw slightly open, breaths coming fast, chest rising and falling. He groaned when I finally took him into my mouth, his fingers threading into my hair. “God, I’ve thought about this,” he rasped as I took him to the back of my throat. “Every fucking night. My good girl.” His hips were already lifting off the bed, and I could taste him on my tongue—salty and masculine. I would have finished him off that way, but he lifted my head and turned me beneath him.

“I have to get inside you,” he growled. “I can’t wait a second longer.”

I didn’t argue, just as anxious as he was for the heat and friction and the feel of his body deep inside me. I clung to him fiercely, wanting to be closer even when it was impossible, surrendering to the longing for him that never seemed to abate, crying out as he drove us both off the edge, falling to pieces beneath him.

You can’t keep doing this, said a voice in my head. You’re out of control.

I ignored it, let it be swallowed up by the sensation of his weight above me. His rapid-fire breathing. His warm, damp skin against mine. The final shudder and pulse of his body.

As my heartbeat slowed, my eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed and confused, I pretended I had to use the bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered, my throat thick with emotion.

He rolled off me, and I quickly slipped from the bed and hurried into the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face and took several deep breaths. When I had control of myself, I stared at my reflection and issued that girl a warning.

No. Just don’t.

I knew what I was doing when I agreed to come here. I knew what this was and what this wasn’t. I knew where this could go and where it couldn’t. No one was suffering any delusions or making any false promises. The truth was always right in front of my face. And as long as I kept it in plain sight, I’d be fine.

I fluffed my hair, wiped the smudged eye makeup from beneath my eyes, and went back into the room. The sight of him, rugged and gorgeous and looking concerned, wasn’t good for my heart.

“Hey,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

“Come here.” He opened his arms to me, and I crawled onto the bed and snuggled up against his side. “That’s better.”

“Do you have to work tonight?”

“No. I’m doing building security risk assessment here. We work during the day.” He kissed my head. “What should we do? Gamble? See an Elvis impersonator? Go clubbing?”

“Clubbing!” I laughed. “You’re talking to a woman that gets in bed almost every night by nine. We are too old to go clubbing. They’d probably turn us away at the door, Grandpa.”

He inhaled sharply. “Oh, you are begging for punishment, aren’t you?” He put his hand in my hair and tightened his fist, making me wince. My scalp tingled with pleasure and pain as he tipped my head back. His eyes narrowed. His voice deepened. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He clenched his hand tighter. “Yes, what? Where are my good girl’s manners?”

“Yes, please.”

His fist relaxed slightly. “That’s better. Now I think you better lie across my lap so I can teach you a lesson.”

Grinning, I did as requested—my body was up for some hurting tonight, but at least if we played games, my heart was safe.

For now.

The following morning, I drove the car Zach had gotten for me over to Marigold Bridal Wholesale, where I’d scheduled an eleven o’clock appointment.

Marigold was family-owned, and I was greeted by the Songs, a friendly husband and wife team who led me on a brief tour of the factory before ushering me into the showroom.

I couldn’t help but get excited by all the gorgeous tulle and beading and lace. The Songs’ daughter, Nicole, introduced herself and showed me what was new, what was popular, what was evergreen, and what she suspected the trend-setting brides would be wearing next year. I saw veils with every possible edge—corded and pearl and horsehair and ribbon and soutache—as well as every variety of length and style, from birdcage to flyaway to waist to chapel to cathedral. Colors ranged from white to ivory to champagne to moscato to blush. There were hair accessories too.

“The cool girls are still going for birdcage,” said Nicole, “but I also think a lot of trendy brides will forego veils this year and do things like bows, barrettes or clips, and even some caps or hoods.”

“Oh, the big satin bow is cute, isn’t it?” I took it off a display shelf and turned it over in my hand.

“Definitely.” She grinned. “Want to try it on?”

“No, that’s okay.” I laughed as I replaced it. “I’m a little old for a big bow, I’d feel silly. I think I’d go more traditional.”

“Traditional brides are going for drama,” said Nicole. “Look at this.” She took a floral-embroidered veil from the wall and brought it over. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

I gasped, gently touching the edge. “It is.”

“Face the mirror. Let me show you what it looks like on.”

Turning around, I faced the middle of three full-length mirrors with ornate silver frames. I’d worn my hair half-up today, and Nicole centered the veil’s comb where my barrette held my hair back. “Look at that,” she said, adjusting the sides so they cascaded down in front of my arms. Then she knelt and spread the chapel-length veil in a semi-circle that fanned out like a peacock’s feathers on the floor at my feet. “Stunning, right?”

“It is,” I whispered, staring at myself in the glass. My clothes—a black, cap-sleeved, belted jumpsuit worn with leopard pumps—didn’t really scream bridal attire, but it was easy to imagine the dress that would complement this veil—something long and sleek and embroidered, with a deep V neck or maybe strapless, and a hint of a mermaid shape. The hair on my arms stood on end.

“It suits you.” Nicole smiled at me in the mirror and stood back, her arms folded. “Are you married already?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

I shook my head.

“Well, if and when the time comes, maybe you’ll choose something like this.”

“Maybe.” My throat was dry. I glanced down at my left hand, which seemed extra naked right now. “Right now, I’m just trying to get my store going. I don’t have much time to date.”

“I totally understand,” she said, removing the veil from my head. “And there’s no rush, you know? Live a little. Have fun. When it’s meant to be, it will happen.”

I smiled and nodded, rubbing the fourth finger of my left hand. “I hope so.”

That night, Zach and I braved dinner out at a small, off-the-beaten-path Italian restaurant. Seated at a table for two in a dark corner, candle flickering on the table between us, we enjoyed a Saturday night date just like any other couple.

Looking across the table at Zach made my heart quicken. He was so handsome in his navy dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Every woman in here watched him walk through the room. I still recalled seeing him for the first time at the hotel bar, the way he caught my attention and wouldn’t let it go. How incredible that the hot stranger from two months ago was the man out with me tonight. The one looking at me like I was the only woman in this restaurant, maybe even this city. The one reaching across the table to take my hand.

I smiled at our clasped fingers and gasped in mock surprise. “Mr. Barrett! What if someone saw? My reputation would be ruined forever.”

His lips tipped up. “I figure we’re safe here. Holding hands isn’t exactly scandalous behavior in Las Vegas.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“And it’s hard for me to be near you and not touching you. Especially when I have to let you leave tomorrow morning.”

My smile faded. “Don’t talk about it. We’ve got the rest of tonight.”

“Tell me more about today. You liked what you saw at the wholesaler?”

“Yes. I really liked the owners and the quality of their products. I ended up placing a pretty big order.” Heat crept into my cheeks. “I even tried one of their veils on.”

“Playing dress-up on the job, huh?” He looked amused.

“Yeah. It was really pretty.” I glanced down at my left hand, the one he held. “But it was just for fun.”

The server arrived with our entrees, and I took my hand back and repositioned my napkin on my lap.

“Can I ask about your wedding?” I asked when we were alone again.

He shrugged. “If you want to.”

“Was it big?”

He picked up his whiskey. “Yes.”

“What did you wear?”

“A very uncomfortable tuxedo.” He took a sip. “Or maybe it was me that was uncomfortable.”

I reached for my fork and poked at a seared scallop on my plate. “What kind of venue was it?”

“A country club. Whatever one her parents belonged to.” He set his glass down. “We were married outside, and the reception was inside. I had very little to do with any of it. It was hot and I sweated a lot. That’s mostly what I remember.”

I began eating my dinner as I pictured the details—Zach looking gorgeous but tense in his tux, hundreds of guests in white chairs on a sunny country club lawn, a bride in a big white dress being walked up the aisle by her father. I wondered about her, about what had gone wrong with them.

“So what was she like? Your ex-wife.”

He studied me for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious. I mean, she’s on television, right? I assume she’s attractive.”

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. On TV or in person.”

“But you must remember what she looks like.”

“She had dark hair and blue eyes.” He took a bite of his steak. “She also had a loud voice and long middle finger she liked to give me. That I remember.”

I hid a smile. “Did you guys fight a lot?”

“In the end we did. Or at least, she would try to pick fights and I’d refuse to have them. I didn’t see the point.”

I nodded and ate a bite of my dinner. I still wasn’t certain what I was digging for.

“I don’t mean to blame Kimberly for everything. Like I said, I knew going into it the marriage was a mistake. I never wanted to be anyone’s husband.”

“So what made you do it?” I asked.

“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that question a million times. I still don’t have a good answer.” He focused on cutting his steak. “For a long time, it was like I was married to the Navy. But when that was over, my life changed. Guys around me were getting married, having families. I figured I’d try it instead of being alone.” He glanced up at me. “I probably sound like a real dick.”

“No,” I said quickly. “You sound honest.”

“Believe me, she didn’t like being married to me any better than I liked being married to her. When I’d travel for work, instead of coming home and finding someone who was glad to see me, I had someone determined to punish me for being gone.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “She was an only child, and her parents had spoiled her rotten. She was used to feeling like the center of the universe.”

I laughed. “She never would have lasted in my house. Growing up with four sisters means you’re always sharing attention. We never had a chance to be spoiled.”

Zach picked up his drink. “I’ll spoil you,” he said. “Right here at this table if you want me to.”

I met his eyes and felt my core muscles tighten. “Maybe we should go back to the room first.”

“I’ll get the check.”

My flight left early the next morning, and Zach insisted on taking me to the airport. He drove an unmarked black SUV with tinted windows and spotless black leather interior.

“Wow,” I said, running my hand over the smooth seat. “Is your car at home this clean?”

“Pretty much.”

“My car is the opposite. You would think a bomb went off.”

He laughed. “I noticed that when I moved it at your house.”

“Don’t judge! It’s not dirty, there’s no trash in it or anything. There’s just a lot of stuff in it—fabric samples, clothing, shoes, water bottles. It’s weird, because inside my house, I’m a stickler for neatness. I like everything in its place, nice and organized. My car is . . . another story.”

“No judgement. You’d probably take one look in my kitchen and think a fifth grader lived there.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s just kind of empty. I don’t own much kitchen stuff, and what I do own is pretty random. Nothing matches. Lots of plastic.”

I laughed. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Mason keeps asking me to come out to Michigan at Christmas. I turned down his Thanksgiving invitation.”

My stomach tensed at the mention of Mason. I tried never to let myself think about him, or I felt too guilty. “Have you spoken to him much?”

“Once or twice since the wedding.”

I nodded, staring at my feet. “Will you visit them?”

“I haven’t decided. What do you think I should do?”

“I’m not making that decision for you, Zach.” I shook my head. “No way. I feel bad enough that I’m complicating your relationship with your son.”

He reached over and took my hand. “Don’t feel bad. I take full responsibility for my decisions. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

I closed my eyes a moment. “Let’s not think about that. Where will you go for Thanksgiving?”

“Probably to Jackson’s. He and his wife are nice enough to invite me to their family dinner every year. What about you?”

“I’ll go to my parents’ house. Frannie always does the turkey, but we all pitch in and help.”

He pulled up at the curb in front of my terminal and put the SUV in park. His hand stole to the back of my neck. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me too.”

Leaning across the center console, he pressed his lips to mine, then whispered against them. “Chicago. I’m there on a job the first week in December, and I’ll stay through the weekend. Meet me.”

“God, Zach. I want to. You know I want to.”

“Then say yes.”

I swallowed hard. Every night we spent together only brought us closer. Every kiss made it harder to part. Every goodbye was an inevitable reminder that we had no future.

We couldn’t keep this up forever. Being apart from him was starting to hurt too much. And what possible excuse could I come up with for a trip to Chicago right when I was trying to get a business off the ground? This had to stop.

But when I opened my mouth, that isn’t what came out.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll work it out.”