Tempt (Cloverleigh Farms Next Generation Book 4)

We didn’t have the talk.

We spent the entire weekend she visited me in Chicago hiding out in my hotel room, steaming up the windows while the wind howled and the temperature dropped and the snow swirled around in the streets below. In fact, the blizzard was so bad, she stayed in Chicago an extra night—she’d driven down to the city, and I didn’t want her on the roads until the plows had cleared the snow from the highway.

Which meant I had a whole extra day to bring up calling it quits, and I still didn’t do it.

We talked about plenty of other things . . . our childhoods, our favorite songs and movies, our biggest regrets and accomplishments, our greatest fears.

“Snakes,” she said with a laugh. “Definitely snakes. But spiders are up there too. Really any bugs. That’s why I’m never going to Japan.”

“Japan?”

“Yes! I read that country has the worst bugs in the world. There’s some kind of giant centipede that sounds terrifying, and also a giant hornet that has flesh-melting venom.”

I laughed. “Are you making this up?”

“No! I read about it.”

“Well, I’ve been to Japan, and I’ve never seen those things.”

“Consider yourself lucky.” She picked up her head from my chest and looked at me. “So what’s your biggest fear? I assume it’s not bugs.”

“It’s not bugs.”

She poked my chest. “Tell me.”

I played with her hair, threading my fingers into it and slowly combing through the thick, gold strands. “I’ve always had the same fear since I was a kid.”

“What is it?”

“Someone dying on my watch.”

She didn’t say anything. She just put her head on my chest again and wrapped an arm and leg over me. But I didn’t need words from her. What she was giving me was far better—her trust.

Maybe she hated giant bugs, but she’d once told me without even realizing it what her greatest fear was. I want him to need me, she’d said. I never want to be scared he’ll leave.

I kissed the top of her head and held her tight.

Maybe tomorrow we’d end things.

Of course, we didn’t.

There were moments of silence between us, times when we were just lying next to each other, or eating room service, or hiding at a corner table in the hotel bar our last night there, hoping no one we knew would wander in. During those moments I knew in my gut I should bring up what had to happen next. But I never did it. I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the mood or take the smile from her face.

And the next morning, she woke up with a cold—her nose pink and stuffy, her eyes bloodshot, her voice hoarse. She must have sneezed fifteen times inside two minutes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave today,” I told her as she blew her nose again.

“I have to,” she said, sounding miserably congested. Already, her poor nose was red and raw. “I have dresses being delivered in the morning.”

I frowned. “I’m going to run down the street to the pharmacy to get you some cold medicine.”

“Zach, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Hush.” I shrugged into my coat. “Don’t leave until I get back. That’s an order.”

Half an hour later, after she’d dutifully taken the meds I’d brought back, I walked her down to the lobby. I even held her hand.

“Someone might see us,” she whispered in the elevator.

“I don’t care,” I said. I gave the valet her ticket and waited with her while her car was brought around. Then I cradled her face in my hands. “Drive carefully. If you get drowsy, you pull over, okay? And let me know when you get home.”

“I will.” She tried to smile. “Have a safe flight.”

I frowned again—this was not sitting right with me. “I wish I could take you back myself.”

“You can’t.”

I exhaled through my nose and studied her face, more pale than usual, her brown eyes tired. My heart was in a vise. “Fuck it. I’m driving you.”

“What?”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll tell the valet to hold your car here.”

“Zach, this is crazy! You cannot drive me home!”

I was already heading for the elevator. “Ten minutes!” I yelled back at her. “Don’t move.”

“Okay. But don’t look at my car!”

Millie was right—her car was a mess. It looked like she’d emptied the contents of her closet into the back seat. And when I opened the trunk to stow our bags, it looked like she’d hit a rummage sale with a wad of cash. “Jesus,” I said. “Is that an air fryer?”

“I told you.” She sneezed again and dug a tissue from her purse.

I made some room and stuck our bags in there, pulling a sweatshirt from mine that she could use as a pillow. Then I opened the passenger door for her. “Get in.”

She was too sick to argue.

I tipped the valet and got behind the wheel, asking her for her address.

“I’ll just give you directions,” she said, stifling a yawn. “You gotta get on I-90.”

“You’re going to sleep,” I told her, handing her my phone. “Just type your address in here first.”

She sighed but did as I asked, then folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to sleep. I don’t get enough time with you as it is.”

But we weren’t even out of Illinois before she was out like a light, her seat tipped back, her head resting on my balled-up sweatshirt. I smiled and kept the radio volume low, making sure not to change lanes too abruptly or speed up aggressively. I wasn’t in a rush.

The roads were decent, but it still took just over five hours to get to Millie’s house. She woke up as I was pulling into her garage.

“We’re home already?” She rubbed her face and blinked in disbelief.

“Yes. You slept the entire way home. Good job.”

“I’m sorry.” She reached over and rubbed my leg. “Thanks for driving me.”

“You’re welcome. No apology necessary. I did not feel right about putting you behind the wheel.”

We hurried from the garage into the house through the back door, which led into her kitchen. Her cats came over to greet her, and she bent down to pet them. “Hello, my loves. Did you miss me?”

“Does someone feed them for you while you’re gone?” I asked.

“Yes. My sister Winnie. She brings Dex’s daughters with her.”

I nodded. By now I knew the who’s who of Cloverleigh Farms by heart. My stomach growled loudly, frightening her cats, who ran for cover.

Millie straightened up and came over to me, rubbing my belly. “You poor thing, you drove straight through without eating. Let me feed you.” She went over to the fridge and opened it.

I pushed it closed. “No. You are going straight to bed.”

She arched a brow. “Trying to get me in bed already?” Then she was seized by a sneezing fit.

Spying a box of tissues on the counter, I brought it over to her. “Believe it or not, no. I’m not thinking about sex right now.”

She blew her nose and tossed the tissue in the trash. “I can believe it. I am not sexy at the moment.”

“Upstairs. Now.” I took her by the shoulders and steered her from the kitchen, through the center hallway, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. Then I gently sat her at the foot of the bed and knelt down on the rug. Untying her boots, I pulled them off her feet, peeled off her socks, and stood up again. “Are you keeping those clothes on?”

She shook her head. “I want pajamas.”

“Where are they?”

“Second drawer on the left.”

I dug in the drawer and pulled out something soft and white. “This?”

“That works.” She sneezed again. “And the plaid flannel pants.”

Bringing the items to her, I helped her out of her jeans, sweater and bra, and into the pajamas without even laying a hand on her. Proud of myself, I turned back the covers on her bed and watched her crawl in. “Are you hungry?” I asked, pulling the blankets up to her waist.

She nodded. “Yes. And thirsty.”

“Water or tea?”

“Tea. It’s in the pantry. With honey, please.”

“You got it. What sounds good to eat? Don’t worry, I’m not going to cook. I’ll order in.”

She laughed, which turned into a cough, and settled back on the pillow. “You can choose. I don’t think I can taste anything anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute with tea.”

Down in the kitchen, I noticed a kettle on the stove—the old-fashioned kind—which made me smile. I filled it with water, turned on the gas beneath it, and hunted in the pantry for tea. Her cats watched me suspiciously.

While I waited for the water to boil, I ordered some Italian food for delivery. A few minutes later, I brought her a glass of ice water and a mug of hot tea with honey, and set it on her nightstand.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry to make you go down again, but can you also bring up that box of tissues?”

“Of course.” I hustled back to the kitchen, snatched the box off the counter, and returned to her room, setting it on the nightstand.

“You’re the best.” She sipped her tea. “Sit with me for a minute?”

“You need rest.”

“Come on, just for a minute.” She patted the bed beside her. “I feel awful you’re missing your flight.”

“Don’t.” I lowered myself onto the mattress and leaned back on one arm, my hand on the far side of her legs. “I’d rather be here with you than go back to that empty apartment.”

She smiled. “You need a cat or something.”

“I’d like to get a dog. But it wouldn’t really be fair to have an animal when I’m gone so often.”

“Do you think you’ll always travel so much?”

“Hard to say. I suppose at some point, I’ll have to slow down. Give up the danger.”

“Is what you do for work really dangerous?” She looked worried.

“Sometimes. But I’m careful.”

“Would you ever want to do something else?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I think about opening a whiskey bar or something. If I ever got tired of what I do now. Or of being away from home so much. But . . . I don’t even really know where I’d do it.”

“Not San Diego?”

“I could,” I said. “I’ve been based in San Diego for the last five years. But I don’t know if it’s where I’ll stay for good.”

“Why not? Don’t you like it?”

“I do.” I searched for words. “There’s just something about it that doesn’t feel like home.”

“Is there a place that does feel like home? Maybe Cleveland?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I think I’ve moved so much since joining the Navy that I never really got attached to any one place.”

She nodded. “I get that.”

“Did you ever consider moving away from here?”

“If I’d have gone into fashion design, I probably would have. New York, probably. Or maybe even Paris or Milan.” She smiled. “But I feel like even if I’d moved to one of those far-off cities, this would always be home to me. Because it’s where my family is. Where my heart is.”

“Yeah.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I ordered some lunch for us. Or dinner. It’s after three, so I don’t even know what this meal is. I got Italian.”

“Perfect.” She set her mug on the nightstand as I rose to my feet.

“You rest. I’ll let you know when it gets here.”

“Okay. And Zach?”

Already at the doorway, I turned around. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for this.” She touched her heart. “It means a lot to me. It feels a little strange because I’m not used to being the one taken care of, but . . . I like it.”

I smiled at her and tapped the doorframe. “Good.”

When the food arrived, I went up and peeked at her, but she was asleep. I ate sitting at her kitchen table alone, under the watchful gaze of her cats. “Relax,” I told them. “I’m here for good, not for evil.”

While I was eating, Millie wandered down to the kitchen, looking mussed and sleepy, a blanket wrapped around her. “Hi.”

“Hey.” I got to my feet and pulled a chair out for her. “Sit down. How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” She shuffled over to the table and sat down.

“You don’t sound much better.” I brought her a plate and fork. “What would you like? I have two different pastas, some chicken, some meatballs, a salad, some sausage and peppers . . .”

She started to laugh, then coughed into her elbow. “This is enough food for ten people.”

I grinned. “I was hungry when I ordered. Point at what you like, it’s all good.”

She indicated what she wanted, and I put everything on her plate, then brought her another glass of water and a napkin.

“Thank you. Did you rebook your flight?” she asked.

“Not yet.” I sat down again and started back in on my seconds. In all honesty, I wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

Once we said goodbye this time, that was it. It had to be.

“Not that I want you to go,” she went on. “I just don’t want anyone to see you. And I’m sure you have things to get back to.”

“Not really,” I said.

She looked over at me in surprise. “No jobs?”

“Nothing this week.” I lifted my water glass. “I could stay a couple days.”

Her jaw stopped chewing and she set down her fork. Swallowed. Studied her hands in her lap. “Zach. It’s not that I don’t want you here. I do. But . . . is this wise?”

“I could stay inside,” I said, although I had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about being seen.

She picked up her fork again and took a small bite of a meatball. “I have to work this week.”

“That’s okay. I could see you when you got home. Unless you’re busy after work too.”

“No,” she said. “If I had time, I was going to get a Christmas tree.”

“A real one?”

She nodded. “I was going to ask my dad if he could help me cut one down one day after work.” A little grin appeared. “I’m not all that handy with a saw.”

“I could do it.” I sat up a little taller, eager for this opportunity to show off how fucking handy I was. “I happen to be amazing with a saw.”

She laughed. “What if someone sees us at the tree farm?”

“I’ll wear a disguise,” I told her. “A mask over my face.”

Still laughing, she shook her head. “That’s terrifying. No.”

I thought for a moment. “Could we go to a tree farm a little ways out of town?”

“I guess we could.”

“What night do you want to do it?”

“I have those deliveries tomorrow that I think will keep me busy all day. Maybe Wednesday?”

“That’s fine.”

“And you’re sure you don’t mind staying that long?”

“I’m positive. What am I going back to in San Diego?”

Her cheeks grew pink. “I don’t know.”

I realized I didn’t either.

After tucking her back into bed, I went down to the kitchen and called Jackson.

“Hey,” he said. “You back in town?”

“No.”

“You’re still in Chicago?”

“Uh, no.” I leaned back against the sink. “I’m in Michigan.”

A pause. “Interesting.”

“I drove Millie home. She wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t want her light-headed behind the wheel,” I said defensively.

“So you’re at her house now?”

“Yes.”

“Do I even need to ask if you had the talk you were supposed to have?”

I closed my eyes. “No.”

“No, I don’t need to ask, or no, you didn’t do it?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled. “Okay, then. So you’re there. Are you going to see your son and have the talk with him?”

“No.”

“I’m a little confused, Zach. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to spend a couple days here lying low, and when she feels better, we’ll have the talk. Then I’ll leave.”

If I said it, maybe it would happen that way.

Jackson chuckled. “Okay. Whatever you say.”