The Sweetest Thing (9 page)

He let her drool over it for a moment before speaking again. “As for why it’s
me
specifically doing the stocking…” He shrugged. “I know what I’m doing.”

Yes, this was true. Ford always knew exactly what he was doing.

“I was just startled to see you in here is all,” she said. “Given that we… that I—”

“Hate me,” he said mildly.

A knot formed in her throat and couldn’t be swallowed away. “I don’t hate you, Ford. I never hated you.”

He was quiet a moment, just watching her. The earlier spark in his eyes was gone. “They trusted me to do this for you,” he
said simply. “Just as, once upon a time, you trusted me, too.” With that, he slid his earphones back in and dismissed her,
going back to unpacking.

She stared at his broad shoulders, the stiff back, and realized she wasn’t the only one with some residual resentment issues.
Something sank low in her gut at that, possibly a big serving of humble pie. Dammit. She was a lot of things, but a complete
bitch wasn’t one of them. With a sigh, she came up behind him. “Ford.”

Not answering, he opened another cabinet and studied the space.

Ducking beneath his outstretched arms, she stepped in between him and the counter and turned to face him.

He looked down at her, and she found herself holding her breath. Unintentional as it’d been, now she was standing within the
circle of his arms, and more memories slammed into her.

Good, warm, fun, sexy memories…

Even with the wedged heels that Boyd had resented, she only came up to Ford’s chin. When he’d been seventeen, he’d been this
tall, but he’d been much rangier from not having enough to eat, and also from working two, sometimes three jobs in a day.
That had been before he’d gotten onto the sailing circuit and made a decent living
in endorsements. Though looking at him now, one would never know money was no longer an issue. The man might drive her crazy,
but he didn’t have a pretentious bone in his perfect body.

And the body… goodness. He’d filled it out, with solid muscle and a double dose of testosterone. There was also a level of
confidence, an air that said he’d listen to whatever anyone had to say but that he wouldn’t necessarily give two shits about
it. She met his gaze and drew a shaky breath.

He didn’t move. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, his body relaxed and at ease. He was waiting for her to speak, or maybe,
better yet, to go away. “Thank you for doing this,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was lower now, and slightly rough as well, leaving her with the oddest and most inexplicable urge
to reach up and put her hand on his face to soothe him.

She’d done that for him, once upon a time. She’d been there to listen, to ease his aches, to touch him when he needed.

He’d done the same for her.

They’d healed each other.

And now there was a huge gaping hole between them, and she had no idea how to cross it.

Or if she even wanted to.

No, that was a lie. A part of her wanted to cross it. Badly. But before she could go there, he turned away, going back to
stocking her cabinets. Which he was doing simply because her sisters had asked him.

They couldn’t have found anyone better equipped
for the job. Ford had always cooked. Hell, he ran a bar and grill for fun. He, better than anyone else she knew, understood
what a kitchen needed and how it should be organized. She watched as he picked up a twenty-pound bag of flour as if it were
nothing and set it on the counter to open it.

He had her pretty flour container next to it, ready to be filled, and she moved in. “Here, let me.”

“I’ve got it.”

“I’m here, Ford. You might as well make the best of it. I’m not going to just stand around and watch you do all the work.”

When he didn’t stop his movements, she gave him a little hip nudge and reached for the bag.

“Fine.” Raising his hands in surrender, he backed up, just as she ripped the bag open with slightly too much force. Flour
exploded out of the bag. After a few stunned beats, she blinked rapidly to clear her eyes, and looked at herself.
Covered
in flour. She lifted her head and eyed Ford, who was wisely fighting his smile. “You did this on purpose,” she said.

“No, that was all you.”

She attempted to shake herself off. “Better?”

He ran a hand over his mouth, probably to hide his smile. “Yes.”

“You’re lying,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“Yes.”

Okay, that was it. She stalked toward him.

Laughing out loud now, Ford straightened. “Whatever you’re planning to do,” he warned. “Don’t.”

“Oh, Sugar.” Didn’t he know better than to tell her
what to do by now? “
Watch me
.” She backed him up against the counter and held him there—plastering herself to him from chest to belly to thigh… and everything
in between—on a one-woman mission to cover him in flour, too. “Gotcha,” she said triumphantly as she rubbed up against him.
“Now you’re just as big a mess as me.”

His hands were at her hips. “Is that right?” His voice sounded different now. Lower. Rough as sandpaper.

And heat slashed right through her. “Uh-huh.” She bit her lip, realizing that her voice was different, too, and that she was
staring at his mouth.

And then she realized something else. She wasn’t breathing.

He wasn’t, either.

Of their own accord, her hands slid up his chest, wrapped around his neck, and then… oh God, and then.

Ford said her name on a rough exhale. Holding her against the hard planes of his body, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity,
he lowered his head. “Stop me if you’re going to,” he said in quiet demand, all humor gone.

Tara sucked in some air, but didn’t stop him. Not when his lips came down on hers, and not when he kissed her until she couldn’t
remember her own name.

D
azed, Ford tightened his grip on Tara, hearing the groan that her kiss wrenched from deep in his throat.
She
was kissing
him
. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d hauled off and decked him. But having her push him up against the counter
and kiss him hard like she was… oh, yeah.
Way
better than anything that had happened all day.

All damn year.

Ah, hell. Clearly she’d finally done it, she’d driven him bat-shit crazy, but she felt so good against him. Warm and soft,
willing.
Amazing
.

And aggressive.

Christ, there was nothing more irresistible than Tara on a mission. And that he was that mission made it even better.

She pulled back slightly and he smiled. “Was that supposed to be punishment?”

“Yes.” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “So be quiet and take it like a man.”

Ford was still smiling when she kissed him this time, but the amusement faded fast, replaced by a blinding, all-consuming
need.

All too soon, she pulled back again, eyes dark, mouth wet from his. “Is there anyone in your bed?” she asked, her voice low
and extremely southern.

He loved the way her accent thickened when she felt something particularly deeply. “No,” he said. “There’s no one in my bed.”
Except for her, hopefully. Soon. Because this was waaay better than pushing each other’s buttons.

“Just wanted to make sure.” With each word, her lips just barely grazed his, making him all the hotter. Tightening his grip
on her, he whipped them around, trapping her between him and the counter. The scent of her was as intoxicating as her kiss,
and when she stared at his lips and licked hers, something inside him snapped. Hauling her up against him, flour and all,
he let loose the pent-up yearning and temper and ache he’d been barely reining in.

She hesitated for less than a beat before tightening her grip on him and kissing him back with a passion that nearly knocked
them both to their asses. “No one’s here?” he asked against her mouth.

“No one.”

He had her divested of her short, lightweight sweater and was working on the buttons of her dress, thinking this was the best
idea he’d ever had. No more dancing around each other. From now on, all their dancing would be done naked. Naked was good.
Naked was
great
.

Tara appeared to feel the same. Her hands were everywhere, his chest, his arms, his ass, stroking and tormenting. The only
sound was their heavy breathing and the sexy little murmur she let out when he cupped her breasts.

He remembered that sound. He’d dreamed about that sound. She writhed under his touch, pressing closer, like she needed to
climb up his body—which he was all for, by the way. Her fingers found their way beneath his shirt, running lightly over the
skin low on his abs, just above his low-riding jeans.

Ford wanted more and took it, letting his hands do the walking and talking beneath her clothes. There was no question about
what they were doing now, or why. No thinking. Just feeling, and God help him, he was feeling a whole hell of a lot. Soul-deep,
wrenching hunger. And need.

Nothing new when it came to Tara.

His next staggering thought, more than the feel of her hands beneath his shirt gliding downward, caught him. The last time
they’d done this, they’d nearly destroyed each other.

Or at least Tara had destroyed
him
. Ford still wasn’t clear on what she’d felt. She’d been good at holding back. She didn’t seem to be holding back now. Her
touch felt so damn good his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and that was before she went for the button on his Levi’s,
banishing his ability to think.
Yeah, baby. Go there
.

She played in the loose waistband of his jeans for a minute and he groaned. He had one hand threaded through her hair. The
other was cupping a breast, his
thumb teasing her nipple as he deepened their kiss until they were both panting.

“Ford,” she sighed when he finally released her mouth. Her lips traveled down his throat to the base of his neck, where she
licked at his pulse. “Mmm,” she said, then nipped him. When he jumped, he felt her smile against him.

“You think that’s funny,” he asked, dipping his head to return the favor, his hands sliding south, down her back to her sweet,
sweet ass. He sucked at her neck and—

“Wow,” Chloe said from the doorway. “Now
that’s
a way to unpack a kitchen.”

“I especially like the flour accents on your pretty dress, Tara,” Maddie said from next to Chloe.

Ten more seconds and they wouldn’t have seen the pretty dress at all. It would have been on the floor.

Tara jerked away from him, and given her pale face, she’d realized that same thing. Or maybe that was the flour. In any case,
in an irresistible bout of multi-tasking, she was busy simultaneously brushing off her dress, checking her hair, and doing
her best to look innocent.

“What happened to your date?” Chloe asked Tara.

“I got a headache.”

Chloe’s brows went up. She started to say something but Maddie covered her mouth. “Pay no attention to us,” Maddie said, dragging
Chloe to the door.

“If only that was possible,” Tara muttered. “And what happened to going out with Jax? And the yoga class?”

Chloe shoved free from Maddie’s hand. “Still happening.” She looked at her watch. “We have some time yet. We just didn’t realize
you’d be having casting calls for Pimp My Chef… or was that
Ride
My Chef?”

“Internal editor,” Maddie murmured to her, which meant nothing to Ford.

Chloe smiled.

“We were just having a little trouble with the flour,” Tara said, still brushing at her dress.

“Yes, I can see that,” Chloe said. “I especially like the handprints you left on Ford’s butt. Nice job there.”

Ford couldn’t see the handprints himself but he’d sure enjoyed getting them.

“This is all your fault,” Tara said. Ford assumed she was talking to him, but she was actually looking at Chloe. Good. He
was off the hook.

Chloe tossed up her hands. “How is it always my fault?”

Tara turned to Ford for backup. So much for off the hook. Probably he’d have been safer in a gunfight. Chloe was looking at
him, too. He shrugged vaguely and took over wiping down the countertops to avoid opening his mouth and making everything worse.

“You got Ford to unpack the kitchen?” Tara asked. “Without telling me?”

“Sort of the definition of ‘surprise,’ ” Chloe said.

“Honey, you’re looking at this all wrong,” Maddie said. “This was about you. About how you’re there for us, always. We wanted
to be there for you for a change.”

“Well,
I
voted to get you a stripper,” Chloe said with a reproachful look at Maddie. “But I was vetoed.”

Tara let out a short laugh. “Good call,” she said to Maddie.

“We really were just trying to help.”

“I know,” Tara said with a sigh. “And thank you. It was sweet. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

Chloe pulled out her iPhone and hit a few keys.