Chapter 13
Vanillarian
“Once I saw his picture, I remembered him clearly. From the few times I met him I could see he was special. He was a spitfire, too. Just like you.”
“Please, Daire,” I begged, my voice thin. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Then we won’t.” He dropped his hand and opened his door. “You’ve got exactly five seconds until I get around to your side of the car to pull yourself together.”
The door shut before I could answer. I watched him, bemused. What manner of man was I getting myself involved with?
Was I? Was I getting myself involved?
He rounded my door and swung it open before reaching in for my hand and hauling me up into his arms, my feet dangling off the ground.
“Daire,” I sputtered, all too aware of his hard chest pressed against me, both of his arms banded tight around my back.
I couldn’t believe he just picked me up like a doll, yet my body flared to life.
“This is for me, not you,” he confessed, his voice strained. “Give me ten seconds and then I’ll let you go.”
Sorrow and gratitude softened the sharp edges of my arousal. Without hesitation, I embraced him back and tucked my face into his neck.
Inhaling deeply, he muttered against the side of my face, “Thank you. I don’t like to see you hurting.” He held me quietly for another breath. “Are you ready to explore?”
I cupped my hand around the back of his neck. For the first time in a decade, somebody gave me the brand of attention and support Hunter offered on a daily basis.
Clear. Focused. Intent.
Not like I was a passing thought, but like at that moment, I was his only thought.
And for just a moment, I pulled him closer before loosening my grip and sliding down his body. When my feet hit the ground I rested my palms on his biceps and bowed my forehead to his chest.
Who would have thought he of all people would offer me peace?
I filled my lungs with his scent. “I’m ready.”
He linked his fingers with mine. Something that ten minutes ago would have seemed forced felt entirely right.
We were welcomed at Farm to Table’s gates with iced apple cider and a brochure which necessitated dropping Daire’s hand. A loss that left me a little colder despite the warmth of the day.
There was so much going on, I didn’t know where to look or go first.
Of course, there was the requisite children’s area much like the one I put together for our annual fundraiser, but theirs offered a petting barn as well. My dad would lay an egg if I tried to bring a petting zoo on-site.
There was a silent auction set up in what was normally the dining area of the Farm-to-Table store and café, with all seating moved to a massive tent outside surrounded by food trucks and vendor booths from local eateries.
The events’ tent schedule featured live music by local bands, performances offered by the towns’ dance and music studios, and a community pet parade.
A community pet parade!
Added to that was an ax-throwing contest, a beer tasting from a local brewery, and several workshops, including foraging. We could offer that as well as guided hikes and a geocaching challenge!
The best part about it was the businesses in town who already offered these things could be brought in and offered further exposure.
Security fencing began at the front gate and extended around the perimeter of the entire festival, clearly delineating exactly where the festival ended, and the working farm began.
Ideas flooded my brain. It seemed I opened my phone every five minutes to tap out a note, a question, or an idea I might want to implement in my community outreach project.
It was at one such time, with Daire blocking the sun with his big body so I could see my screen, that his stomach growled.
Loudly.
I looked up at him and teased, “I guess you’re hungry?”
He smiled down at me, his eyes warm. “Well, it is four-thirty.”
“What! Four-thirty?” I slapped my hand over my face. “I’m so sorry, Daire! This was supposed to be lunch!”
“I’m not complaining, little one. But I think we should get you something to drink. Your cheeks are flushed pink.”
“I think that’s excitement,” I confessed, beaming at him. “But now that I think about it, I’m freaking starving.”
Putting his arm around my shoulders, he led me back to the food tent. “Have you decided what you want?”
“It’s more trying to eliminate what I don’t want.”
He squeezed me close to his side. “We’ll get ourselves a smorgasbord. Whatever we don’t finish, we’ll bring home.”
Hearing him say that reminded me of how desperately I wanted to share a home and build a family.
Daire was ticking all my boxes, but I could not fathom how I ticked any of his. Not yet convinced he wouldn’t run at the first sign of trouble, or when I gained ten pounds of extra weight, I held myself back.
And attempted to get us back on track.
“This was supposed to be a working lunch, so I guess we better get to it,” I said briskly, eying the spread on our picnic table.
“Let’s eat first and then we’ll talk business,” he suggested.
That was reasonable. “Mm, I can’t disagree with that.”
When I couldn’t swallow another bite, I sat back with my hand over my stomach and groaned. “I may have overdone it.”
Grinning, he teased, “Does that mean no ice cream?”
I frowned. I had a serious weakness for anything sweet, especially cake and ice cream. But knowing where we were, there were bound to be bear claws.
“Give me fifteen minutes. There’s a bear claw with cream cheese and cinnamon with my name on it. I’m sure of it.”
He chuckled. “You have a real sweet tooth. What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Birthday cake and ice cream.”
“What flavor?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is the icing to cake ratio. That’s what makes it the perfect dessert.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone having birthday cake and ice cream as their favorite dessert.”
“What are you talking about?” I cried. “If it wasn’t an all-time favorite, would it be present at every birthday party ever?”
“It’s only because it’s an easy way to serve the masses.”
I’d heard this argument too many times. It amazed me the hostility with which people regarded birthday cake.
“Off. With. Your. Head.” I clipped.
“I think you’re getting your history mixed up.”
“The only good thing about what you said is the fact it shows you have a flaw.”
“I have flaws.”
“You want to share?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I have a temper that I’ve been known to lose on occasion.
I’m pushy. Over-protective at times. I’m not particularly driven by money or material things, so I tend to live simply.
I spend too much money on travel by some people’s standards.
And I tend to enjoy control in almost all areas of my life but most definitely in bed. ”
“In bed,” I repeated.
“Out of everything I said, that’s the part you want to talk about?”
“Yes. No! No, it just surprised me.”
“Surprised you? Or surprised you that I said it?”
I studied him for a moment. “I guess I’m not surprised when I think about it. I’m just surprised you said it.”
“Would you rather I sprang it on you?”
“I’ve never been with anyone who wasn’t a strict vanillarian.”
“Vanillarian?” He laughed. “I love that. What would you call someone like me?”
The best kind of surprise.
Every woman’s secret fantasy.
A dream. The kind that’s so hot you wake yourself up with the sound of your own moans.
“A BDSMer?”
He threw his head back, the sound of his laughter making me grin. “No, I’m not a BDSMer. Or a dominant. Not in the way you’re probably thinking. I’m just going to make damn sure, when I finally get to love you, that I wring every single ounce of pleasure out of you until you’re boneless.”
He lifted his ice water and took a sip.
“Ah,” I pretended to nod sagely. “Everybody boneless by the end. That’s a good goal.”
He slammed the bottle down on the table, coughing and laughing. “You made me choke on my water.”
“I bet you want to make me choke on something,” I replied drily.
He sputtered and shook his head, amusement warming his gaze. “We’re going to have a blast,” he promised.
“Daire,” I began.
“Don’t, Harley. Don’t ruin a perfect day. I won’t push. If you still don’t want this by Christmas, I’ll walk away. Can you give me until Christmas to convince you?”
“Christmas?” Christmas was almost four months away. How could I possibly hold out under this kind of attack until Christmas? Did he want to date? Did he want exclusivity until then? “What does that mean?”
“We don’t have to date formally or announce anything to anyone if you don’t want to, but I won’t see anyone else.”
“So, while you’re not officially, or unofficially,” I rushed to add, “seeing me, you’re not going to be seeing anyone else.”
“I’m not.”
“And you expect me to do the same.”
“I don’t expect anything from you but honesty. Don’t lie to me if you go out with someone else. But mostly, don’t lie to me about your feelings for me. If you’re not ready to commit by Christmas, I’ll walk away.”
I sat up straight and turned my face away. I needed to think. Unfortunately, my last brain cell was still hooked on the mental image of me wrapped up, boneless and sated, in Daire.
“We really should talk about the swim team,” I murmured.
“Go ahead. Tell me what you got.”
I outlined the pool availability.
“Sounds good.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.” He grinned at me.
“Don’t you have to take it back to the school?”
“They said they’d jump through any and all hoops to ensure the swim team doesn’t lose their season.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “This didn’t require a working lunch.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you spoke so passionately about community outreach. I’d already heard of this place, and I wanted to take you. That’s the altruistic excuse. The real reason is I wanted to get you to myself and see if I couldn’t convince you to give me a shot.”
“And have you done that?”
His lips twisted to the side. “Not as successfully as I would have liked. But I’ve relayed my intentions and my timeline.”
Before I could respond, he stood up from the table and offered me his hand. “Draw up whatever contracts and liability forms you need, and we’ll meet again to go over them. And Harley, I’m sincerely grateful you went to bat for this.”
He enthralled me. A perfect cocktail of confidence and humility.
One I wanted to imbibe in.
Liberally.