23. Rowan
Rowan
M y hands are covered in pumpkin guts, and I’ve never been happier.
Emma sits across from me, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, utterly unaware of what she does to me.
We’re seated at one of the picnic tables, newspapers spread beneath our pumpkins, carving tools scattered between us.
“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” Emma says, looking up. There’s a smudge of pumpkin on her cheek that I’m dying to wipe away. “My mom wasn’t big on holiday traditions.”
“Well, you’re at Harvest Home Farm now. We take our pumpkin carving very seriously.” I gesture to my half-finished creation, an intricate design of twisted vines and leaves that I’ve been perfecting over the years.
Emma leans forward to examine it, and her apple pie scent washes over me, making my head swim. “Show-off,” she teases.
“What are you making?” I ask, trying to peek at her pumpkin.
She covers it protectively with her hands. “No peeking! It’s a surprise.”
The playfulness in her voice does something to my chest, squeezing it tight.
It’s been three days since our bonfire, three days since she said those simple, world-changing words: “I’ll have you.
” Three days of cautious touches, lingering glances, and the maddening dance of wanting to rush forward while knowing we must move slowly.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” I say, returning to my carving with exaggerated focus. “But fair warning, Theo will demand a full viewing and detailed critique of everyone’s pumpkins. He takes Halloween judging very seriously.”
Emma laughs, the sound like music. “Of course he does. Let me guess, Liam carves the same design every year?”
“A circle,” I confirm with a grin. “And it is done in under 5 minutes so that he can get back to work.”
“And Theo’s is elaborate and completely over the top?”
“Last year, it was a detailed recreation of the farmhouse. Took him six hours and three pumpkins.”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You three are so different.”
“Complementary,” I correct gently.
A blush creeps up her neck at the reminder, and her scent sweetens, making my alpha instincts stand at attention. I force myself to focus on the pumpkin, not on how her sweater slips off one shoulder or how her teeth worry at her bottom lip when thinking.
We work in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the scrape of knives against pumpkin flesh and the distant noises of the farm: Theo singing off-key, the animals in their pens, and the rustle of leaves in the autumn breeze.
“Ouch!” Emma suddenly jerks her hand back, dropping her knife.
I’m around the table instantly, taking her hand in mine. “Let me see.”
A small cut crosses her finger, beading with blood. It’s minor, but seeing her hurt sends my protective instincts into overdrive.
“It’s nothing,” she says, trying to pull her hand away. “Just clumsy.”
“Let me help.” I keep my voice gentle as I lead her to the barn just behind us and the sink in the corner where we wash up after farm chores. The water runs clear over her finger, washing away the blood to reveal a shallow slice.
“First aid kit?” she asks, looking around.
“Don’t need one.” Before I overthink it, I bring her finger to my mouth and gently run my tongue over the cut.
Emma gasps as she watches me. I hold her gaze, unable to look away as I taste the copper of her blood mixed with the sweetness of pumpkin on her skin.
Her breathing quickens, and I can smell her arousal blooming, sweet and heady in the air between us. I slowly lower her hand, but don’t let go.
“This works better than any antiseptic.”
“Does it now?” she whispers, her eyes fixed on mine.
I nod, suddenly unable to form words. We’re standing close, her body almost pressed against mine, her scent filling my lungs with every breath.
“Thank you,” she says softly, but makes no move to step away.
I should back up.
Give her space.
Remember all my promises to take this slowly, to let her set the pace. But then her free hand comes up to rest against my chest, directly over my pounding heart, and rational thought abandons me.
“Emma…”
“Yes?” Her voice is barely audible, her eyes dropping to my mouth.
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
Her lips part slightly, and she nods. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I lean down, slowly closing the distance between us, and she rises on her tiptoes to meet me halfway.
The first brush of her lips against mine is gentle.
But when she sighs into my mouth, something breaks loose inside me.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me as the kiss deepens.
She tastes like the apple cider we were drinking earlier, sweet and lightly spiced, and I’m instantly addicted.
Her hands slide up my chest to tangle in my hair, and I groan at the gentle tug of her fingers. I back her against the wall, lifting her without breaking the kiss. She makes a slight, needy sound that nearly shatters my control, her legs parting to allow me closer.
The kiss turns hungry, desperate, as weeks of tension finally find release. My hands span her waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she arches into the touch.
“Whoop, whoop!” Theo’s voice cheers from the open barn doors, followed by enthusiastic clapping.
Emma breaks the kiss with a startled laugh, burying her face in my neck. I turn to see Theo standing in the doorway, grinning.
“Don’t mind me,” he says, making no move to leave. “Carry on. Liam and I have a bet about who gets to kiss her next.”
“Theo,” I growl in warning, but I’m not irritated. I’m too happy, too drunk on Emma’s taste and scent to be annoyed.
Emma lifts her head, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from my kiss. “You two have a bet?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
Theo shrugs, unrepentant. “Liam says you’ll kiss him next because you already kissed him once. I say you’ll pick me because I’m irresistible and make the best pies.”
Emma laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest where she’s still pressed against me. “Maybe I’ll keep you both in suspense,” she teases.
“Cruel omega,” Theo clutches his heart dramatically. “Well, I’ll leave you to your pumpkins. And your… other activities.” He winks and backs away, but not before giving me a thumbs up that makes Emma giggle.
When he’s gone, I press my forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. “Sorry about that. Subtlety isn’t his strong suit.”
“I like that about him,” she says, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that makes me want to purr. “He’s honest. Uncomplicated.”
“And I’m not?” I tease, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“You,” she says, looking back at me with those beautiful eyes, “are a man who carves intricate patterns into pumpkins and licks my wounds. You contain multitudes, Alpha Rowan.”
I capture her mouth again, unable to resist, and she responds with equal hunger. This time when we part, we’re both breathing hard.
“We should probably finish those pumpkins,” I say reluctantly, though my body screams to carry her straight to my bed.
Emma nods, her legs wobble, and the knowledge that I affected her that strongly fills me with feral satisfaction.
“Pumpkins first,” she agrees, straightening her sweater. “Then maybe we can discuss this bet between Liam and Theo.”
“Oh?” I say as we return to the picnic table.
She picks up her carving knife with a mischievous smile. “I think I might need to thoroughly compare before deciding who wins.”
The implication sends heat straight to my groin. “And where do I fit into this experiment?”
Emma looks up at me through her lashes, her scent rich with promise. “You, Alpha, have set a very high standard.”
I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years. “I aim to please.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She returns to her pumpkin, but her scent remains warm and sweet, filled with contentment and arousal.
As I pick up my own knife, I find myself thinking that of all the autumn harvests I’ve experienced on this farm, this one is most definitely the sweetest yet.