Chapter Six #3
Fletcher didn't smile. "You've made your point."
"I've made it before. You didn't like it then either."
For a second, his face moved like he might say something brotherly, something old, something that remembered summers at Beargrass before he learned to talk about access instead of water.
Fletcher kept his mouth shut. He put his phone in his pocket. "I'll handle Cascadia."
"Monica said you don't represent my parcel anymore."
His eyes narrowed. "She called you."
"She called Daphne. I answered questions."
"That was a mistake."
"No," I said. "Putting my land in that packet was the mistake."
Fletcher looked at me for one long second, then stepped back from the gate. "Enjoy your tomatoes."
"Enjoy your review."
Daphne made another sound, and this time it was definitely a laugh.
Fletcher turned and walked toward his car.
I waited until his car door shut before I looked down at Daphne. "You have anything sharp in your bag?"
Her eyes widened for half a second before her mouth fell open. "Zane McCrae."
"What?"
"Too soon."
"I asked for public safety."
"You asked because you're terrible."
"Only around tires."
She laughed then, full and bright, and the last of the tightness around my ribs loosened.
From the pepper bed, Birdie said, "Well, I don't know about anybody else, but I found that very educational."
Tyler hurried back from the compost. "Did I miss it?"
Gus picked up his rake. "Yes."
"All of it?"
"The useful part."
Tyler looked deeply offended.
Daphne laughed again, and the sound carried over the beds, the hose, the pepper basket, and the piece of land Fletcher had just failed to take from me by making it look already half-gone.
I looked at Daphne standing beside me in the sun. Her initials were still drying on the completed sheet. Fletcher was gone. The gate stood open, and she wasn't behind me.
"Come with me," I said.
Her laughter faded into something warmer. "Where?"
"My house."
Her eyes darkened, and her fingers tightened around mine.
I stepped closer, not caring that Birdie saw, not caring that Gus saw, not caring that Tyler was probably developing a theory near the compost bins. "Your hours are complete. Fletcher's gone. Cascadia paused the access path. I'm asking because I want you there."
Daphne's breath caught. Then she took my hand. "Yes."
I looked toward Birdie. "Can you lock up?"
Birdie lifted one eyebrow. "I've been able to lock a gate since before you had all those tattoos."
Tyler said, "I can help."
"No," Birdie, Gus, Daphne, and I said together.
Tyler put a hand to his chest. "That felt rehearsed."
Daphne laughed as I led her toward the south fence path.
The walk to my house took less than five minutes, and I felt every step of it.
Daphne's hand stayed in mine as we passed through the gate in the fence and onto my land.
Dry pine needles softened the path. The lake flashed blue through the trees to our left.
Heat moved through the air, heavy with sap, grass, and sun on dry earth.
My house sat above the lake access, tucked into the pines with a wide porch, weathered wood siding, and boots by the door I'd meant to move three days ago. It wasn't fancy. It was mine, quiet and solid and close enough to the water that the afternoon breeze carried lake air through the screens.
Daphne stopped at the bottom porch step.
I looked back.
She was staring at the house, then the lake beyond the trees, then me.
"What?" I asked.
"You live here."
"That's usually what houses mean."
"Zane."
I stepped down one stair, bringing us eye to eye. "You expected something else?"
"I don't know." Her fingers tightened around mine. "Maybe a cave with a clipboard."
"It's out back."
She laughed, but it came out softer than before.
I touched her cheek. "Are you sure?"
Her eyes lifted to mine. "Yes."
"Daphne."
"I'm sure." She stepped onto the first stair. "I'm done with the hours. I'm not here because I owe the court. I'm not here because of Fletcher. I'm here because I want you."
The words hit me hard enough that I had to put one hand on the porch rail.
"Not just for this afternoon," I said.
Her smile changed. "I know."
"I'm asking you into more than my bed."
She stepped onto the porch with me. "Good. I want more than your bed."
"Say that inside," I said.
Her mouth curved. "Bossy."
"Practical."
"Liar."
I pulled her up the last step and kissed her before I opened the door.
Daphne stepped into me like she'd been waiting since the lake, both hands grabbing my shirt, her mouth open under mine. Heat slammed through me. She was here in my hands with nothing left to sign, no crew waiting for her return, no court sheet between her and my bed.
I backed her against the door after it shut behind us.
She gasped, then kissed me harder.
My house smelled like pine, clean laundry I hadn't folded, and the coffee I'd made too early. Sunlight came through the front windows in bright squares on the floor. Somewhere outside, the lake moved against the rocks.
Inside, Daphne's fingers were already under the hem of my shirt.
I caught her wrists gently. "Slow."
Her eyes flashed. "You brought me here to go slow?"
"I brought you here because if I touched you at the P-Patch, Birdie would've charged admission."
Daphne laughed against my mouth.
I kissed the laugh out of her, then pulled back just enough to see her. Her brown hair was loose around her face, her green eyes were bright, dirt marked one knee, and her mouth was swollen from mine.
I wanted her right there against the door. I wanted her in my bed more.
I let go of her wrists and pulled my shirt over my head.
Daphne's gaze dropped to my chest, my shoulders, the tattoos across my skin. Her hands followed, sliding over ink, muscle, and the place my breath had already gone rough.
"You've been hiding this under work shirts," she said.
"They're not hiding much."
"They're hiding enough."
Her palm moved lower, over my ribs, then stopped at my belt.
I caught her chin and lifted her face to mine. "You get shy now?"
"No." Her fingers worked the buckle. "I'm trying to be respectful of the equipment."
A laugh broke out of me, rough and surprised.
Daphne smiled like she'd won something.
Then she opened my belt.
The sound of leather sliding through metal went straight through me. I braced one hand against the door beside her head and let her unbutton my jeans. Her knuckles brushed the hard line of my cock through denim, and my hips moved before I could stop them.
Her smile faded into heat.
"I felt that," she whispered.
I caught her mouth with mine, because if she started talking like that in my entryway, we weren't making it to the bedroom.
She pushed my jeans down just enough to get her hand inside.
I groaned against her mouth.
Her fingers wrapped around my cock, warm and sure, and every bit of restraint I'd spent five days building took one hard hit.
"Daphne."
"I like when you say my name like that."
"You're trouble."
"You knew that before the shoes."
I laughed once, then grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her.
She made a surprised sound and locked her legs around my waist. Her hands went to my shoulders.
I carried her down the short hallway to my bedroom while she kissed my neck, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, every place she could reach.
By the time I set her on the bed, I was hard enough to ache and she was breathing like she'd run the whole way.
The room was simple, with a bed, a dresser, boots near the closet, and lake air moving through the screen. I'd made the bed that morning because some part of me had known exactly where I wanted the day to end and hadn't admitted it.
Daphne sat in the middle of my quilt and looked up at me. "This is where you sleep."
"Yes."
"You're very literal when you're trying not to jump me."
"I'm going to jump you."
Her thighs shifted, and she caught me noticing.
The garden noise fell away behind the closed door.
I stepped between her knees and put one hand at the side of her neck. "But first, I'm going to take my time."
Her breath caught. "I'm in favor of that plan."
"Good."
I kissed her again, slower now, and touched what I'd been waiting to touch: her shoulders under the tank top, the curve of her waist, and the soft weight of her breasts through cotton. Daphne arched into my palms and made a small sound that went straight to my cock.
I pulled her tank top up.
She lifted her arms, and I stripped it off. Her bra was pale green and pretty enough that I had one stupid second of gratitude for whoever had sold it to her.
Then I got my mouth on her.
Daphne's head tipped back as I kissed the top of one breast over the lace. Her fingers drove into my hair.
"Zane."
"I've got you."
"I know."
My grip tightened on the clasp.
I opened the clasp and pulled the bra away. Her nipples were already tight. I bent and took one into my mouth, and Daphne's whole body lifted toward me.
Her fingers tightened in my hair. "Oh, God."
I sucked harder, then eased off and used my tongue until her thighs closed around my hips.
"You're sensitive," I said.
"You sound pleased."
"I'm pleased."
I moved to the other breast and gave it the same attention until she was restless under me, tugging at my shoulders, her breath breaking every time my teeth grazed her nipple.
Her hands shoved at my jeans. "Off."
"That sounded like a command."
"It was a request with urgency."
I stood and stripped out of my boots, jeans, and briefs. Daphne tracked every movement. When my cock sprang free, her mouth parted.
I liked that look too much.
"Your turn," I said.
She reached for the button on her shorts, but I caught her hands.
"I'll do it."
Her eyes came up to mine.
I unbuttoned her shorts slowly enough that her breathing changed. Then I slid them down her legs with her panties, taking the boots with them because the boots had lost whatever argument they'd thought they were making.
Daphne laughed once when one got stuck.
I looked at the boot in my hand. "This thing is fighting me."
"It has ankle support."
"It has a death wish."