Chapter 4
MELANIE
“The timing is perfect,” Luca said as he stood at the large wood-top island in the center of his farmhouse-style kitchen. That decor made sense since the entire house was literally on a farm. “I just plucked a basketful earlier today. My parents planted the trees when I was a kid.”
I tilted my head as I watched him slice apples and arrange them in a bowl. I’d offered to help, but he insisted on waiting on me, so here I sat on a tall stool pulled up to the island, trying not to swoon right off my perch.
I looked around. “Do you live here alone?”
With a big family-owned property like this, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had siblings living under this roof. I hadn’t seen any other vehicles in the driveway, but that didn’t mean he was the only person residing here.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m the oldest of five kids, but I’m the only one who wanted to stick around after my parents died. So now I’m basically stuck here all alone.”
“Do your siblings ever visit?”
He paused mid-slice. “My youngest sister comes back around Thanksgiving for a couple of weeks to help with the Christmas tree lot.”
The Christmas tree lot—I'd almost forgotten he ran one. He'd never mentioned it in our online conversations, but all week, locals had been talking about how this field would be covered in pine trees of various sizes in just a few weeks.
“Do you grow the trees here?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We import them. People come from around the region to get their trees every year. Even towns like yours, where there are plenty of trees. I guess they like the quality.”
“So you have them imported? Do you handle that yourself?”
“A childhood buddy of mine from Charlotte takes care of that,” Luca said. “He helps me run things now. Handles all the marketing, the website, and lining up suppliers. I manage the logistics.”
“Sounds like a well-oiled machine,” I said, watching as he arranged the apple slices in a small bowl and drizzled honey over them.
“It is now. Took us a few years to figure it out.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of whipped cream. “But enough about Christmas trees. We’ve got more important things to focus on tonight.”
The way he said it, combined with the intensity in his eyes, made heat pool in my stomach. “Like dessert?”
“Like dessert,” he confirmed, shaking the can. “These apples are good, but they’re even better with—”
The whipped cream made a sad, empty hissing sound.
Luca frowned, shaking it again. Same result.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he muttered, then looked up at me with a grin. “Looks like we’ll have to improvise.”
He moved to the fridge and pulled out another can. “Emergency backup. I learned to always keep extras after my sister used up a whole can making hot chocolate last Christmas.”
“Smart planning,” I said, sliding off the stool and moving around the island to stand closer to him.
He shook the new can, and the sound was much more promising. “I’m full of good ideas.”
“Are you going to test it?” I asked, stepping close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of sawdust and autumn air.
“Good idea.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “Quality control is very important.”
He pressed the nozzle, creating a small dollop of whipped cream on his finger. “Hmm, texture looks good,” he said seriously, then brought his finger to his mouth.
I watched, mesmerized, as his lips closed around his finger. “And the taste?”
“Excellent, but I think I need a second opinion.” Before I could respond, he pressed the nozzle again, this time putting a small amount on his finger and holding it out to me. “What do you think?”
My heart hammered as I leaned forward, my lips closing around his finger. The whipped cream was sweet and light, but all I could focus on was the way his eyes darkened as he watched me.
“Perfect,” I said against his finger.
“I was thinking the same thing.” His free hand moved to cup my face. “But you know what? I think we might be able to find an even better use for this whipped cream than just putting it on apples.”
The can was still in his other hand, and the look in his eyes made it very clear what he was thinking.
“Oh really?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Really.” He set the bowl of apples aside, his full attention now on me. “The question is…are you interested in getting a little messy?”
The question hung between us, thick with promise. My pulse thrummed under his fingertips as they traced my jaw, his touch featherlight yet electric.
“Very,” I breathed.
His grin was slow, wicked, as he leaned in, closing the last inch between us.
The kiss was soft at first—testing, teasing—but the moment my lips parted, it deepened into something hungry.
His free hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue swept against mine, tasting of honey and whipped cream and something intoxicatingly him.
I barely registered the can clattering onto the counter before his hands were at my waist, tugging my shirt free from my jeans.
The fabric slid up, his palms skimming my ribs, and then it was gone, tossed aside.
His breath hitched as he took me in, the thin lace of my bra doing little to hide my peaked nipples.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, shaking the can again before sliding one cup down to bare my breast. The cold spray of the whipped cream made me gasp as he circled one nipple with it, his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Never.”
He bent his head, his tongue hot against my chilled skin, licking away the sweetness with deliberate, maddening strokes. My knees nearly buckled when he repeated the process on the other side, his teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper.
His fingers fumbled with my jeans, tugging them down my hips along with my underwear in one swift motion. Cool air touched my bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he drank me in.
“Up,” he commanded, voice rough, and I barely had time to process before his hands were under my thighs, lifting me onto the island.
The wooden surface was rough against my bare skin, but I barely noticed. Not when he was stepping between my legs, shaking the can again with a devilish smirk. The whipped cream landed in a teasing stripe just below my navel, and his tongue followed, slow and deliberate, tracing lower, lower—
I arched off the counter with a gasp as his mouth found me, his tongue circling, tasting, devouring.
My fingers tangled in his hair, holding on as pleasure coiled tight in my core.
He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, not even when my thighs trembled around his shoulders, not even when my breath came in ragged gasps.
When the orgasm hit, it stole my breath. A wave of heat and light washed over me, leaving me boneless, his name a broken plea on my lips.
Luca pressed a kiss to my inner thigh before straightening, his own breathing uneven. “Bedroom,” he rasped, sliding his hands under me to lift me again. “I want to make love to you properly.”
His words sent a fresh thrill through me, but I wasn’t ready to move just yet. Not when I still had unfinished business.
With a slow, deliberate smile, I slid off the island, my fingers closing around the discarded can of whipped cream. Luca’s brow arched, but before he could speak, I stepped into him, my free hand settling on the button of his jeans.
“I want to taste something first,” I murmured, popping the button free.
His sharp inhale was all the encouragement I needed.