Chapter 26 Cardamom, Cloves
Cardamom, Cloves
Poppy
It’s nearly midnight, my feet are aching from the evening we spent in the kitchen, but I know one thing: I can’t stay on this
houseboat.
Not tonight.
Not after that kiss.
I don’t know what to do with a Jack Hartman who pays me compliments. A Jack who makes me feel warm with a glance. And especially a Jack who kisses me like the world is ending around us. My lips are stinging from the friction of his beard. I still can
feel the imprint of his hands on my waist, not to mention the firm, yet not painful, grip on my braid. It’s so much easier
to think of him as grumpy and aloof. Handsome, sure, and a hell of a chef, but never someone I’d really connect with, much
less kiss.
I replayed his praise in my head all day. I just about lost it when he approved of my vinaigrette. Those little crumbs felt
better than any social media comment, or sponsorship deal, or even the rare compliment from my family.
And then I crashed back to Earth with that kiss.
A kiss he ran away from, obviously disgusted with himself once he realized what he was doing. He called it a mistake.
I wiggle into a form-fitting leather skirt and heels, plus a cropped, equally tight black tee.
I let my hair down, putting in a bit of texturizing spray for good measure, then freshen my makeup in the tiny bathroom.
When I emerge, I see that Jack’s back from wherever he fled to for takeout, a plastic bag in hand. He looks up when he hears my footsteps.
He’s so handsome, I can’t stand it. I hate looking at the curl of dark hair over his forehead, now that I know how soft it
is. I hate his prickly beard, remembering how delicious it felt against my skin. I hate the way the T-shirt I nearly ripped
off clings to him just right. All the more reason to go out. I need to find someone to hook up with; to douse the fire he
lit in me. Otherwise, there’s no way I can continue to be around him.
“What are some good bars around here?”
He sets down the takeout with a thud. “What?”
“Bars in town. Which one should I go to?”
“You’re going out?”
“So?”
“Why?”
“I didn’t realize I needed to ask your permission before leaving.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Just give me a name. What
about Salty Joe’s?”
He looks at me from head to toe, eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find someone to hook up with.” His surprised, surly scowl is priceless. I smile sweetly in return.
“Just like that.”
“Yeah.”
“Absolutely not.” He stalks in my direction, jerking a hand through his hair. “Trust me, there’s no one you’d want in this
town.”
“Chester is pretty nice.” I pull my phone out of my purse, pretending to scroll through for Chester’s number. I might actually
call him once I’m out, but for now, it’s more fun to wind Jack up. Serves him right for kissing me in one breath and telling
me what a mistake it was in the next. “Maybe I should take him up on his invitation to let him show me around.”
“Chester? Chester smells like fish and accidentally kissed his cousin once.”
“Well, someone doesn’t want to sleep with me, so I need to take what I can get.”
He glowers. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to sleep with you.”
“So you do want to sleep with me.”
“Why the hell would I have kissed you if I didn’t?”
“I don’t know! You kissed me and then ran away!”
“I needed a moment.”
“A moment.” I laugh to cover up my embarrassment. “You don’t kiss someone and leave her standing there in the span of a fucking
minute, Jack.”
He’s quiet. “I know.”
“Then tell me where the best bar is. It’s that or I’m heading to Salty Joe’s.”
“No.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re not going out.” He takes a step forward, and then another, crowding me against the wall. I hate how my breath quickens.
“Not with Chester, not with any guy in this town. If this is what you need, then fuck it. I’ll do it myself.”
My body prickles, and not in a good way. Just when I thought my humiliation was complete, he had to take the last swing. If that’s what I need, as if I’m some attention-starved animal. Screw that, him, and the way I want to lean in to his touch.
“I don’t need you to pity fuck me.”
He hauls me over his shoulder, narrowly missing the stooped ceiling.
“Put me down!” He carries me to the tiny bedroom. His hand is on my ass, and he doesn’t budge when I slap his firm back. “Jack!
I’m a grown woman!”
He drops me on the bed, not at all gently. “Until yesterday you couldn’t boil an egg.”
“Asshole.”
“Sorry.” He grimaces. “That wasn’t fair of me.”
“Thank you. For your information, I learned how to boil an egg last week.”
His words genuinely sting, but I can’t help but crack the joke.
He laughs, and the tension eases—at least until he joins me on the bed, tipping me backward so we’re face-to-face and surrounded by pillows.
I freeze. He plays with the ends of my hair like that’s a totally normal, not at all weird thing to do.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I just kissed you.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You’re lying.”
His breath ghosts over my face as he chuckles. I squirm. “You’re flinging so many accusations, I don’t know what to focus
on.”
“You don’t want to go fishing for company with the guys in this town. None of them would be able to handle you.”
I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Probably the latter, knowing him, but he has a point. I doubt I’d be able
to find someone to scratch the itch he created. Ever so rudely, I might add.
“Chester,” I say again, partially to annoy him.
“He’s been in love with Kiara since we were sixteen.”
I file that piece of information away for later. “Then why . . .”
“He flirts with every pretty woman he sees because he’s too scared to ask her out.”
As he talks, his hand continues to stroke through my hair. I’m aware, suddenly, of how close we really are: nearly nose to
nose, breath intermingling. He’s as strong and solid as a mountain, and he’s less than a foot away. It would take no effort
at all to straddle his lap and find out just how well he fills out his jeans.
“Does that mean I’m a pretty woman?”
“You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“But maybe I want you to.”
His hand stills. “Poppy, you’re stunning.”
“Oh.” My breath quickens. Helplessly, I pull him closer.
He kisses me softly at first, smiling against my lips. Hand fisted in my hair, angling my head just where he wants it, he
deepens the pressure. I tremble against him, aching for his hips to press against mine.
The first kiss was desperate. The second, questioning.
This one is tender. It makes my toes curl and my belly squirm.
He kisses like I thought he would. No pretense.
No teasing. No half-measures. Just him, taking control with each nip and stroke.
A rush of desire floods me, sharpening my senses.
I cling to him, breathing in his scent, reveling in each delicious scrape of his beard.
My legs widen, making room for him to slot between them.
This is a bad idea. A monumentally bad idea. We can start with the fact he’s my sort-of boss and then run right down the list
to the rift between him and my father.
“I mean it,” I say, wiggling away from him reluctantly. “You don’t need to pity fuck me. I don’t even want you. I just haven’t . . .”
I trail off, cheeks aflame. It sounds pathetic to admit that one kiss—now three kisses, each one better than the last—made
me so weak for attention.
“Such a liar tonight.” He strokes the inside of my wrist. “It wouldn’t be a pity fuck. I’m just as hard up as you.”
My blush intensifies. “Stop being so crude.”
“You’re the one who keeps talking about fucking.” His thumb draws lazy circles over my pulse. “Let’s make a deal, Princess.
Pretend we’re stranded on a desert island, just the two of us.”
I sternly tell my body to get off the bed. It refuses to listen. “What do you mean?”
“No strings. No expectations. We give each other what we need while we’re here, but nothing carries over.”
He keeps his voice light, but his smirk is a challenge. The world narrows to the point where he’s touching me. It’s a deliberate
tease, a taste of what he can offer. My body yearns for me to say yes. His evergreen eyes bore into mine. Watching. Waiting.
“You look like a panther,” I blurt. My gaze drifts to his panther tattoo, still a little red from the burn I gave him. “Like
you just dragged me back to your den.”
His eyes are endless green. So easy to get lost in. “And you like it.”
I wobble on the precipice, debating. This could go sideways quick, but it could also be the distraction I need before I return
to New York. Jack and I are as different as night and day, so there’s no way we’d fall into the trap of complicated feelings.
I tug at him until he settles his body over mine. I let out a sigh at the muscular, masculine weight of him pushing me down
onto the mattress. He leans down to kiss me again.
I put my hand on his chest. “Wait.”