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Instead of being annoyed by my crabbiness, he seems amused by it. “Screwing up Patriots Now is bright and early on tomorrow’s agenda, I promise, but today the Road Trip gods put a nectarine orchard right in our path, which we have to respect.”
“Road Trip gods?” I say dubiously.
He shakes his head yes like he just stated an indisputable scientific fact. “Respect them or pay the price.”
I’m about to open my mouth to challenge pretty much all of his assertions when he beats me to it.
“This is what I’ve been searching for,” he says, stopping in front of a tree and starts filling the basket with the fruit.
“It doesn’t look all that different from all the other trees you passed by,” I point out.
He reaches out his hand to pull me closer, but then stops himself. My whole body warms as I hone in on his hands. The hands that offer me comfort as they stroke my back or my hair every night, but never touch me in the daylight. We never speak of my nightly visits to his bed when I silently beg for him to hold me until we both fall asleep.
He drops his hand to his side. “Come closer,” he orders.
I stand beside him. “Smell that aroma?” he asks.
I breathe in the sweet, fragrant scent that fills the air and nod my head.
“That means they’re ripe for the picking.” His strong, calloused hands reach up and gently pluck another nectarine from the tree. “See those spots?” He points out small bursts of red on the skin of the fruit.
I nod again.
“It means it’s sweet and ready.”
“Ready for what?”
He answers by taking a large bite from the nectarine. Juice flows down his chin and neck as his eyes brighten from his obvious enjoyment. I should be disgusted by the messiness, but something in his enjoyment makes my heart race.
He looks at me, that dangerous look back in his eyes. “Here,” he rasps, holding out the nectarine to me, the clear indentations of his bite marks showing and revealing the pulpy flesh inside, its juices glistening in the sun and making my mouth water, desperate for a taste. “Take a bite.”
I can’t help but want what he’s offering me.
Slowly, I lean forward, Jeb’s eyes tracking my progress. My mouth reaches the fruit, and I hesitate.
“It will be good, Eli,” Jeb promises with a rough burr to his throat. “Really good.”
I take a bite, and my mouth explodes in a rich, tangy sweetness. I don’t even care about the juices messily streaming down my chin or the fact that Jeb is watching my blissful reaction, his eyes a brilliant blue as they seem to spark at me in the afternoon sun.
As I swallow my bite, his tongue darts out to catch some of the juice off his own chin. The sight sends shockwaves of want through me. “Mmmm,” he groans at the taste, his eyes still locked with mine. “Tasty.”
I take a small step forward. The bite of nectarine is no longer enough to fill the hunger I feel. Only the taste of his lips will be enough. I slowly move toward him like I did when he tempted me with the nectarine.
“Jeb,” I murmur, needing his help to go further.
“It will be good, Eli,” Jeb promises softly, echoing his words from earlier. “Even better than the nectarine.”
I lean toward him.
Above, the sky claps with thunder. I jump and pull away. Jeb looks up at the suddenly darkening sky. “The Road Trip gods speak again,” he says evenly, as if I hadn’t just almost kissed him. “Come on,” he declares, picking up the bucket of fruit. “Let’s get back to the car before we get soaked.”
We hurry back to the car just as it starts raining. We both dive inside and Jeb turns the key in the ignition. He turns to speak to me.
Is he going to bring up what almost happened back there?
“Rhode Island,” he says.
“Wh-What?” I ask, confused.
