Mowed Over (Sonoma Book 2) Read online

  And then he winks at me, turns, and heads back for the bar, leaving me frozen in his wake. I watch him walk away for far too long before plopping back on the sofa and exhaling roughly.

  I almost forgot I wasn't alone until Julia whistles low and leans across the table with a serious expression on her face.

  "Lilah, we need to get a shitload of pregnancy tests because I think every woman in this bar just ovulated."

  Chapter 15: Ben

  It nearly kills me not to look back at Lilah as I rejoin Jack at the bar, and I make it at least 75% of the way before I give in. She's sitting down again and laughing at something her sister said.

  "That's the bartender from Blue Ruin, right?" Jack eyes Lilah appreciatively, and I have the sudden impulse to punch my best friend in the face. I hold back, settling for flexing my fist and clenching my jaw.

  "Yeah, and her sisters."

  "Jesus, those are some good genes," he says. "They look so familiar. I feel like I know them from somewhere."

  I've resisted the urge to poke into Lilah's family online. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about it. Hell, I've dodged plenty of bullets with good old-fashioned googling. If someone puts something on the internet, I figure it's fair game... but not with Lilah. If I learn something about her, I want it to be because she tells me herself. She's a challenge and a half, though I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere. I didn't miss the dazed expression when I kissed her cheek or the soft look in her eyes before I walked away.

  Jack snaps his fingers, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Do they have two brothers? Dark hair, run Donovan Auto?"

  "Yes to the brothers, though I'm not sure about the auto shop."

  "They worked on my bike; do you remember? You picked me up there once."

  "Vaguely? You want me to introduce you? Sally, the lady with blue hair sounded interested."

  Jack gives her a thoughtful look. "Pity I'm not into cougars."

  "I wasn't aware you had a type. Your dating life seems more like a free-for-all."

  Jack flips me off half-heartedly. "Don't be a dick. Of course, I have a type, I just don't like to limit myself."

  "That's fine, as long as you don't end up with another Daphne situation."

  Jack makes the sign of the cross. "Do you mind? Say her name twice more and you'll summon her."

  "Sorry," I say with a laugh. Jack lost his dad last year and his money-grubbing ex-fiancé left him when he left his lucrative job in San Francisco to take over the crumbling family winery. I can't fault him for having a little fun with his freedom, even if I wouldn't do the same thing.

  We spend the rest of lunch talking about the winery. I do my damnedest not to watch Lilah smiling and laughing in the sunshine, but it's difficult. I'm like a moth to the flame with her.

  Lilah gets up to leave as Jack and I are waiting for our check. The patient, strategic side of me knows I should play it cool, let her leave with just a wave or nod. She looks at me as her group heads for the elevator, and I can't help winking at her as I look her up and down one last time. She's sexy as hell, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips despite a solid effort to hide it.

  Fuck strategic.

  I dig in my wallet for cash and slap a fifty on the counter before smacking Jack on the back. "Good to see you, man," I say before hopping off the bar stool and bolting for the bank of elevators.

  Lilah is gone by the time I get there. I press the button and wait, tapping my fingers against my thigh. But none of the doors open and time is slipping away, every second putting more distance between us. I spin and find the door for the stairs, running down them two at a time until I hit the lobby. I catch a flash of white lace and tan legs walking out the front door and jog to catch up.

  The sidewalks are crowded with the first rush of spring tourists, drawn downtown for lunch and shopping. I have to weave through a group of Red Hat ladies, excusing myself as I go. They titter and one of them catcalls me, or at least I think it passes for a catcall. What else would you call it when a grandma says, "Hey sugar, where are you headed?" before slapping my ass? Wine country is weird.

  Between the handsy septuagenarian and the sight of Lilah, just 10 feet ahead of me, I'm so distracted that I accidentally bump right into a man.

  "Sorry," I tell him without taking my eyes off my girl. The man just grunts and heads into a shop, ignoring me. Whatever. Lilah must have heard the commotion because she stops walking, turns, and locks eyes with me.

  "Let me guess, you're walking this way?" she asks with an arched eyebrow.

  "Crazy, huh?" I say with a grin. She bites her lip, clearly not buying it, but she waits for me to catch up. We fall into step behind her sisters who both turn, giving me identical, appraising looks, clearly judging whether I'm good enough for Lilah. Neither seems to find me lacking, but I don't miss the communicative look they give each other. I get the distinct impression that the women in this family are not to be messed with.

  The other women peel off towards a shop. Olive tells Lilah she needs to grab something and will meet her back at the bakery in a few minutes. It feels like a thinly veiled attempt to leave me and Lilah alone, but I'm sure as fuck not complaining.

  "Oh. Ok..." Lilah replies. She looks down the street and then gives me an embarrassed smile.

  "Where are you headed?" I ask Lilah.

  "Back to work," she says, gesturing at a red clapboard building two blocks down.

  She's so close that I can smell her strawberry scented shampoo on the air and when we shift to let someone walk by, I place my hand on her lower back to pull her closer. Instead of pulling away, she leans just a bit closer into my side.

  "Day job?" I ask.

  Lilah nods. "Only job, actually. I quit the bar. Olive owns the bakery; I help her out and I'm taking over the coffee roasting."

  "In that?" I ask again, sweeping my eyes over her dress and the long stretches of exposed skin. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye and I don't miss the smile that keeps creeping higher on her face.

  Lilah laughs and pats her bag. "God no. I'm changing back into my jeans. I couldn't bake in this."

  The image of her bending over to pull something out of the oven in that little dress grips me and I desperately try to pull up the least sexy images I can think of... Baseball. My grandmother. Hitler in a thong.

  My fingers inadvertently flex against her spine as we approach the red building, the only tell my body gives at the thought of letting her go. A sign reading "Olive Branch Bakery" hangs over the door.

  I contemplate tossing her over my shoulder and convincing her to spend the rest of the day with me, but I'm a gentleman to the core, so I step ahead and hold the door open for her instead. She pauses before heading inside and her lips part and then shut again like she can't decide what to say to me.

  She finally settles on, "Thanks for the company."

  "Anytime," I reply as she ducks inside, leaving me alone on the front porch.

  Chapter 16: Lilah

  I spend the entire day cooking and cleaning up my house to get ready for dinner with Olive and Brooks. I finally got the last of my boxes unpacked and my books neatly organized on the shelves in my living room.

  I'm putting the finishing touches on dinner and dancing to music in the kitchen while I wait for Olive and Brooks to arrive. They were supposed to be here five minutes ago, but that's just Olive in a fucking nutshell. It drives Brooks crazy to be late everywhere they go, but he loves her too much to complain. Much.

  I sprinkle some grated parmesan and chopped parsley on top of the pasta, pull the roasted chicken out of the oven, and add butter to the pan of asparagus sizzling on the stovetop. Everything is perfect. This might be the best meal I've ever made in my life, and if my sister doesn't hurry her ass up, I'm going to start without her.

  After checking that the coconut panna cotta in the fridge has fully set, I pull out my phone to check on my sister. This is why we have Find My iPhone turned on. Spying on each other's location is Siste
r 101 as far as I'm concerned, but before I even get the app open, the doorbell rings. Finally.

  I try to untie my apron as I walk to the door, but the damn waist tie is frayed and tangled. I try twisting it sideways so I can free myself as I open the front door. I'm still peering around my hip to see where the snag is when I say, "You're going to have to help me out of this thing, sweet tits."

  "Gladly," comes a deep male rumble.

  "Fuck!" I yell as I stumble backwards in surprise. Standing in the place where I expected to see my sister is none other than Benjamin Fucking Clark.

  "Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!" I clutch my chest and wheeze at him. He's wearing jeans and a lightweight gray sweater. All I can see is his broad chest and muscled shoulders outlined in the knit pattern. Holy god, he looks so good. Why does he always have to look so good? My panties shouldn't get wet just because he's walking around in a sweater, but couldn't he wear sweatpants or something?

  Scratch that. If I saw him strolling around in gray sweats, I probably couldn't stop myself from jumping his bones. Socks with sandals. That might be the only thing he'd look bad in.

  Ben is smiling at me with an eyebrow cocked like he doesn't understand why I'm surprised. "Dinner smells amazing. Can I give you a hand with anything?" he asks, gesturing behind me.

  "What?" I ask, thoroughly confused. "No. Dinner is ready but... can I help you with something?"

  Ben flashes me a crooked grin and squints at me like I've lost my mind.

  "Do I have the wrong night or something?" He asks. "I may be a Southern boy, but I'm not as slow as I sound," he says, drawing a card out of his back pocket and showing it to me. I snatch the card out of his hand. No, not a card. An invitation. An invitation to a housewarming party. At my house. Tonight.

  "What the fuck? Where did you get this?!" I ask him. My already pounding heart picks up with indignation because, even as I ask, I know.

  "It was in my mailbox this afternoon. Kinda short notice, don't you think?" Ben jokes, his brown eyes flashing with mischief.

  "Olive," I say flatly.

  "Sure, I'd like an olive, I guess. Aren't you going to invite me in? Or is dinner on the front porch?" Ben is giving me an infuriatingly cocky look. I should hate it. If he was any other guy, I definitely would.

  "No, I'm not offering you an olive. My sister. My sister did this." Even as I say it, my phone starts dinging with text messages in my front apron pocket.

  Olive: Enjoy your date. P.S. Payback's a bitch!

  Olive: Sorry I said bitch.

  Olive: Please save a panna cotta for Brooks and me.

  "Oh-ho-no!" I hiss at my phone. "No panna cotta for you!"

  Ben is staring at me with a look somewhere in the crossroads of "she's lost her damn mind" and "oh my god, look how cute she is." It's then that I notice he's holding a gift bag, a bottle of wine and a head of romaine lettuce. I'm trying to ignore the way he smells like fresh laundry and cologne, even though it's making me a little weak in the knees.

  "What's the lettuce for?" I ask. Ben takes a step towards me on the porch. I'm still one step higher than him, and it puts me at eye level with him. He's so close I can see little shots of gold and black running through his irises as he watches me, smiling that crooked smirk of his. It makes him look arrogant. Arrogant and insanely sexy.

  "I'm guessing you didn't invite me over tonight," Ben says. He's so near that my skin is tingling, begging me to lean just another inch or two closer.

  "No," I reply. Why do I sound so breathy? A better question might be, why can't I breathe right around him?

  "Do you want me to leave?" he asks. I hesitate, not because I want him gone, but because I want him to stay so desperately. It makes me physically ache to think of sending him away, but he reads my hesitation the wrong way, giving me a rueful smile as he steps back and hands me the things he was carrying.

  "Maybe another time," he says as he turns to go, his hands tucked in his pockets. All it takes is one glimpse of his broad back and the memory of the way he kissed me to make me move.

  "No," I call out.

  Ben turns, still wearing that wary, resigned smile. "No, not another time?"

  I swallow my anxiety, "N-no, I don't want you to leave." I stutter and blush, my heart beating erratically. Reckless! Risky! It thunders in my chest. Woman up, I chastise myself.

  "It's just... I made all this food. My sister and her fiancé were supposed to come over for dinner but... well, clearly, she's not coming. Do you like roasted chicken?"

  Ben's face lights up like a kid on Christmas, and I've never seen anything so endearing. "Yes, ma'am. I love it." His ever-present smirk and dimples reappear as he walks back towards me. It's only after he steps inside that I realize I'm holding my breath and let it out in a soft whoosh as I close the door behind him. I can't believe Olive did this to me. A quiet voice in the back of my head whispers Not to me. For me.

  Ben is standing in the entryway, rubbing his hands together and looking around.

  "Yeah, it's... kind of empty," I apologize. I have one couch in the living room, a small table with four chairs in the dining room and not much else. I lick my lips, painfully nervous at what he might be thinking. "I've never lived alone before, so I don't have enough stuff to fill a house."

  Ben grins at me. "I like it," he drawls. "It's uncluttered."

  I let out a relieved laugh. "It is definitely that." I lead him into the dining room and set down the wine and gift bag on the table. I'm itching to open them both, but my curiosity is outweighing everything else.

  "Ben, what's with the lettuce?" I ask.

  He fights back a chuckle as he takes it from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. "It's for Frankie. I read that tortoises love romaine. I figured it was only fair I bring her a housewarming gift too."

  My mouth hangs half open and I blink at him as I process what he just said. "You- you brought my tortoise a present?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "That might be the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

  "I aim to impress," he replies. He's moved closer. Or maybe that was me? It's like he's lined his pockets with magnets and he's drawing me in so slowly I don't notice until I'm lost in the smell of him.

  Shaking myself back to my senses, I ask, "Do you want to feed that to her? It's cute as hell when she gets going on something she likes." Ben eyes me appreciatively as his smile grows even larger.

  Chapter 17: Ben

  "I would like that very much. Lead the way to the tortoise," I say.

  Lilah grins nervously at me and fidgets on her feet. She seems determined to fight it, but I didn't miss the way she leaned towards me, clearly as drawn to me as I am to her. She's a skittish thing, but I grin to myself as I realize that I'm starting to win her over.

  Lilah seems to have forgotten that she's still trapped in her apron. It's covered in llamas and cacti and makes her look fucking adorable. She turns and leads me through her living room to the back door. I need something to hold on to because the sight of her ass wrapped up in a black stretch dress is almost more than I can take. Somebody is going to have to wipe the drool off my chin after they restart my heart.

  We stop in front of a wire enclosure with rocks and a happy-looking reptile chilling under a heat lamp. Lilah waves a hand at it. "Just pop it in there. She's greedy."

  We watch for a minute as the tortoise chugs her way towards the greens and munches it with the most Zen expression I've ever seen on a living creature. How can such a bizarre little reptile be so... cute? I'd probably lose my man card if I openly gushed over a tortoise, but damn is she adorable.

  Lilah must have remembered the apron because she starts fidgeting with the ties, trying to undo the knot again.

  "I thought that was my job," I tease as I grab her hips and spin her around. She squeaks but holds still, letting me work at the ties. One of them is frayed and so tangled that I don't see how she could have only been wearing it a couple hours. It's taking far too long to free her because I'm so
distracted. The scent of her strawberry shampoo keeps wafting up into my face, making me desperate to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. Let's not even get into the way her dress hugs her hips and ass as she stands there still as a doe in the wood.

  My fingers keep grazing her spine and I can't help enjoying the way she shivers at my touch, leaning back into me. It's probably subconscious, because I seriously doubt that I'll ever be able to get her to confess that she actually likes me.

  She pulls her hair over one side and looks over her shoulder at me, giving me a long view down the front of her dress. "You can just cut it off if you have to," she says, her voice a husky whisper. It's my turn to shiver because holy damn, all I can see, hear and smell is Lilah and now I'm picturing myself cutting her dress and panties off her body after I finish with the apron. Because sure, why not? Maybe she's stuck in those too.

  "Do you want scissors?" she asks, eyes wide and innocent. There's no way she knows the dirty thoughts running through my head right now. Yes, I want scissors. Or even better, I want to rip this ridiculous apron off her body with my bare hands, followed by every stitch of clothing she's wearing.

  I pause for a second, just so she'll keep looking up at me like that. "I think I've almost got it, but scissors would be faster."

  I follow her back to the kitchen, desperately hanging onto the last scrap of gentlemanly behavior I have left. She pulls scissors out of a drawer and hands them to me, eyeing me carefully before turning around.

  "Still not a serial killer," I promise as I take them. I make quick work of the strap and reach around her to set them down on the counter. Lilah lifts the apron over her neck and turns, her body inches from mine, backside pressed against the counter. This feels awfully familiar. My dick is stirring, and at this point I'm fairly sure it's a Pavlovian response to having Lilah near me in a kitchen. She doesn't seem to be in any hurry to move as she watches me, bright green eyes piercing.