Page 11 of Canadian Harvest
“Mitch, where do you want this?” Brad asks, hauling a box of god-knows what up to the bar. He looks between Rachel and I. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’ll just, uh, put them over here.”
I don’t know what’s in the box, but they sure as hell can go into whatever corner he’s found.
“I guess we’d better start helping.” Rachel gives me a weak smile.
“Yeah.”
I don’t want to let go of her, but I do. I drop my hand, releasing her blonde locks, and take a step back. She breaks our gaze and turns; I allow my eyes to roam over her petite frame, down to her ass that fills out her pants like a wet dream.
Fuck, I need to pull it together. I’m a thirty-year-old man. I shouldn’t be lusting over a woman like I’m a teenager. But at the same time, I haven’t felt a pull toward a woman like this in a very long time. No one has caught my eye like Rachel has lately, and no one has definitely held it for as long as she has.
And I haven’t even kissed her yet.
I’m so screwed.
6
RACHEL
“No, no, no, no, no.”
This can’t be happening. Not now.
I turn the key again, watching as the lights on the dashboard light up while the engine makes a grinding sound.
It’s after one in the morning, it’s pitch-black outside, and now it’s starting to rain. The cars that were parked around me are now gone, and I’m left pleading with my van to start.
Turning the key back toward me, I lower my head to the steering wheel, praying for a miracle. Anything that could get me out of here and back home.
The moment Mitch and I shared in the barn was too intense. My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty as he played with my hair. Add in the moment where I thought he was going to kiss me, and I wanted to self-combust.
I take a deep breath and raise my head, trying the key again. I get the same response. The dash lights up, but the same grinding noise is back.
A tapping on my side window makes me scream and reel back in my seat.
A soaked Mitch stands on the other side, completely unbothered by the steady pouring of rain drenching him.
I open the door slightly. “What are you doing here?”
He tilts his head and looks at me, as if unimpressed. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t get my car to start. It’s making this weird noise when I try.”
“Pop the hood.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but instead stalks to the front of the car. I sit and watch him for a moment before I shake my head. I reach down and pop the hood, watching as he disappears behind the lifted metal. Keeping my door open in case he needs to talk to me; I try to drown out the pouring rain to listen for him. I hear banging and him tinkering; the car moving slightly as he works. Through the gap at the bottom of the hood, I can see he’s pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, showing off his forearms.
Ugh, those forearms are book boyfriend worthy.
“Try starting it again!” he yells over the rain.
I turn the key, finding the same grinding noise as before. I let go, stopping the engine but leaving the battery running. The headlights turn on, letting me admire him as he walks to my door.
“It’s your alternator. I can’t get it started right now, but we can get the car towed to the shop in the morning.”
I open my mouth to answer when the stereo clicks on and bursts through my van.
“I thrust into her—hard—letting her feel every inch of my long, thick…”