Poppy
YAY! Love you. Also…has a certain biker hunted you down at the orchard yet?
Heat hit my cheeks again. I quickly tapped out a reply before I could overthink it.
Me
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Poppy
Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
I set the phone face down, but the stupid smile wouldn’t leave my face. Poppy and Ace were disgustingly happy. She’d found exactly the kind of love I’d always wanted. And if she’d picked up on whatever spark had happened at the clubhouse, maybe it wasn’t just in my head.
Harper caught the tail end of my grin. “Was that the guy? Your face just did a thing.”
I shook my head. “No, it was Poppy. Asking me to be maid of honor.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It’s just wedding stuff.”
She smirked. “Liar. Your cheeks are pinker than those apples.”
I flipped her off good-naturedly and headed to the other side of the store to straighten the jam jars, but my mind drifted again. Then the bell over the door jingled again, and I glanced up reflexively. I met the steel-gray eyes I couldn't seem to get out of my head, and it felt like time stood still.
3
REBEL
The little bell above the farm store’s door finished its jingle as my boots hit the polished hardwood floor, the sweet scents of fresh produce and baked goods wrapping around me. The place was cozy with wooden shelves lined with jars of jam, fresh bread, and pastries behind the counter, and colorful baskets piled high with apples, peaches, and squash. It was neat and welcoming, with a comfortable charm that perfectly matched the woman who was staring at me from across the room, her lips slightly parted and those amber-brown eyes widening in surprise.
Her chestnut braid hung loosely over one shoulder, a few stubborn strands escaping to curl gently around her flushed cheeks, and my fingers itched with the sudden desire to brush them back. The worn denim of her jeans hugged her lush hips exactly the way I’d been fantasizing about ever since last night. And her T-shirt with the orchard’s logo clung just right to her pert, round tits. Just seeing her again hit me like a gut punch, making my breath come a little shorter and my pulse spike like I was fucking eighteen all over again.
Clara recovered quickly, straightening her spine and lifting that stubborn chin as a faint smirk tugged at the corners of her soft mouth.
“Well, if it isn’t tall, dark, and grumpy from the Hounds,” she drawled, her voice lightly teasing, though her eyes held a faint glimmer of curiosity. “Rebel, right?”
“Ronan,” I corrected firmly, closing the distance between us.
Since I’d already accepted that she belonged to me, it didn’t faze me when I corrected her to use my real name.
Her eyes tracked me every inch of the way, color rising high and sweet in her cheeks as I stopped right in front of her, towering over her by several inches. “You call me Ronan, Clara.”
She tilted her head back slightly, meeting my gaze boldly even though I could hear the hitch in her breathing and practically felt the heat radiating from her skin. “Is there something specific I can help you with today?”
“Yeah.” I lowered my voice to a rougher rasp that had her eyes widening a fraction more. My gaze moved slowly over her, lingering just enough to let her know exactly what was running through my head. “I’m here for you.”
The unexpected, dreamy sigh that floated from behind the counter startled me enough to glance toward the sound. Another young woman, likely Clara’s sister, given the resemblance, watched us shamelessly with wide, interested eyes. Her grin spread slowly across her face, and she propped her chin on her hand, clearly ready to settle in and enjoy the show.
Clara shot her a pointed glare.
“Harper,” she growled, her voice filled with a mixture of embarrassment and warning. “Don’t you have inventory to finish?”
Harper’s eyes never left mine, her grin widening as she slowly straightened from the counter. “Oh, I can definitely finish inventory later. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
Clara’s cheeks flushed deeper, frustration and amusement mingling on her face. “Harper Winslet, I swear?—”
