Getting Lucky (The Portland Pioneers Book 2) (13 page)

“I thought so,” Jack said smugly at Noah’s contemplative silence. “Like I said, you’re the King of Moves. Go put one on her that she won’t forget.”

Noah glanced up at the Café, and this time he was sure he saw the light flickering in the back kitchen. Someone was there, and he was pretty sure that someone was Maggie.

“Maybe you’re not so full of shit after all,” Noah said.

“Oh, we know that’s not true,” Jack laughed. “I’ve gotta run. Izzy’s giving me the
look,
man, if you know what I mean.”

Izzy tended to give Jack an entire range of looks, so Noah couldn’t say exactly which kind this particular one was, but he had his suspicions. “Well, if I don’t hear from you, I’ll be sure to tell the cops to check the dog house.”

Jack just laughed. “You do that.”

Maggie was tired. She’d been up at her usual time, which was ridiculous o’clock, but somehow Thanksgiving and the pie orders she took each year to supplement the Café’s income had snuck up on her.

She refused to admit, even to herself, that she’d been jerked off her regular schedule by Noah’s arrival and subsequent activities in town. It just happened that she’d spent too much time over the last few days daydreaming.

Tossing chilled chunks of butter into the industrial sized food processor, she pulsed the flour until the mixture resembled damp sand. Which of course,
of course
, only reminded her of the ocean, and then of the breeze up on the cliff at Noah’s new house.

It was kind of pathetic how much her thoughts turned to him lately. She didn’t even really know him, and no matter how many times she reminded herself that he was only in town because of
Tabitha
, the thought didn’t seem to stick. Maggie had never been particularly foolish in matters of the heart. She’d dated an older boy in high school, and had had her share of fun those few years in San Francisco. She’d enjoyed herself certainly, and while hardly the knockout her elder sister was, hadn’t exactly lacked for male attention. But this, Maggie knew, was fundamentally different.

She knew she was poised on the brink of a potentially destructive decision, and if he made one move towards her, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from him for one more moment. Wiping her damp hands on a dish towel, she tried refocusing on the huge batch of pastry dough she was making. This was her career, her
life
, and she couldn’t afford to let Noah distract her from what was permanent and real, no matter how attracted she was to him.

Visualizing the hundreds of dollars in her bank account these pies represented—the result being able to breathe a little easier for a month or two—helped her focus, and drizzling in some ice water, followed by a tiny splash of white vinegar, Maggie dumped the huge mass onto the floured stainless steel counter.

A knock at the back door interrupted her just as she was about to flour her rolling pin. Brushing the flour off her hands, Maggie didn’t even bother checking to see if she had flour all over her hair. It was probably just Ella, stopping by to see if she needed any company.

It wasn’t Ella she saw through the peephole he’d installed during the remodel. Noah’s dark hair shone under the bright security light, and Maggie took a deep breath, lifting a self-conscious hand to the hair she’d piled up in a messy bun.

Opening the door, she smiled at him. “Hey stranger,” she said.

“You’re here late tonight,” Noah said and the smile he gave her was powerfully magnetic. As if he knew just how close she was to capitulating to his charm.

She gestured with her white streaked hands. “Baking pies for Thanksgiving. I usually sell quite a few to the locals.”

“You shouldn’t be alone here, so late,” he said, and Maggie rolled her eyes at how much like Cal he suddenly sounded.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said then paused, hesitated for the briefest second. Did she dare? Maggie felt herself waver on the precipice and glancing up at the shadowed planes of his face, the pleading expression in his eyes, she dove off the cliff. She opened the door further, gesturing him inside. “But you could come keep me company. I’m going to be at this awhile.”

He stepped into the kitchen and the door shut behind him. “How about I do you one better?” he said with a grin. “I could even help you.”

Maggie shot him a dubious look as she returned to her pie dough. “Are you handy with baking too?”

“Hardly. But you can tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” The soulful expression on his face as she floured her rolling pin made Maggie’s heart stutter in her chest. It seemed he’d come to a conclusion while she’d been making her own decision.

But what about Tabitha?
that annoying voice in the back of her head questioned.
Isn’t he still in love with her?

Maggie wanted to ask, even wanted to pry, when before she’d never wanted to know the details. The truth was, it was a little tough to ask the guy you liked if he was still crazy about your sister.

She wasn’t proud of it, but she chickened out, and stuck to a safer topic of discussion. “So you’ve bought a house here. Where else do you own property?”

“A condo in Portland, and that’s it,” Noah said. “I like renting. Or I
liked
renting. It used to feel good to be free to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, but. . .” He trailed off, flushing a little, as if he was almost embarrassed by his own past indulgences.

Maggie looked him straight in the eye, and said as reassuringly as she could, “I bet having something like a fastball hit you in the head changes your perspective a bit.”

“You know then,” he said, and he sounded almost relieved that he didn’t have to tell her. Maggie decided she wouldn’t tell him about the video she’d found. Some things were probably better left unsaid. As it was, even the memory of him crumpling to the ground left her stomach tight with anxiety.

“Well, you come waltzing into my café, late on a Sunday night, bragging about being all famous and shit, yeah, I’m going to google you.”

“I love to play,” Noah admitted as he leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms over his chest, “and I guess I used to like being famous too. But I’m craving a bit of a slower scene these days.”

Maggie tried to keep her voice totally normal. “Tabitha won’t be a fan of that sentiment.”

Noah looked confused. “I don’t see how her opinion matters.”

She looked up from rolling out the first crust. “You can hardly convince her to take you back if you want to stay here,” Maggie said slowly.

His confusion clearly deepened, a line appearing between his thick dark brows. “Take her back? I wouldn’t take her back if she was the last woman on earth.”

Maggie couldn’t help herself, she straight up gaped at him. “But isn’t that why you’re
here
?” she asked. “I mean, you tracked her all the way to Sand Point, not exactly the most exciting tourist destination on the planet. You’ve been here for weeks, waiting for her to contact me.”

Noah pushed away from the counter, and with her heart beating so loudly, Maggie was certain he could hear it even from a few feet away, he stopped next to her. “I never came here for that,” he said quietly, his expression almost unbearably serious. “I just wanted her to look me in the eye and understand that what she did to me was wrong. I wanted to confront her. I never wanted her back.”

Maggie set down the rolling pin because her fingers were practically trembling. Glancing up at him, she said, “That clears up quite a bit of confusion on my end, then.”

He smiled wryly. “I can imagine it would.”

What she wanted to do was jump for joy and literally do a happy dance right here in her kitchen, but Maggie settled instead for a triumphant smile. “Let’s bake some pie then.”

“I love pie,” he said with another one of those ridiculous looks that practically caressed her cheek. He was going to kiss her before the night was through, Maggie thought with a giddy, exhilarating certainty. He’d felt the tension too, the other night up at his house, and he’d thought about it over the last week, and he wanted
her
.

“What’s your favorite kind?” she asked. This mundane conversation was kind of silly, when all she wanted him to do was close that few inches between them and put those beautiful lips on hers.

“Cherry,” Noah said, grinning unrepentantly.

“You’re a bad, bad man,” Maggie giggled. “Too bad we’re not making any cherry tonight.”

The look he gave her nearly singed her eyebrows clean off. “So you say,” he said, his deep voice suddenly almost gravelly. Maggie was beginning to realize just how good he really was. A few hours in Noah Fox’s company and you were practically putty in his hands. And gorgeous hands they were, Maggie observed under the cover of carefully lifting and draping the first circle of dough into the pie pan. Tanned and strong, with long tapering fingers, a few callouses on the pads of his fingers. She couldn’t help but imagine what those hands would feel like on her skin.

Confident. Sure. Selfless, but greedy. Maggie couldn’t help the shiver that tickled up her spine as she practically felt them ghosting over her curves. Glancing up from the dough, her blue eyes met his dark brown ones and Maggie was surprised the sudden, shocking heat didn’t spontaneously combust and turn the space between them to mere ash. He couldn’t possibly know exactly what she’d been thinking, but she had a feeling he’d made a fairly accurate guess.

“So what’s the plan?” he said, and Maggie tried to refocus on her task.

“The rest of these have to be rolled out,” she said, pointing out the twenty or so balls of dough she’d divided into individual portions. “Then the crusts need to be pre-baked while we make the fillings.”

“Pumpkin?”

“And apple,” Maggie added. “In fact, I think it’s time you met your new friend.” She reached over to the other counter and held up a peeler.

“Let me guess, I’m going to be the muscle here.” He smirked, flexing a little, and Maggie couldn’t help the pulse of lava-like desire at his hard, muscled forearms. For a split second, she almost considered asking him to pull his shirt up a little so she could see more. Truthfully, Maggie had never considered herself particularly interested in dating insanely hot men of Noah’s caliber. Of course, she had always enjoyed looking, but attractiveness was never the most important factor when she liked a guy.

Then again, none of the guys who’d wanted to date her had looked quite like Noah Fox.

“Apple peeling is a real skill,” she retorted. “I’m sure you’ve got a few of those up your sleeve.”

He had her boxed against the counter in one smooth movement, so quick that in one blink, there was still a good foot or two of air between them, and then in the next, the metal edge of the counter was pressed against her back, and he was pressed against her—every solid, taut inch of him. Maggie lifted her chin, meeting his dark scorching gaze with a frank stare.
Kiss me now
, she knew her expression pleaded, but he didn’t seem particularly inclined to hurry.

“A few, maybe,” he said lazily.

With one calloused fingertip he traced a trail down the side of her face, smoothing away one flyaway hair then another, winding his way carefully and deliberately under her jaw. “You’ve got flour on your face,” he murmured. “Just . . .” He swiped under her jawline, the movement a fulfillment of the promising looks he’d given her earlier, “here.”

She couldn’t quite breathe, and that wasn’t only because he was pressing, hard and real and solid, into her diaphragm, but the very air between them felt singed, as if all the oxygen had been burned away by the heat they were generating.

“And here,” he continued, his other hand joining the first, another five roughened fingertips trailing down the other side of her face until her cheeks were nearly cradled in his palms.

Maggie swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly bone dry. “Did you get it all?”

His grin was so sexually confident her knees weakened—as if he knew just what could and
would
turn her bones to mush. Ella had been right; even if Noah wasn’t staying in town for longer than a week, it would probably be the best week ever.

“Not quite.”

He leaned in then, but her eyes fluttered closed, the moment of reckoning finally arrived. Maggie’s heart pumped wildly and she tangled her own hands around his waist, toying with the hem of his t-shirt and letting her fingers drift underneath, to the waistband of his jeans and then the hot, smooth skin just above it.

But he didn’t kiss her then, either, just touched his forehead softly, gently, to hers. “Maggie,” he breathed out. “I want this so much.”

Air in her lungs was only a fleeting memory as she tried to breathe. “I want it too,” she admitted, the tremble in her words giving away just how much.

“Something this good,” he said, the edge of his soft voice rough with desire, “deserves to be properly savored. Properly anticipated.”

Maggie laughed unsteadily. “Trust me, I have.”

“Just making sure,” he said, and then fitted his lips to hers.

She was surprised first at how gentle he was. His sexual charisma was so powerful, she’d assumed he’d be fast and hot, maybe a little wild. Instead, he was slow and so sweet, she had a fleeting thought that Tabitha hadn’t deserved this dear man, and she’d make sure that she never took advantage of the vulnerable streak he took such care to hide from the world.