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Lola
Ican smell his arrogance from across the orchard. He’s deeply aware of how attractive he is, wearing his perfect jawline and broad shoulders with the utmost pride. He’s already shed his navy-blue suit jacket and rolled up his crisp white sleeves like he has some kind of strenuous work to do, but the only thing that’s happening here is plucking low-hanging apples from the trees around us.
And I can’t imagine what a six-foot-seven-inch beast covered in tattoos is doing picking apples on a Friday afternoon. He seems like he should be at the club blowing thousands on supermodels, but he’s examining each apple quite carefully before picking it and placing it into his wicker basket.
Something doesn’t add up, and my suspicion overrides my hesitant attraction to him. Why would a man who looks like a mafia boss be out apple picking in a quaint little orchard on the northern edge of Texas?
I turn away from him, tucking myself behind the wide trunk of a tree and picking a few apples off the lower branches. They have little step ladders set up to get to higher branches, but on a woefully uneven ground of tangled roots, it feels more like a guaranteed trip to the ER.
But because I refuse to step up any higher, I have to move on from the tree that’s hiding me from view. When I peer around the trunk, I see that the Prince of Arrogance has moved several trees closer to me and is looking right at me.
It’s hate at first sight, but when his vivid green eyes meet mine again, it’s something different. Something that claws at my insides and lodges my heart all the way up into my throat.
But one-sided desire is not what’s going to get me in trouble.
The real danger is that he’s noticed me staring, and now he’s walking straight toward me.
I duck behind another tree, trying to make it seem like I’m busy picking apples instead of hiding from him. I know I’ve failed when his cologne wafts over to me, and I turn to see a smirk dancing across his lips.
My basket gets about ten pounds heavier in my hand.
“Are we hiding from something?” he asks, looking around with a slight frown. His voice is low, and his words are thickened by a distinctive Russian accent. “I didn’t think there would be anything dangerous in a little orchard like this, but I guess you can never be too careful.”
I straighten up, trying to play it off like he’s the crazy one. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just here picking apples.”
“Looked like you were hiding,” he says, his eyes meeting mine with a knowing glimmer.
I shake my head so hard that I give myself a slight headache. “No, no, I was picking up an apple I dropped. And you? Just coming around to talk to a woman because she happens to be alone?”
He chuckles, leaning against the tree. His cologne hits me again, deep and rich with a hint of cigar smoke. “I just came over because you were staring at me. I figured you might want me to introduce myself,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “I wasn’t staring at you.”
“It’s okay, I’m not judging you for it. I know I’m attractive,” he replies, swinging his basket around like it weighs nothing.
Okay, now that’s a bit too far. I was considering giving him a chance, maybe a shot in the dark, but he’s already blown it. His arrogance is wholly unattractive.
I turn away from him, stepping up on the forbidden ladder to put some distance between us. I grab for an apple without really looking, perhaps too frivolously, and miss it entirely, throwing my weight sideways and right off the ladder.
I’m expecting a quick introduction to the hard ground, but it never comes. Instead, I land in a strong pair of arms and pulled into an even stronger chest. He holds me like that for several seconds, waiting for me to realize where I am.
For a moment, I’m too stunned to do anything but cling to him, but then I come to my senses. “You can put me down now, please,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m freaking out.
He gives me a soft squeeze before putting me down, using one of his large hands to steady me. It’s warm against my back, and I feel instant regret when I step away from him.
I smooth out my dress, hoping I didn’t show him anything personal. It’s not that I’d be especially upset if he saw my panties, it’s that thetypeof panties I have on would embarrass the hell out of me. They’re white with a picture of an apple printed on the front, and I’m certain he’d laugh at me for wearing something that matched the activity I was taking part in.
I squat down as I scoop my basket off the ground to avoid giving him another show, grabbing apples from the ground and blowing the dirt off them. To my annoyance, he joins me, grabbing them and placing them into my basket.
When I finally stand up, he takes an apple from his basket and puts it in mine.
“I don’t want that,” I say, quickly taking it out and putting it back into his.
“A simplethank youwould’ve been sufficient.”
My face flushes, and I pull my basket up to my chest defensively. “Right. Thank you for catching me, and thank you for helping me with my apples. I hope the rest of your evening is enjoyable,” I blurt, spinning around and attempting to leave.
