Page 40 of Almost Ravaged (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #1)

Chapter thirty-four

Noah

“ N oah. Wait.”

I slow but don’t stop walking. If I stop, I’ll chicken out. And I don’t want to chicken out. Not with her. Not with this.

What the hell has come over me?

One second, I’m having visions of a freak accident behind the bakery counter, of the injuries Sawyer could sustain.

The next, I’m adding fall-flavored creamer to coffee and handing it to a pretty girl, desperate for her undivided attention.

Edna saw it all, too. I shouldn’t be surprised. She always sees through my shit.

“Come on,” I urge as I ease down the hill near the apiary.

Before us are twenty hives, each one a beautiful masterpiece. After today, it’ll officially be twenty-one.

“Are those bees?” Sawyer asks, a slight panic to her tone.

“Honeybees. You’re not allergic, are you?” Probably should have asked before I brought her out here .

I’ve been too preoccupied, knowing she’d be here, then being in her presence, to think clearly. And I’m so damn eager to share this with someone. Maybe it’s silly. It’s honestly not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

But Meg would be proud of this moment, and that makes me want to share it with someone else who might care.

Does Sawyer know the first thing about bees? Maybe not. But she’s thoughtful and genuine, so it was easy to assume she’d be interested.

It hits me now that I haven’t wanted to share anything with anyone but Mercer in a long, long time.

Though maybe I’m not to blame for this incessant need to share. Maybe it’s her.

Sawyer has this uncanny ability to light up a room.

No. It’s so much more than that. She has a direct impact on me. Like the glow she emits casts out all my shadows.

Before we get too close, I stop and wait for her to catch up. I was so damn excited to bring her out here. Now that she’s hesitating, I’m second-guessing myself.

When she stops beside me, I turn and take her in. She’s striking. Sensational. From the adorable freckles on her nose to the deadly curves of her breasts and hips and waist, I could look at her all damn day and still not get my fill.

My sternum physically aches with the need to be closer, to get to know her better.

I’m awestruck just being in her presence. Like I’m not worthy of her. Like I don’t deserve to feel this way.

A dark cloud of grief lingers in the periphery of my mind, but I block it out, refusing to let the storm in. I’ve already had one awful spell this month. It took three days in bed and a slew of emergency grief counseling sessions to pull myself out of it.

With a steadying breath, I silently repeat my mantras.

It’s okay to experience blips of happiness, despite what happened.

I’m alive, so I owe it to those I lost to fucking act like it.

They aren’t the most poetic phrases, but they work for me. My counselor is always telling me to meet myself where I am.

Right here, right now, standing beside this pretty girl, is exactly where I want to be .

“No,” she says, her focus on the hives. “I’m not allergic to bees. But I wasn’t exactly planning to get stung today.”

Lips twitching, I shake my head and grab her hand. “These gals won’t sting you. Come on.”

I didn’t intend to touch her, but she doesn’t pull away.

A glee I’d forgotten I could experience floods me. Though it evaporates when I step forward and am met with resistance. When I look back, Sawyer’s abusing her bottom lip with her teeth, looking from me to the hives.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we have some sort of safety gear? Those big white suits and funny net hats?”

Her shoulders are tight and her face is etched with concern as she studies me. She’s genuinely nervous.

I inch closer, bowing my head. “I’ve got all the protective gear back up in the barn if you’d feel better wearing it.”

Deep brown eyes search mine. God, she’s pretty. From this angle, a hint of her cleavage is visible. The subtle peek of her breasts sends me back to the day she stood in my home in that tight little tank with my flannel over top.

The flannel she hasn’t returned. A thrill of possessiveness sings through my veins.

It’s followed by a scolding. It doesn’t mean anything. And why do I care that she kept my shirt?

She looks past me, surveying the hives again. “You’re sure this is safe?”

Safe.

If she only fucking knew how concerned I am, at all times, about safety.

“Honey, I didn’t want you behind the counter in the bakery for fear that something would happen. I would never put you in harm’s way.” I swallow thickly, my heart pounding a little too heavily. “I can’t even fathom the idea of you being hurt in any way. I promise you’re safe with me.”

Her face lights up, and my whole fucking world illuminates.

“Okay.” She nods once. “I trust you. Let’s go.”

“This is incredible.” Sawyer is crouched low, her phone out and set to record as I gently scoop another handful of bees from the transport container .

“Pass me the smoke canister,” I murmur. This swarm has been extremely docile since I rescued them two days ago, but I’m not taking any chances where she’s concerned.

Scent and pheromones play important roles in the aggression of a colony, but Meg always swore they could pick up on vibes, too. I’ve trained myself to drop into a meditative state when I’m working with them, and because of that, I tend to come out here when I need to get my head on straight.

Between the constant gentle buzzing of the colony and the calm being in their presence requires, I never feel better than when I’m working with the bees.

“I’m going to give them a bit more smoke to encourage the ones still in the transport hive to make their way to their new home.”

With a gentle but steady flick of my wrist, most of them drop off.

“I can’t believe they’re not stinging you,” Sawyer muses, her eyes wide. “And some of them are even going in on their own,” she marvels.

Even out here, her sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent encompasses me. I can’t focus on how good she smells right now, though. She said she had an hour. Time is ticking, and we’ve still got work to do.

“They’re highly intelligent creatures. They just want to be with their queen.”

“She’s the one in the clip?” Sawyer asks, her tone hushed, reverent.

I nod, keeping my movements slow and languid as I gently scoop another handful of bees and transfer them.

“She’s the largest, and the life source of the hive. The rest of the colony is programmed to follow her lead.”

“And they all just came along when you moved them here?”

“Most of them did, yes. Luckily, one of the groundskeepers at Holt called me when he found them. They had built a hive on the side of one of the storage sheds at the field house, but no one realized it until they needed to get equipment out this week.”

“Why is it lucky that they called?”

I pull a face. “If someone else had found them, they might have used an insecticide to kill them off.”

“ No ,” Sawyer breathes. “Why the hell would they do that?”

Her outrage makes me smile. My gut told me she’d be into this. She’s kneeling on the ground with me, right up in it, completely engrossed.

“Because most humans are busy. Impatient. Egocentric and narrow-minded. ”

She hums in agreement.

“Thankfully,” I go on, “a lot of people around here know to at least try to call if they’ve got a bee problem.”

“So you’re the notorious Bee Daddy around this town?” She grins at me, her eyes dancing with mischief.

The playful jab lands and drips down my spine like warm honey.

Bee Daddy? Fuck. Why do I like the sound of that so much?

I shake my head, mentally scolding myself again, and clear my throat.

“Often times,” I say, offering more details rather than obsessing over her comment, “when I show up, I find yellow jackets or a hornet nest. It’s actually pretty rare for me to find honeybees that need to be saved like these gals. ”

I scoop another handful of bees, being sure not to touch the sides of the box.

“When I got this call, I removed as much of the honeycomb as I could and put it in here.” I nod at the transport hive.

“Then I located the queen, clipped her, and added her as well. I gave the bees a full night to move into the transport, then, yesterday, I brought it out here to let them acclimate.”

Sawyer gets really close with her camera, recording a worker bee as it prepares to take flight. She squints, intent on the insect’s movements, and I swear she holds her breath until the subject takes off. “Couldn’t they just build a new hive after you transported them?”

I pull out one of the supers and show her how I arranged and secured chunks of honeycomb in the frame.

“They worked hard to create all this. It’s their food and their future. This section is all capped brood, meaning it’s filled with babies. Other chunks are filled with honey.”

“Honey-honey? Or does it have to be processed before it’s edible?”

I grin, already anticipating her reaction.

“It’s edible. Here,” I pull an empty piece of honeycomb from the frame and examine it to ensure there are no bees or any bits of brood on the end. Then I hold it out to her, letting the sweet golden goodness drip from a broken edge. “Try it for yourself.”

Sawyer frowns thoughtfully as she looks from me to the honeycomb.

“I can’t eat that,” she says with a shaky laugh.

“Sure you can. Don’t let the wax or the comb get in the way.” I keep the piece steady for her .

She gnaws on her bottom lip, her eyes darting from me to the comb and back again.

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to coat her plush, pouty mouth in honey then lick it right off.

“You can do it,” I encourage, my voice thick and husky. “Just put your mouth on the edge and suck.”

Her nostrils flare, and the little gasp that slips past her lips has my dick jerking.

Without any more encouragement, she tucks her hair behind her ears and lowers her mouth to the honeycomb.

My lungs fail, making it impossible to breathe as she watches me from beneath hooded lids, those light brown eyes just a shade or two darker than the honey, and closes her lips around the comb.

When she sucks, I grip tighter to keep from losing my hold.

Her eyes shutter closed, and the satisfied hum that follows sends arousal flooding through my core.

It’s the sweetest sound, but one I might not survive again.

“Sawyer.” Her name leaves me unbidden, half plea, half curse.

She looks up, her lids still heavy and a sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oh, fuck. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You make another noise like that and I—”

“You’ll what, Bee Daddy?” She lifts her head in challenge, exposing her neck in the process.

Breathing ragged, I home in on a smudge of honey at the corner of her mouth, silently hoping she notices it. That her tongue will dart out and take care of it. That’s she’ll put me out of my misery.

But she makes no move to do that, and I’m too drawn in to let it linger.

“You’ve got a little bit of honey… right there.” I grip her jaw and swipe at the liquid gold, collecting it on the tip of my thumb.

Before I can pull back, she lunges forward and captures the digit between her lips.

Excitement surges through me, my dick hardening almost instantly.

The warmth and wetness of her mouth consume me as she sucks again.

She closes her eyes, her thick lashes fluttering, and her lips tip up a fraction.

Just as my brain processes the expression, she sucks again, this time harder.

When she swirls the tip of her tongue, a low moan works its way out of me .

“Fuck it.” I pull back, the suction of her lips causing a popping sound, and dip low, desperate to capture her mouth with my own.

The second our lips touch, the tiniest of brushes, the alarm on her phone rings out, startling us both so badly we jump apart.

We stare at each other wordlessly, chests heaving and eyes wide. She fumbles to silence the alarm, then only the sounds of our ragged breaths and the buzz of the bees fill the void. A whole range of emotions rages inside me as I come to terms with the reality of the moment.

“I—I have to go.” She clambers to her feet and brushes the dirt from her pants. “I’m so—”

“Don’t.” I throw both hands up, shielding myself from what she was about to say.

I can’t stand to hear her apologize, because despite my confusion, I know one thing for sure: I regret nothing.

I was going to kiss her.

I wanted to. I still want to kiss her now.

A glint of understanding shines in her eyes.

I search her face, desperate to find any hint of regret. When nothing registers, I let myself hope she still wants to kiss me, too.

With a tentative smile and a wave, she says, “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, Sawyer.” A long, frustrated sigh escapes me. “I’ll see you soon.”