“Build them decorations?” I cock my eyebrow and cross my arms over my chest. “After I’m the reason they can’t have any.”
Her eyes scan my flexed biceps, lingering longer than necessary. I’ve never been more glad for my climbing strength than right now.
She shakes her head as if rebooting, then clears her throat. “Well, you didn’t like the inflatables that they had in the yard. You could design for the holidays, making it easy to take down and store. They probably liked the inflatables because they’re light and easy to handle. Maybe we can design it to fold with a sled feature on the back for easy hauling.
“You are brilliant.”
Ten minutes later, I adjust my harness, cinching the nylon webbing tight, trying to focus on buckling instead of the fact that Atlanta is shimmying her hips as she steps into a harness three feet away from me. I turn away so I can concentrate on safety, checking the belay loop twice even though I could do this in my sleep.
“Can you check mine?” Her voice pulls my attention, and I turn to find her standing there, hands on her hips, waiting. She tilts her head, a few red waves escaping their hold, her creamy skin glowing.
My mouth goes dry.
The harness sits snug around her curves, the leg loops framing her thick thighs in a way that makes my brain short-circuit. What I would give to take her right here. I step closer, forcing myself to breathe normally, to act like I’m not acutely aware of every inch of space between us.
“Turn around.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
She spins, and I reach for the waist belt, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her yoga pants as I tug on the strap to test the fit. The scent of her shampoo, a mix of vanilla and citrus, hits me, and I have to remind myself that I’m her boss, that this is supposed to be about breaking a curse, not about the way her body feels under my hands.
“Too tight?” I ask, my thumb grazing her hip bone as I check the buckle.
“No, it’s good.” Her voice sounds a little breathless, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
I crouch down to check the leg loops, and this is a colossal, earth-shattering mistake. Her peachy ass is right here, perfectly framed by the harness, and I’m supposed to be professional about this. I tug on each loop, ensuring they’re secure, my knuckles brushing against the inside of her thigh.
This was a bad idea. I am so fucked.
“Holden?”
“Yep?” I stand up too quickly, steadying myself against her shoulder.
“Were you checking out my ass?”
“Uh.. what?!” How does she know?
“Earth to Holden. Are you checking out the clasp? Is it broken?”
I scrub my hand down my face. “It’s fine.”
Fifteen minutes later, I am staring at that juicy peach again. I can’t help it. Her leggings have this v-seam that extends from the waist right down the center, highlighting her cheeks just right. A couple of firefighters from the group climbing the boulder can’t pull their eyes away either.
The rope slides through my hands as Atlanta climbs higher, and I tell myself to focus on the belay device, on keeping the tension right, on doing my damn job. But my eyes won’t stay where they’re supposed to.
Her hips shift as she searches for the next foothold, the harness pulling tight across her ass, and I have to lock my jaw to keep from groaning out loud. She’s maybe twenty feet up now, her body stretched long against the wall, and every muscle in her thick thighs flexes as she pushes upward.
I can’t breathe.
I feed out more rope, watching the line run through the gear, but then she reaches higher and my gaze tracks up the curve of her spine to where her shoulder blades move beneath her tank top. The fabric clings to her back, damp with sweat, and I all I want to do is bring her back down and kiss her right here in front the whole town.
Atlanta pauses, breathing hard, her chest heaving as she searches for the next hold. From this angle, I can see the side swell of her breasts, and I force myself to look at the wall, at the holds, at literally anything else.
“How am I doing?” she calls down, her voice slightly breathless. “I’ve never climbed this high before.”
You’re killing me.
“Good,” I manage. “Another fifteen feet and you’ll be at the top. Move your left foot up to that purple hold.”
My mind floods with images I shouldn’t be having. Her pressed against the wall. My hands on those hips instead of this rope. My mouth inches from hers. Her breathless voice saying my name for an entirely different reason.
