“They weren’t sweaty.”
She chokes on a laugh and reaches across the console to take my hand from the wheel. I swallow my tongue when she twists my wrist and runs a hand down a line on my palm. Any second now, she’ll drop it. She’ll let it go, and I’ll put it back on the wheel like nothing happened.
Only, she doesn’t let it go. Tracing another line, she stares at the calloused backs of each finger and says, “Yeah they were. It got worse when I touched them. Apparently, that hasn’t changed.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I say lowly.
Her mouth quirks. “Me? As if.”
I make no move to take my hand from her hold. With my other, I turn the steering wheel slightly to the left, following the rough road through the trees until I decide to stop, too aware of the trailer I’m hauling.
“I can’t get much further than this without getting stuck or rocking the horses around too much.”
“Here’s fine. Come on,” she rushes out before shoving her door open. “Unless you’re the one afraid of wormy toes.”
I use the hand she releases to turn off the truck. “Take the head start I’m offering, hellcat.”
She’s gone in a flash. The door slams shut behind her, and I watch her run. She spreads her arms wide to gain balance on the rough terrain, and I can hear her laugh from here. Her hair isn’t braided back tonight, so when she starts down a hill and pullsher messy updo out, I clench the wheel and watch the long waves cascade down her back.
The moment she’s out of sight, I exit the truck and follow. There’s not a chance anyone else will be able to come down here with how I’m parked right in the middle of the road and how late it is. Thank fuck for that. Knowing Tilly, I’m not going to want anyone to see her in approximately two minutes.
“Hurry up!” she shouts from the bottom of the hill I’m approaching.
It’s steep, clearly not intended for easy access. There’s no sign of maintenance having been done here, and that only confirms every thought I’ve had since she spotted the lake. It’s private, secret, despite being so obvious.
My boot catches on a rock when I catch a glimpse of her at the water’s edge. I grab the trunk of the closest tree, dragging my palm down the rough bark and ignoring the resulting burn.
She’s so far beyond human comprehension. The regular standards of beauty that we have shoved down our throats every day have got to make her feel insulted. There’s no comparison between her and any other person on Earth.
The moonlight bounces off her skin like a spotlight amongst the darkness around us. She doesn’t bother with looking around for intruders or an unsuspecting animal waiting to take a bite out of her. Her arms fold across her stomach in an X before she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. I curl my nails into the bark, peeling a chunk off.
Tilly drops the black fabric to the ground, not giving a shit if it gets dirty, before reaching for her belt. The pale skin of her chest is highlighted by the deep red shade of her bra. It’s pure lace, the cups thin and not doing a thing to hide the protruding bumps beneath them. I rip my gaze upward and heave in a breath.
“Are you just going to stare there and watch like a Peeping Tom, or are you joining me?” she asks slyly, successfully unbuckling her belt.
“It’s going to be cold as shit.”
My argument is weak. I’m one word away from throwing myself across the space between us. The minx knows it too. The crinkled skin at the corners of her eyes encourages me to move. I release the tree and take slow steps down the hill.
She grins coyly at me and shimmies out of her jeans. They pool around her boots, and then she kicks them beside her shirt. My vision crosses at the sight of her in front of me in nothing more than her matching bra and panties and the fucking brown boots I’m tempted to tell her to keep on, water be damned.
Her hair sweeps back and forth behind her. My fingers itch to bundle it up and pull. Would she whine for me to let go or to pull harder? Is that what she likes, or if it isn’t, what does make her go as weak in the knees as I feel right now?
“I’m waiting, cowboy,” she taunts, grabbing her hips.
My control is in tatters. That’s the only explanation I have for why I unbutton my shirt for the second time tonight and discard it beside her jeans. Keeping my eyes lowered, I take care of my own belt and unzip my jeans.
Her voice beckons me closer, and I follow, stepping forward. “This isn’t very striptease-like.”
“Your show was earlier.”
“That wasn’t a show. It was a punishment.”
I look up, eyes so hot I feel their sear in my head. “I wasn’t punishing you.”
“Prove it.”
“How?” I ask, snapping harder than I meant to.
