Not that he noticed.
No sirree, he didnotnotice.
“Is it only me you like to order around like a dog?” Her nose wrinkled as she flopped down on the edge of the mattress. “Or are you imperious and overbearing by nature?”
“Probably a little of both.” He knelt in front of her to tackle the buckle on her sandal.
She snorted. “Well, I can’t fault you for a lack of honesty.”
“Meaning you can fault me for other stuff?”
Like the rest of her, her feet were pretty. Slender and high-arched with toenails that’d been manicured into the perfect shape and painted a ruby red to match her fingernails. When he grabbed her ankle to slip the first sandal free, he noticed how his hand completely encircled the joint.
The thought of snacking on her slim ankle, nibbling his way up her softly muscled calf and thigh, and then burying his face between her legs had his blood pooling in a place it had no business pooling.
With determination, he went to work on her second sandal. His hands stilled, however, and his mouth went bone dry when he felt her fingers slide into his hair.
“Well, there’s the whole imperious and overbearing thing. But we just covered that. Plus, sometimes you walk around with a face like a thundercloud, and everyone avoids you then. And also”—she gave his hair a gentle tug—“you need a haircut.”
He avoided her thundercloud comment, figuring she was referring to the times when the memories became too much for him, when the empty space in his center became a black hole that threatened to swallow him whole. Instead, he focused on her last comment.
“Needing a haircut is the story of my life. My mother was forever complaining to my dad about me going to the barbershop every two weeks. She used to say my hair grew quicker than the weeds in her vegetable garden.”
“Mmm. You’ve never talked about your parents before.” When he glanced up, he found her head tilted slightly, her eyes a little dreamy from the drug. “Are they still alive?”
“Mom is.” He pulled off her remaining sandal and pushed to a stand.
The move meant her hand slid from his hair, which was a relief. But it bumped against his thigh on the way down, and that wasnota relief. It was close enough to his dick that the damn thing got evenmoreexcited and perked up further.
“My dad passed on eight years ago,” he added in a bid to cool his ardor. If anything could do it, it was talk of his father. “He had a heart attack while harvesting fall hay. Died right there on his tractor. Not a bad way to go for a guy like him. Probably how he’d have preferred it, honestly. I take comfort in that.”
Since he was still in his wetsuit, and since he didn’t think she’d appreciate him shoving his semi in her face—yes, it was still there despite his best attempts to tame it—he spun quickly toward his dresser to pull out a T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her words were full of sincerity.
He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on the pile of clothes in his dresser drawer. “It’s been a while. The grief isn’t as hard or sharp as it used to be.”
“I’m glad.” She sighed, and he thought he heard a note of melancholy in her voice.
Glancing over his shoulder, he started to assure her the hurtdiddull over the years—he somehow knew she was thinking of her baby sister— but he got distracted when he saw her arms lifted over her head as she pulled pins from her windblown bun. With her delectable breasts raised high and proud, and her nipples pebbled into sharp points, he thought she was being intentionally provocative.
Then her bun unraveled, and she didn’t do that sexy headshake thing women do when they’re trying to seduce. Instead she scrubbed her nails against her scalp, groaned deeply—like his folks’ old farm dog used to do when Doc scratched behind his ears—and yawned so wide her jaw popped.
Wonder if she realizes she missed the Jessica Rabbit mark by a country mile, he thought with a secretive smile. Then he frowned because, annoyingly, herrealnessjust made him want her more.
He realized he’d pulverized the end of his toothpick into a pulp when she gave her scalp one final scrub and then blinked at him curiously. “Are you close to your mom?”
He’d been so caught up in his musings that the question felt like a sucker punch straight to the gut. He used the excuse of tossing his toothpick into the trash to give himself a moment to think about how he should respond.
He decided on the truth.
“I used to be. But she remarried ten months after my dad died. Randall Thorpe, the man who owns the spread next door. Ever since then, things between us have been...” He tugged on his ear. “I guess the word would bestrained.”
Cami’s dark eyes were searching, sympathetic. “Do you think she and this Randall guy—”
“No,” he was quick to cut her off. “I don’t think Mom cheated on Dad. I just think she was sad and lonely after he died. Randall had lost hiswife to colon cancer two years before, and I think he and Mom decided to try to make something good together out of all the bad they’d suffered separately.”
“That sounds nice.” Her voice was quiet, but her words hit his hide, sharp as a pair of spurs. He must’ve flinched or made a face or something, because she quickly added, “Or maybe it doesn’t?”
