“So this is our fault?” Wyatt asks, and he’s moved closer too, close enough that I’m surrounded by McCoy brothers and testosterone.
“Everything is your fault. Why is your water trough so muddy? It’s disgusting. Probably full of bacteria. You might have made my animal sick.”
Jesse laughs, a sound that vibrates through my entire body. “That’s a pretty aggressive accusation. I still say you were spying.”
“If I were actually spying,” I say, lifting my chin eventhough the movement makes water droplets roll down my cleavage, all three sets of eyes tracking their path, “I’d at least bring binoculars and snacks. Maybe a folding chair for comfort.”
“What kind of snacks?” Boone asks with genuine curiosity, his voice cracking slightly as he tries not to stare at my wet shirt.
“Sandwiches. Chips. Something with caffeine. Proper surveillance food.”
“She’s got a point,” Boone tells his brothers, his heated gaze meeting mine. “Real spies come prepared.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“Says the man who thinks goats are weeds,” I mutter, but I’m watching the way his wet T-shirt clings to his chest. When did he get wet, anyway?
“I didn’t say weeds. I said weeds with legs.”
“Oh, so much better.”
Jesse steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body despite my wet clothes. “You missed a spot,” he says quietly, his voice rough.
“What?”
He reaches out and tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek, trailing down to my neck. The touch is electric, sending shock waves straight to my core.
“There,” he says, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “Better.”
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing in the middle of McCoy territory, soaking wet with my clothes clinging to every curve, with Jesse’s hand touching myface and Wyatt and Boone watching with expressions that make me want to combust.
“I should go,” I say, my voice creaking.
“Should,” Jesse agrees, but his thumb traces my bottom lip, and I part my lips involuntarily.
That’s when I notice Wyatt’s expression has gone from annoyed to something else entirely. His hands are clenched into fists, and there’s a muscle jumping in his jaw like he’s fighting for control.
“This is not cool,” he says, his voice low and dangerous in a way that makes my thighs clench.
“What’s not?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means and am really just hoping to antagonize him.
“This.” He gestures between Jesse and me, but his eyes are on my mouth. “This flirting bullshit.”
“There’s no ‘this,’” I say quickly, stepping back from Jesse’s touch even though every cell in my body protests. “There’s just a goat, a hose, and a misunderstanding. Oh, and your disgusting trough.”
“Right,” Wyatt says, but his eyes drop to where my shirt clings, and I see him swallow hard.
Rita chooses that moment to shake herself again, sending water droplets flying over all of us.
“Thanks for the editorial, girl,” I mutter, grabbing her collar with shaking hands. “Really helpful timing.”
But as I turn to lead Rita back home, I feel their eyes tracking me. My body is hyperaware of how my wet jeans cling, how the water has made everything transparent, how desperately I want to turn back and see if they’re as turned on as I am.
Whatever this is, it’s probably a mistake. Problem is, my body doesn’t care anymore. It wants what it wants.
And what it wants is three McCoy brothers.
I’m thinking maybeI can get Rita off McCoy property and pretend this whole incident never happened, pretend my body isn’t still thrumming from their proximity, and pretend I’m not fighting the urge to turn back. That’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a golf cart approaching.
