Pressing the pencil tip on the sheet, I closed my eyes and tried to envision the numbers for a minute, but all I could see was water, Hunter, and me next to him.Oh, why not. I dropped the pencil on the paper and stripped to my bikini.
On the porch, I glanced up just in time to see Hunter stopped short before the water. The sun was already down but there was enough light for me to see him fidgeting with his shorts, and then taking them off. Oh. My. God. I should have felt some embarrassment, but I didn’t. And that mortified me. I stumbled backward into the house and knelt before the bookshelf, the vivid image of Hunter’s naked ass imprinted in my vision. Naked everything. Well, not everything. He didn’t turn around. Shame.
There was no way I could go for a swim now.Or maybe I should.Nope. I wasn’t that brave.
I yanked a T-shirt and shorts back on and sunk onto the couch with theCoastal Gardeningbook, the metal springs inside the worn-out cushions jabbing at my butt. I turned to the “Crops” chapter. Educating myself with something new should have taken my mind off Hunter’s nakedness. Hunter wore nothing under those shorts. Was it every day or just today? I shifted in my seat. Good grief, he had a nice butt. Besides Phill I’d never seen any man nude. Well, a few times, I had spotted a few guys parading in hammock thongs in Miami Beach (when theyreallyshouldn’t have) but I blocked that image out of my memory.
I was five pages into the chapter but couldn’t recall anything I’d read. Did I even read it? Was he still swimming? I got up from the sofa, clutching the book to my chest, and edged to the door to peek outside.
Hunter had returned from the beach—with his shorts on—several feet away from the porch. I hurried back, dropped the damn book in front of the couch, snatched it up, sat down, flipped it open, and pretended to be immersed in it.
“How was your swim?” I asked without lifting my gaze when he came in, my palms damp at the thought of what was hidden under his shorts.
“Fine.” Hunter retrieved a brown sack of rice from the cabinet near the couch. “You should have joined me.”
My breathing increased, and I hummed my answer. My focus was glued to a page with an image of some odd structure, but from the corner of my eyes, Hunter’s chiseled torso taunted me.
He crossed the room to the door. “Must be an interesting book.”
“Yes, very informative.” I regarded Hunter’s broad shoulders, saltwater clinging to his tan skin.
“Easy to read?” He turned, meeting my eyes.
“Yes, why?”
His mouth curled into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Because you’re holding it upside down.”
Damn it. I flipped it around.
ChapterTwelve
“Pull harder!” Hunter yelled from the other side of the boat.
The question “Where is your ‘please’?” teetered on the edge of my tongue, but this was day five of OperationReely NautiRescue, and we both were overtaxed and a little edgy with anticipation. To haul a vessel full of water that was equivalent in weight to an African savannah elephant wasn’t exactly easy and straightforward. Blisters covered my palms, my muscles ached from too much pulling and lifting, and my ass sported a large bruise from an unfortunate tumble I performed when a rope broke the day before.
Over the last few days the progress with the boat had been much better than with decoding the message. By now, I could recite those digits like my social security number. We’d spent our evenings playing with them, and not a single idea had worked so far. It was becoming more apparent to me that either I wasn’t as smart as I thought or whoever created it was a mastermind. Or the answer was hidden in plain sight, and we were looking too hard.
But right now, I wasn’t focusing on the message because, at the moment, Hunter and I were trying to lift the boat upright using the hoist frame we had built yesterday. I wasn’t an expert, but the boat appeared intact. At least all three sides of it that we saw so far. I couldn’t stop praying for the damage to be minimal, so that in a few days, we could ride to civilization. Yet, since this morning, a tight feeling pinched my chest each time I pictured saying goodbye to Hunter at the airport, like I had a large fishbone lodged in me, not letting me take a deep breath.
“Sydney! Pull!”
“I’m fucking trying!” Clenching my teeth, I tightened my grip, wrapped my thighs around the rope, and climbed on the cable, hoping my entire body weight could help.
“Why are you swinging on the rope?” Hunter’s voice came from somewhere behind me.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m playing The Floor Is Lava.” I twisted to look at him over my shoulder, and the slow motion made me spin a full circle. “I can’t pull anymore and don’t know what else to do.”
Hunter’s expression was tired, though a tiny flicker of amusement lit his eyes. Part of his bangs were plastered to his face, falling over his left eyebrow. And he was shirtless again. The man didn’t know how to keep his shirt on. A sheen of sweat covered his skin. Sweaty men were gross, right? Yet, he looked like a GQ cover model.
This wasn’t the first time I’d seen him only wearing shorts, but for annoying reasons the sight had turned me into a mass of hormones. If shirtless man was a fetish, then I certainly had it. My mouth turned dry, and an unshakeable craving for lime and tequila overcame me. I wanted to groan. Why couldn’t he look like Danny DeVito?
“I thought you said you are pretty strong?” he teased with a smile.
I gave him a warning glare. “The strongest muscle I have is my middle finger. I’ll prove it in a second.”
“And here I thought it was your eyeballs because you roll them so much.”
My hands grew weak, the sore blisters burning, but I held on as if my life depended on it. “Well, are you just going to stand there?” I demanded, not hiding my irritation at… why was I irritated? I woke up annoyed. Physical exhaustion was definitely a partial cause of my mood, but there was another nagging reason. Not a very clear reason, but it was there.
