It didn’t just slip—it careened down a steep slope, fast and unstoppable.
Crew stood a few yards off. He had tugged off his hat, and for the first time, she saw him bare-headed. His hair was dark blond, plastered to his forehead by hard work. He’d passed mid-task, and without ceremony, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, wiping his face before tossing it aside.
Her breath caught like the sunlight on his sweat-slicked skin and lean muscle. His shoulders and chest worked as he went right back to adjusting a stake line like nothing had changed.
But everything changed for Fern at the sight of tattoos stretching over sun-warmed skin, inked stories moving with every flex of muscle.
She hadn’t even realized he had any tattoos. The fact that he’d been hiding this sexy side of himself under his clothes made her wonder what else she couldn’t see.
The air felt thicker, charged in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.
Before she registered her intentions, her feet were moving, the rubber-soled work boots closing the gap between her and the man who had sent shivers down her spine without even knowing it.
When he picked up the shovel, his muscles rippled in a display that made her gasp.
He went still in a way that left her thinking he was in tune with her everybreath.
His straight brows slanted together to form a crease in the middle, and he released the shovel, leaving it where it dropped as he closed the distance between them.
“Everything okay?” His low rumble did even more to her already shaky insides.
Crew woke her up, shook her in ways that she wasn’t prepared for after all she’d been through. Now, head tipped, her gaze locked with his, she realized her feminine side that wanted a gorgeous and sweet cowboy was far from dead. It had only been behind a closed door, and the minute he kissed her back in her apartment…and took off his shirt to reveal all that carved, gleaming muscle…the door swung wide open.
Besides being thigh-clenchingly hot, he was kind and funny. It was fun to sing in the truck with him. And she understood the pain in his eyes better ever since he told her about the trauma he’d endured.
More, without her sharing her own story, he sensed what she had gone through. By telling her the story of his sister’s bad relationship, he had let Fern know that he sympathized.
“Fern? You okay? Maybe you should take a break. Did you eat breakfast?”
She nodded. “Yogurt.”
“That’s not enough for anybody working in this heat. Let’s grab something.”
Her insides melted a little more at the care in his tone.
She darted her tongue over her bottom lip, and Crew let out a low groan. He reached for her arm. As soon as his warm, rough fingers stroked over her skin, it pebbled, and her nipples joined in too.
Her hand lifted on its own, her fingertips trailing over the black and gray lines of his tattoos.
His throat worked. “Hell, Fern.”
She darted a look at his face to see a crease solidly planted between his brows and a bead of perspiration zigzagging down his temple. She wanted to ask if he was heating up as much as she was just by being close to her, but she stopped herself.
“I didn’t know you had these.” She traced a fingertip over the line of the Navy anchor on his upper bicep. She flicked her eyes to his again. “Until you took off your shirt.”
His eyes hooded, dipping lower over her face…pausing on her lips…then her breasts. She was sure he could make out her nipples through her thin top—they strained against her bra as if begging for his touch. For his mouth.
Reluctantly, she lowered her hand, but he caught it, folding her fingers in his firm grip. “Come with me,” he grated out.
Before she could respond, he led her across the garden plot. At the perimeter where a new fence would be built, they stepped over the string line. Then he was leading her across the grounds toward the lodge.
The place was huge, with massive log siding like a cabin built for giants. As they approached the double door, Crew swung her around to face him. Her body bumped into his—breasts against his chiseled chest and hips meeting his much harder ones.
Her breath rushed out of her. “Crew—”
He crushed his mouth over hers in an all-claiming, all-consuming kiss. Her insides clamped with need at the firm contact. He let out a growl to match her soft moan. She leaned into him, arms moving—again without thought—to brace on his broad shoulders, over the delicious tattoos that started it all.
Angling his head, he plundered her in a rough pass of his mouth. She kissed him back, and somewhere in her mind, she realized how different this felt from all the times she ever kissed her ex.
