But what I truly hated, even more than cold, wet skin, was washing my hair.I exercised for a living.There was never a perfect day for it, never a guarantee I wouldn’t blow-dry it only to sweat through it minutes later.It was the bane of my career – but also a reminder that my problems were, on the whole, pretty minimal.
My throat thickened.Hair washing wasn’t a problem now.I had no job, no gym, no clients.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the panic tried to push itself through my blood.
Just don’t think about it.
I shut off the water, rubbing my skin dry with the thin, pink towel.I wrapped the towel around myself, berating myself for not just bringing my clothes in here and changing – it would be a cold run across the campsite back to the tent.I braced myself, opening the door, preparing to run, until a warm, firm body slammed into mine.
Ren had come out of the cubicle opposite me, his body colliding with mine, almost making me drop my towel.I held on tighter, my hair still around my shoulders, and looked up to find Ren…
…topless.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, stray droplets sliding down the hard planes of his chest.My eyes traced the tanned skin down to where his dark-wash jeans sat low on his hips.My eyes followed his forearms as they flexed, clutching a flimsy towel in his right hand.Ren was lean, never bulky, but there was strength in the way he moved.As if he could hoist me up without thinking twice, pin me where he wanted, and make me feel how strong he really was.
Surprise rippled through me when I saw dark ink swept from his upper arm, curling over his clavicle and dipping on to his chest.Flowers bloomed in fine lines, delicate, intertwining, anchored by a sun and moon nestled across his pec.It was intricate and beautiful.
I couldn’t help but stare.
‘God, Lydia.I’m a person, you know.Not a piece of meat.’
His voice yanked me out of my horny trance, my stomach flipping as if I’d been caught doing something I absolutely shouldnotbe doing.God, the moment at the top of Mam Tor, and now this.Heat crawled up my neck, but I kept my gaze locked on his smirking face as he ran the towel thrown over his shoulder through his damp hair.
Do not look at his chest.Or his arms.Or the V-cut disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
I glanced up to find that I wasn’t the only one staring.Ren’s smirk was gone now, as he made his own perusal.His eyes were darker now, dragging over me with a slow, deliberate stare, as if I’d given him permission to look.As if he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
A pulse of something electric shot down my spine.
‘Lydia.You look so…’ His voice was rough, and I hated that my breath hitched, waiting for the next words.
‘Tattoo,’ I croaked, desperate to change the subject.Or just have a subject, because I hadn’t said a word since he’d walked out of the shower.
Ren’s expression flickered and a flush crept up his neck.My eyes snagged on the flowers, something about them seeming familiar.I stared at the swirling ink.
‘Lilies,’ I murmured, reaching out before I could stop myself.‘You got lilies for your mum.’
‘Yes.’ Ren’s voice was husky, strained, and I glanced up to find him staring at where my finger was touching his skin.I pulled away as if I’d been burned.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said, his voice low.His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered, then swept down to where the towel clung to my damp skin.‘It’s just… I’ve thought about this.You.And me.What I would do if I had a second chance – and none of those thoughts included a busy campsite or shared shower cubicles.’
Heat bloomed across my cheeks.That voice, that look on his face.It sent me spiralling back to that night in my childhood bedroom, when we’d done very adult things.The sweep of his tongue between my thighs.The way his fingers gripped my hips, held me still as he groaned into my skin.His murmured encouragement, raw and reverent, as I shattered beneath him.All of those memories played, and I could see from the way Ren’s eyes darkened that he had gone there too.
Ren stepped forward, heat radiating off him in waves.And, God, I wanted to crash into him and press my mouth to his, forget everything but the feel of his hands on me.But a voice, small, sharp, and impossible to ignore, sliced through the want.
I had to get a grip.Change the subject.Anything to pull focus from the fact that he was inching closer, his eyes scanning my face as if he was looking for a crack in my resolve.
I forced the words out.‘What does the rest mean?The tattoos.’
He reached for my hand, his fingers wrapped gently around mine, guiding them over his chest.I wasn’t breathing.I wasn’t even blinking.I was touching him, but it felt like he was touching me – every nerve alight.
‘This is for Mum, like you said.And this—’ he traced my hand lower, ‘—this is magnolia.’
My breath caught.
‘Because your dad loves telling the story of planting that tree when Sandra was pregnant with you.She cried when she saw it, remember?And he always says it bloomed—’
