The girl hasn’t seen me yet. She’s fully submerged in the water. All I can make out of her features is that flash of copper hair.
But then she flips onto her back and floats atop the glittering water, eyes closed. Arms loose at her sides. Completely unaware of me.
I’m close enough to see her more clearly now.
And… holy fuck.
She's in a white bra and underwear instead of a swimsuit. The fabric is soaked through and completely transparent, clinging to every curve like it's been painted on. The afternoon sun catches the water on her skin, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the soft flare of her hips.
I know I should look away.
But every coherent thought I've managed to hold onto this past year just... evaporates. There's only the glitter of water on her skin, the way the afternoon light turns her hair to flame. The soft curves of her body.
Suddenly I’m hard as a rock in my Wranglers, and my heart is pounding.
I don’t remember the last time I felt like this. This rush of adrenaline. This raw and unfiltered desire.
A sweet kid? The woman in this lake sure as hell doesn’t look like a kid. She looks like temptation personified.
This is very fucking inconvenient.
Hand tightening on the reins, I turn my horse around. I don’t need any complications in my life right now. My body isresponding this way because it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex, and I’m a healthy man.
Well… below the neck, at least.
My head is all kinds of fucked up.
Which is exactly why I’m walking away from this redheaded nymph.
And then, from behind me, a voice comes.
“Hey! Excuse me! Mr. Rhodes said I could swim here. It’s okay!”
Her voice is soft and lovely, even when it’s raised like that so I can hear. Maybe it’s because I’m a singer, but a beautiful speaking voice will always draw me in. Hers makes me want to hear it again.
She must think I’m about to report her. So I turn my horse back around to face her. The afternoon sun is behind me. The brim of my Stetson cuts a shadow across my face.
I dismount, feeling like a sailor being lured to his doom by a beautiful siren.
As she comes wading out of the lake, water streams down her body in long, glimmering rivulets. Her long hair plasters to her neck, her shoulders, her chest. That white fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I should speak. I should move. Instead I'm standing here, hands gripping my horse’s reins, my boots rooted to the bank like I've forgotten how to move. How to breathe.
Her face is stunning. Big, bright blue eyes. Plush lips. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.No makeup. Girl-next-door perfection.
And she might as well be wearing nothing at all.
She seems to realize that fact belatedly as she glances down at herself. She quickly crosses her arms over her breasts, which only pushes them together.
I drag my eyes away before I embarrass myself completely.
“You, uh, need a towel?” I ask.
It’s pretty impressive, the fact that my brain, deprived of its normal blood supply on account of it all going to my dick, managed to scrape together a sentence.
I mean, it’s not an impressive sentence.
Nobody’s gonna call me a wordsmith for that one.
