“Seriously?”
He gestures to his head. “Antlers were smaller.”
He doesn’t start the truck, so we both sit, watching the moose wander through the yard, occasionally eyeballing us.
I have to lean closer into him to see the moose better, which means somehow, my hand ends up on his very solid thigh.
Gosh, whoops.
How did that ever happen?
Clearly he hates it because he covers my hand with his and brushes his thumb over my knuckles.
A subtle cologne tickles my nose. Something fresh, but also old. Like a grandpa’s tobacco and the way the wood smelled like new pine last night when we were splitting it.
I glance at Rhys.
He’s in dark jeans and a blue flannel that makes his eyes pop. The flannel’s open over a tight white undershirt.
Most of the purple streaks have faded from his face, and he trimmed his beard down to scruff this morning, so the purple’s gone from there too. He’s sporting a plain black baseball cap that I want to push off his head so I can run my fingers through his hair.
And now I’m not just smelling his cologne.
I’m also smelling the scent of my own arousal as my panties get damp.
He shifts his gaze off the moose and turns it to me.
Then he smirks.
Like he knows he’s tormenting me.
The moose glares at us.
“Oh, don’t be so moody,” I say to him, partially to distract myself, even if I’m still gripping Rhys’s thigh. “We’ll be back soon. You don’t need to be so emo about being alone for a couple hours.”
The moose stares at me for a beat, visibly snorts, and then moseys around to the back of the house.
“I’ve been honing my communication skills at work, but I didn’t think they’d work on a moose,” I murmur.
“Margot Merriweather-Brown, moose whisperer,” Rhys says as he puts the truck in gear.
I laugh. “Hardly.”
He lifts his brows and shrugs. “Looks like it from here.”
The drive isn’t long—maybe fifteen minutes—and I make Rhys stop twice for pictures of the view to send to Daphne.
Both times leaning over him in the car to point my phone out his window.
Both times getting the benefit of him dipping his nose into my hair and inhaling deeply while running a hand down my back.
We should not be going to dinner here tonight.
My brothers are going to figure out what’s up in a hot millisecond.
“You stop and take pictures in Manhattan?” Rhys asks me after the second time I ask him to pull over for a photo.
“Sunrise and sunset from my place at least once a week, and regularly on the beach when I’m in the Hamptons or a few of my other favorite places.”
