I glance over my shoulder.
He’s standing on his front porch, river water still dripping from the ends of his dark hair, one hand resting on the railing. The porch light highlights the sharp lines of his jaw, and for a brief, ridiculous second, I imagine running my fingers through that hair while kissing along that jawline.
I blame the hypothermia.
“Yeah?”
“I promised you hot chocolate.”
I blink at him, then lean on the railing, wrapping my arms around myself against the evening chill. “Are you telling me that you actually have hot chocolate in your kitchen?”
His grin appears. “Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He steps toward me and braces his arms on the wood at my sides.
“I got milk,” he says. “I got a stove. And I got chocolate bars.” His smile widens. “I figure if I chop them up small enough, I can make it work.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You’re gonna make me homemade cocoa?”
He shrugs. “A promise is a promise, and a man’s only as good as his word.”
“Okay,” I say.
He stands. “Okay. Go change, and it’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
I hesitate, and my heart chooses that moment to start thumping again.
“Okay,” I repeat.
Then I fish my keys from my bag.
The second I get inside my cabin, I head straight for the shower.
The hot water feels amazing after the freezing river.
I stand beneath the spray for longer than necessary, trying to wash away the memory of strong arms wrapping around me underwater.
Trying to forget the sight of his chest and the ink that curled up his ribs and around his shoulder.
The way he held me close until my body settled.
The way his mouth hovered inches from mine.
My stomach twists.
Maybe I imagined it.
All of it.
Even the massive hard-on I felt against my stomach.
“Just a reflex.”
That seemed like a reasonable explanation.
It was adrenaline.
