Page 20 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

“Go on.” She forces the handles toward Lauren, and she takes it.

“Caleb’s been wandering around the house all day. Listless and bored. He’s lonely and needs some attention. Give him something to do.”

I smile, biting back a sarcastic retort at her choice of words. She’s making me sound like a forlorn puppy tagging around, but if it gets Lauren to agree, I won’t mind.

“Go on,” Marian repeats when Lauren hesitates.

Lauren smirks at me. “A hike, you say?”

“My favorite path starts right there.” Marian aims her finger toward a clearing where a trail post marks the beginning of a path leading off the property.

With a heaving sigh that sounds like defeat, Lauren shrugs. “Okay.”

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ve got no doubt that the B&B owner is meddling, and I’m grateful she’s so skilled at it.

I follow the sassy blonde as she walks away from the house. As I pass Marian, I gently pat her on the back. She’s done a good job. She’s pulled off the impossible, getting Lauren to give me the time of the day.

And I refuse to waste a single moment of it.

Chapter 8

Lauren

I lied.

The heat that lifted from the forest floor wasn’t only different from the hottest weather I experienced in northern California. It was different from anything else I’ve ever endured. It was dry. It was hot. And I was becoming close to admitting I was miserable. Even Marian commented that the weather was unseasonably hot, a rarity for Breckenridge summers.

This hike with Caleb was just so far from anything I’ve ever done. My parents never wanted to experience nature. My father never acted in the setting of some of his movies, letting a double handle the “rough” parts not on stage. He opened his vineyards after he left Hollywood, but that didn’t make him a lover of the outdoors either. My mother wouldn’t set foot in the woods unless it guaranteed a prime real estate closing, and even then, she would make her assistant do any required dirty work of showing a “rustic” property to a client.

Even though I was raised not to enjoy the outdoors and to never dare to get dirty, I felt like I could like this. Maybe in the fall. Or with more water. Or the promise of an air-conditioned shed out here somewhere.

“My balls are gluing together.” He grumbled as he adjusted his shorts, grimacing at the sweat that dripped down him.

I couldn’t help it. I cracked up. I laughed and laughed, losing my step. His comment was just so out there, so crude. But it was honest.

“They are!” he said, laughing as well. “It’s hot.”

“My bra is, uh, sticky too.”

He grunted in acknowledgment and wiped his brow. “Let me guess. Complaining like that makes me a ‘city boy.’”

“Boy?” I ask, raising my brows. “You’re no boy.”

Caleb is all man. I know it, and now he knows I know it. The slow way he turns and smiles at me heats me up more than this summer day of hiking. Luckily, I catch my stumble, both the physical one as I trip on a root before a clearing, and the verbal one, pointing at the teenagers who are jumping off a big rock and splashing into a creek. We’ve been walking alongside it for a while, but up ahead, it deepens into a pool. “Those are boys.” My skin burns where he reached over to help me from falling. “Not a womanizing player man.”

His smile fades at my jab. “Hmm.”

“This looks like a good spot to picnic.” I’m eager to change the subject to anything else. The grassy area that leads to the pool’s bank will be perfect. Shady, near the water. I glance at it again, wishing I brought my swimsuit. Marian clearly knew where she was leading us to by telling us to go on this specific trail. She could’ve given us a heads up.

When I turn back, my stomach dips in a dizzying sensation that travels through me.

“I’m going to jump in,” Caleb says as he reaches back to pull his t-shirt the rest of the way off.

I get stuck staring at the expanse of his slightly hairy and very defined chest and abs. If he’s worried about looking like a whiny, out-of-shape, and uncomfortable person from the city, those muscles suggest otherwise. He’s fit and rugged, and I can’t look away.

I feel the burn of his stare on me, and even though I realize I’m giving myself away, I can’t stop gazing at the expanse of his skin. Then as he moves his hands to the buckle of his khakis, I blink and make eye contact.

That dipping sensation in my stomach isn’t just from hunger pangs. It’s a thrilling awareness, a physical desire. I’m quickly losing my grip, letting myself be attracted to him when I’ve all but sworn off men.

---