Page 88 of One Wrong Move

Broad chest—lightly smattered with brown hair—and a taut stomach. Not lined with showy abs that speak of vanity, but hard and flat muscle achieved through regular exercise and an active life. His shoulders look strong. His arms, too. And his biceps. Standing just a few feet away from me beneath the warm sun, with shimmering water in the background.

I have to look away.

And now we’re both not looking at each other.

“My phone,” I say. “Shit, I just realized.”

He huffs a laugh and pushes his hair back. “Yeah, mine, too. We need to find a bowl of rice or something.”

“Do you see any around?”

“No,” he says. But there’s dry humor in his voice. “What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, I saw a snake. Touched it, even! In the water. I freaked out and…”

“And that happened,” he says, his smile still in place. “Well, it made for a more interesting afternoon, for sure.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“That’s the only way to look at it,” he says firmly. “Now come, we should probably try to get some dry clothes.”

“Maybe they’ll have some period costumes in the gift shop,” I say.

He half chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I think the best we can hope for is an apron or tea towels,” he says. “But let’s go and see if we can patchwork them together into something we can wear.”

Nate

The gift shop doesn’t have period clothing. In fact, they have no clothing at all, not even an apron. They do have tea towels, but we forgo them for the giant bath towels instead that match the rustic blue-and-white pattern of the wallpapers we saw in the great sitting room. Probably meant to be treasured… and not soiled by pond scum.

The staff and other tourists throw us curious looks. I give everyone a wide smile and move closer to Harper. Even with my shirt around her shoulders, the dress sticks to everything. I try very hard not to look and yet, of course, I notice everything, her curves, the indentation of her ass, her underwear transparent through the see-through wet dress.

I pay for the towels and drop a fifty-pound note into the donation jar next to the cash register. The sales clerk is staring wide-eyed at my shirtless and drenched form.

“Had an accident on the pond,” I say loud enough for everyone in the store to hear. Shove another fifty into the jar. “The water quality is excellent, by the way. Good job on that.”

The cashier dips her head in a tiny nod. “Uh-huh.”

Harper’s hand curls around mine, and she tugs me out of the store. “Come on,” she says with a chuckle. “We were dripping on the centuries-old stone floor.”

“It’s probably seen worse,” I say. “Actually, it’s definitely seen worse.”

“Yes, but those people in there haven’t.”

“I doubt we’ll be allowed back here,” I say.

She wraps one of the towels around herself. It covers her soaked dress entirely. Her hair is wet, too, the curls just starting to dry around her face. There’s a light smudge of black under one of the eyes from her makeup, and I want to reach out and wipe it away.

“What a shame,” she says happily. “The weird Americans who came in a sports car, fell into the pond, and destroyed the gift shop.”

“We donated to the continuation of this beautiful estate,” I correct her. “Tested the pond’s pH levels, and left a memorable impression on these beautiful folks.”

Harper rolls her eyes. “Come on. Let’s drip all over your Italian leather seats.”

“Well, I don’t like that idea.”

She laughs. “Do you have a better option?”

“No,” I say and nudge her shoulder with mine. It’s safer to look at her now, when the shape of her body isn’t so brilliantly on display and making my brain short-circuit. “Let’s go find some rice.”

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