Page 30 of The Science of Attraction

The stock manager re-ran his words in his head and turned a bright crimson. “I didn’t... I mean... I just meant... oh, shut up. It’s still a great idea. I’ve heard the spring browns are biting nicely, and Liam must be dying to get off the station.”

Jules shot me a slightly flustered look that didn’t immediately scream that it was a great idea at all.

“I happen to enjoy hanging around the station.” I rescued Jules from the need to make up some excuse, but then he surprised me.

“You didn’t answer Ten’s question about whether you like to fish?” He watched me closely.

I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Name one thing about this outfit that suggests a rugged outdoorsman lurks just under the surface, itching to be set free?” I held my arms wide, and he grinned at my trendy ripped jeans and white sweater. A man had to have standards even in the middle of nowhere.

Jules pointed to my gumboots. “That’s a decent start. And seriously, Ten’s right. We all need to get off this place on a regular basis. Come with us. You can fish or simply take a book and enjoy the scenery. I’ll sort you out with some old clothes, if you want.”

Did I?There were a lot of things I wanted that involved Jules, but fishing for trout wasn’t high on that list. Then again, why the hell not? I’d come to the Mackenzie as much for a little adventure as for work, and a few hours in the company of a sexy man wasn’t going to be a hardship, other than for my dick. And the presence of Brent would definitely keep a lid on things.

“Okay, why not?” I returned Jules’ grin. “But if either of you catch anything, you’re on your own. I like my fish to arrive crumbed with a side order of fries. I don’t do scales or dead fish eyes.”

Jules laughed. “Deal. Do you have a pair of polarized sunglasses?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why? Does the afternoon include a spot of sunbathing, perchance?”

He chuckled. “You wish. They cut the glare so you can see the trout better.”

I tilted my head and considered him for a moment. “I thought I was taking a book to read. That sounds a lot more hands-on than I’m anticipating.”

He smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare pair. We’ll pick you up about one. Bring a warm jacket in case the wind gets up, and I’ll throw in some old clothes. You might have to roll the legs up on the jeans, but the waders should fit.”

“W-waders?” I couldn’t mask the dismay in my voice and they both laughed.

* * *

Jules

What the hell was I thinking?

In what universe was it ever going to be a good idea to watch a tatted-up Liam walking around in my oversized clothes and a pair of waders and looking far too fucking cute for words? The usually confident, capable man was standing on the stony riverbank, puzzling over his fly rod like it was some complex alien weapon that might go off at any moment.

I made my way over. “Would you like me to go through it again?” Liam had refused to let me show him more than the rudimentary basics, insisting it couldn’t be that difficult, and he was a PhD student, after all. Brent had laughed so hard I thought he was going to piss his pants before heading downriver and leaving us to it. I figured he was still laughing.

Liam shot me a glare. “Nope, I’ve got this.”

He so didn’t.

He tried a few more casts, almost hooking himself in the back of his leg, until finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Here.” I ignored his feral growl and repositioned his grip, trying not to think of how good his bare skin felt against mine. Then I stood behind him and wrapped my hand lightly over his on the rod. I breathed in his cologne which was mixed with the more familiar tone of my own rising from the clothes he wore. Heat pooled in my groin and images of Liam lying across my sheets floated through my head. But it was clear I wasn’t the only one feeling... off balance. The second I’d put my hands on Liam, he locked up.

I quashed the curl of lust in my belly and tried to concentrate for both our sakes.

“Relax,” I said over his shoulder. “A firm but light grip. Don’t strangle it. Wrist straight. Elbow close to your body like this. Use your bicep and shoulders to generate the cast.”

“Uh-huh” was all he said.

I glanced downriver to where Brent stood thigh-deep in water casting into his favourite pool with his back to us, thank God.

“You’re not relaxed,” I pointed out, jiggling his rod arm to loosen his iron grip.

“No kidding,” Liam huffed, but his shoulder line softened a smidge.

“Better. Now feel the weight of the rod in your hands. The casting stroke should be a fluid motion rather than a jerk so the loaded rod transfers energy to the line smoothly, but the stop should be abrupt with the rod tip still high.”

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