Page 10 of That One Night
This was not how skinny-dipping was supposed to go.
And then, because things weren’t already mortifying enough, she heard it.
The unmistakable roar of an engine.
She froze as a dirt bike came tearing down the trail beyond the trees, kicking up a cloud of dust. Her eyes widened in horror as the rider veered toward them, and the goat darted in the opposite direction, toward the road.
“Stop, damn you!” she shouted at the billy.
But of course he didn’t. And she couldn’t chase him that way. Not without being seen. And judging by the way the rider slowed,shehad already been spotted.
The bike coasted to a stop, engine still idling, dust curling around the tires. And there she was, topless and soaked. Somewhere between dignity and disaster.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the rider called with a low voice as he swung his leg off the bike.
“Don’t come closer!” she yelled, gripping her chest like her life depended on it.
He didn’t listen.
Of course he didn’t.
The man walked toward her with easy confidence, his dark blond hair buzzed close to his scalp, his T-shirt clinging to muscles that didn’t belong in a town like this. His eyes raked over her, amusement pulling at his lips.
She winced, feeling completely exposed. “You don’t have to stare at me like that.”
He didn’t even blink. “It’s kinda hard not to when a half-naked woman’s running across my field.”
Her stomach dropped. “Your field?” When did her dad sell that?
Before she could ask him, his eyes lit with recognition. “Wait… I know you. Emery Reed?”
She blinked, realizing exactly who this mountain of a man in front of her was. “Hendrix Hartson?”
Well. Her humiliation was now complete.
He’d been two grades above her in high school, all trouble and smirks and not enough time in class. A blur in her peripheral vision back then. The type she avoided. Too wild. Too everything.
And now he was standing in front of her, hotter than any memory, his lips twitching as he looked her over.
“Can you please stop staring at my chest?” she asked him.
He arched a brow. “To be fair, it’s pretty hard not to right now.”
His eyes caught hers, and for a moment she couldn’t look away. His gaze was steady, appraising. Like he was trying to figure out what was happening here.
And before she could say another word, he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off.
Holy. Hell.
Tan skin. Sculpted abs. Shoulders that looked like they could carry half the farm.
Her mouth went dry.
He held the shirt out to her. “Take it. I won’t look.”
She grabbed it gratefully, the cotton warm from his skin, and turned away. Pulling it on, she couldn’t help blushing at the way it brushed against her bare skin, or ignore the shiver that followed.
“I’ll get this back to you,” she mumbled, pointing toward the old cottage across the lane. “I assume you own the cottage over there?” She could vaguely remember her mom telling her somebody had moved in.
