Page 55 of Stirring Up Love
“Sis, I’ve never felt more free than I do with Quentin. Someday you’ll feel this way too.”
Maybe. But the prospect of losing a chunk of her business to Finn soured her against the idea of tying up her future with anyone else’s. “Save that sappiness for your vows. You know what I mean about the party. This is a big deal. In just a few days you’re gonna be a wifey, and we all know that man’s been dying to put a baby in you since day one—”
“Sim!”
“So we need to bid farewell to your single life in a proper way.”
“So that’s why you’re driving two thousand miles. Just to give me a big send-off?”
She stumbled on a loose rock. “Yup.”
“Not because you might be catching feelings for this guy?”
“Like a head cold?”
“Something like that,” Alisha said, a grin audible in her words.
Simone sneezed. “I’m immune.”
“Right, well, in that case, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t text and drive.”
“Never do.”
“Love you, lady.”
“Love you, sis.” She rang off, rubbing her arms against the chill seeping through her down coat. At least her detailed packing list was coming in handy. But where the heck was her wannabe partner?
Simone crunched along the trail, listening to the leaves rustle in the canyon breeze. Alisha liked to tease her that she was a country bumpkin, but the truth of it was that she loved her small town. Knowing everyone was where they should be, doing what they’d been doing since she could remember. The orderly lines of plowed fields, knowing every turn of the winding gravel roads.
“Finn?” she called. Around her, the canyon walls stretched behind the border of trees.
Wilderness was disordered, chaotic. Unpredictable. The leaves flipped upside down, revealing their silvery undersides. She hurried around a turn and ran smack dab into a plaid-clad chest. “Oof.”
She found herself with a noseful of fabric softener and pine. A combination that shouldn’t have worked, but dang, it totally did.
“Found me.” His hands were on her elbows. To steady her? That would imply swooning or knees buckling or something mushy like sour old grapes. Besides, the effect his touch had on her was anything but stabilizing.
If she believed in metaphorical butterflies—which she didn’t—she might think they were fluttering around her throat. Since she didn’t, she chalked it up to pheromones. Really strong pheromones. Industrial-strength pheromones.
“Too bad.” She wrenched her elbows back, and he let go. “I was hoping a cougar got you.”
“They have those here?” His eyes were bright.
“Why do you look excited? Planning to feed me to one?”
“Simone, if I was gonna murder you, I would’ve done it back in California. We were closer to the border.” With a rakish grin, he started walking.
She trotted to catch up. “You do know cougars aren’t house cats, right? You can’t pet them. I worry for your safety—”Oh.
She looked up from watching her step on the rocky path to find Finn naked.
Okay, not naked, but halfway there. His jacket and shoes lay in a heap on the rocks at his feet, and he was in the process of tugging off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” She stopped, giving him a wide berth. She knew all too well that getting up close would only lead to bad decisions.
“I’m assuming that’s rhetorical.” His words were muffled as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. He let it drop at his feet, then met her eyes, seemingly at ease in his half-dressed state.
At her arched brow, he swept a hand toward the river. The motion highlighted the smooth lines of his obliques, his lower abs taut above the waistband of his jeans. “Swimming.”
