Page 102 of The Illicit Play
Lake food.
It’s the most delicious lake food I’ve ever had.
The thought makes me smile as I gaze around our little camping spot. The sun has pretty much set, the sky a very dark blue. It’s the most amazing color, and I bet the stars tonight are going to be awe-inspiring.
“You done?” Grady stands up, walking over to me to dispose of the waste. He tells me about how we have to bury it away from our camp because of the wildlife. I trail after his flashlight beam and watch him work, then walk back to the camp with him.
He’s a good teacher, and I’m picking everything up pretty fast.
I like the way he talks and moves.
I love the sound of his voice, so easy and soothing.
And his hands. I love the way they pick up chess pieces and move them around the board.
We play by lantern light, the soft beam casting shadows across our faces.
He’s beautiful in all lights, and I find my gaze tracking toward him constantly. It’s getting harder and harder to play it cool. The sounds of our sexy session keep popping into my brain, doused by the cold reality of his guilt afterward.
It makes playing chess a challenge, and he ends up winning.
“Checkmate.” His lips quirk into a smile.
I gaze down at the magnetic board, seeing he’s right and that I’ve got no way to outsmart him. My lips work to the side, and although it tastes like acid to say it, I force out the words I was trained to respond with “Congratulations. Good game.”
I stretch out my hand to shake his, and the second his fingers curl around mine, my insides start yearning all over again.
“You really made me work for it.” He seems impressed. “I’m looking forward to a rematch.”
“So you can lose?”
“So I can beat you faster.” He winks.
I laugh and shake my head. “Not gonna happen. I was distracted.”
“Oh yeah?” He starts packing away the mini chess pieces. “Everything okay?”
Not really.
I let out a soft snort that hopefully conveys what I can’t say.
He stills, his eyes tracking back to me. His shadowed gaze is so intense, I can’t hold it.
Dipping my chin, I don’t want to look into those eyes and figure out what he’s thinking.
I don’t want to know that he means more to me than I mean to him.
Or that?—
“I had a really amazing day,” he murmurs.
“You sure you enjoyed it?” I can’t help the soft touch of skepticism tainting my words.
“Blake,” he whispers, reaching for my hand and brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Of course I did. I enjoyedallof it. Every second.”
My eyes jump up to lock with his.
He means it. He actually means it.
