Page 1 of Fast Currents
Chapter 1 – Lucy
“You look so sexy right now. Marry me.”
I shut the door in Clay’s grinning face. The man was a menace. It was too early for his nonsense.
My doorbell dinged, the melodic chimes grating over my nerves.
It’d serve him right if I made him cool his heels outside all morning, or at least until I washed the dye out. I’d piled my shoulder-length hair on top of my head, slicked back with color.
Like the persistent SOB he was, he started knocking. The distinctive beat of “Shave and a Haircut.” Cute and annoying. On brand.
Antagonizing me seemed to be Clay’s favorite hobby. Whether it was a marriage proposal or just charming snark, he always had a comment for me. Something to push my buttons.
I’d half-convinced myself he even kept his shaggy mane stuffed under a hat just to rile me up. As if he knew my fingers itched to cut it. I snorted. The man needed both a shave anda haircut, but I wasn’t offering. When it came to Clay, I was officially closed for business.
“Lucy, let me in. I take it all back. I don’t want to marry you. I just want the art supplies you promised.” His voice was muffled by the door, but it couldn’t disguise the contrition.
My breath came out in an irritated puff. Clay Robertson was impossible for me to stay angry at. I’d tried. But our silent game of truth or dare kept me coming back for more.
I opened the door a crack. He stood, hands in his back pockets, whistling like the innocent hewasn’tin his National Park Service uniform. The drab colors should have washed him out, but his summer uniform had short sleeves, revealing tanned arms that bulged from the thin fabric cuff. His dark hair was long, forming a little ducktail in the back, but it did nothing to hide his chiseled jaw and rugged good looks. His chocolate brown eyes lit with mischief as he took in the slimy hair color mess on top of my head.
“Clay,” I said grudgingly. “I need more coffee before I can deal with you. C’mon inside.” Turning on my heel, I led him into my small kitchen. “Do you want a cup?”
He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Yes, please.”
“How do you take it?”
“Light and sweet, like me.”
I pulled out an extra mug and dropped the half-and-half on the counter, gesturing toward the tin of sugar. “Help yourself.”
“Always the gracious host.”
The glory of Clay was that I didn’t have to try. Rude and moody was my default, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“If you want to show me where you have the supplies for our art series stashed, I can get out of your hair.” His lips twitched. “Figuratively and literally.” He blinked. “I don’t know how you stand that chemical smell. My eyes are already watering.”
“You get used to it.”
He cocked one dark brow. “Though maybe it’s the disappointment from you turning down yet another marriage proposal that’s causing my tears.”
I rolled my eyes hard enough to make myself dizzy. He’d made proposing to me part of our game.
“Not likely, Ranger Robertson. The boxes are in my studio. Let me wash out my hair, then I can give you a hand.”
He grinned, the impish smile that spread across his handsome face full of mischief. “One good deed deserves another – would you like my help? I can make sure you don’t miss a spot.”
I bit my bottom lip, the sting grounding me as his smile stirred something I thought I’d buried. His eyes glittered in silent challenge. Maybe it was time he paid for his arrogance.
“Why not? Follow me.” My tiny bathroom was barely large enough for both of us. I handed him the shower head, then knelt over the edge of the tub.
He flicked on the water, letting it warm before shuffling until he stood over me, one massive thigh to either side of my shoulders. Heat emanated from his body, his uniform slacks unable to mask his powerful form.
One well-placed headbutt, and he’d probably leave me alone forever. I could play it off as an accident, a reaction to the water being too cold. Tempting, but that was too harsh, even for me.
Slowly, he let the spray play over my dye-slicked hair, his fingers spearing through the dark strands as he worked the solution from my scalp. All thoughts of emasculating him fled. His nimble fingers caressed me gently, rubbing the dye from my hair, one section at a time. Slow and methodical. Hot water trailed his fingers, adding a warm tickle to the massage.
It was all I could do not to groan aloud. Tingles spread everywhere he touched, goosebumps rushing down my neck and along my arms, tipping from passive to aroused like dominoes. Black dye washed down the drain, an inky trail swirling intooblivion. I focused on the stream, letting it lull me, the ribbons of darkness threaded through the water. The combination of his touch and the eddying water was hypnotic. I lost track of time, watching the water grow progressively clearer as he massaged my hair, sliding his fingers through the heavy strands.
