Page 238 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Still counts.” He drapes the shirt over the edge of the stainless steel bathing sink. “I could barely move my arm for a day.”
“You were fine.”
“I was twitching.” His laugh seeps somewhere in my chest.
He steps closer, just a little, and the air changes
“Guess you’ve always had good aim.” He’s not talking about a dart anymore.
Next goes his T-shirt, but not in any way I’ve seen before. There’s a roughness when he pulls it off, not caring how it looks, and the action is hot enough to stir all the things inside me.
My eyes travel down his torso.
I can’t help it.
I don’t want to help it.
Muscles flex and stretch. Veins rise beneath sun-baked skin. Every breath draws deep into his ribs. And hair sprinkles his chest now. My fingers itch to run through it.
But I notice the fresh bruises and fire ant bites. They’re like mine, not red anymore, and instead a fading pink, with bits of peeling skin where the worst of it had been. And I wonder what’s happening down below the V diving down his waistband.
“Those were two very different emotions on your face just now.”
My eyes snap back up to his.
“Lust. Caring.” He runs his at his pec and for a moment I forget what he’s saying. “You could take off your T-shirt, too.”
I hike a ‘fuck off’ eyebrow.
“Fair enough. Not the place.” His head dips, eyes sexy. “Yet.”
“You’re very confident for a man I peeled fire ants off a few days ago.”
He tilts his head. “Is that where you went? Was that disappointment at the thought of me not functioning at one hundred percent?”
“It was concern.” I walk around him and stretch my shirt over the sink, reaching for the sprayer with the other hand, while leaving my shirt snug on my body.
“I’ll have you know, I’m functioning at one-hundred percent capacity.” He stops beside me and inspects the soaked fabric of his shirt.
“Are you sure that isn’t the tough guy in you talking?”
“There have been moments. The mechanical bull.” He shivers. “I went through a lot of calamine lotion.”
“What about the theater when you—we—you know?”
He grins at me. “Have I made Jade Fox speechless?”
I try to ignore that he’s bare-chested, beautiful, and way too calm for someone elbow-deep in dog pee.
“Shut up.” I jab his side with my arm.
My skin heats from the contact, and at the same time, my thumb hits the trigger. Cold water sprays straight at Hart, hitting him above the waistband of his jeans.
He flinches with a sharp inhale, eyes going wide and blinking against the splashes.
I gasp and let go of the trigger. “I—” My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to—”
He looks at me, water dripping from his ribs. “Did you just spray me?”
