Page 56 of Where It All Began
They made a good team, Phoebe decided.
They’d gone from argumentative foes to lovers in sync, and it felt… good.
Phoebe swiped an arm over her brow, transferring sweat to sweat. The humidity clung to the pasture like a wet wool blanket. Heavy and oppressive. The air felt like it was too thick to breathe. But that didn’t stop John from working at full speed.
They’d built a shelter in the pasture. A place for Melanie to enjoy the shade or stay out of the rain.
At the distant rumble of thunder, Phoebe dropped the paintbrush in the tray and sat on her haunches admiring the view. John, stripped to the waist, hefted a piece of lumber and tossed it into the back of the pick-up. Sweat slicked his bronze skin, trickling over ridges of muscle and disappearing into the loose waistband of his jeans. The denim rode indecently low on his hips.
Dark, swollen clouds roiled behind him. He looked like a sexy, brooding hero of one of those supermarket paperbacks. If he were on the cover of a book, Phoebe would be compelled to buy it.
As if reading her thoughts, he lifted his gaze to her. He stripped off his work gloves and tossed them in the bed of the truck. “You’re quiet,” he said, taking the cup of water she offered him from the thermos.
“Just enjoying the scenery,” she grinned.
His heated gaze was punctuated by the next roll of thunder. With that hint of danger, Phoebe felt her heart stutter.
She wasn’t sure if it was the heat from the hazy sun overhead or the look in John’s eyes that made her feel like she was baking in a convection oven. The wind, hot and thick, picked up, and the tips of grass in the pasture swirled in wild patterns.
“Storm’s coming,” John said, eyeing the growing clouds.
She could smell it, that metallic hint of rain on the wind. In the distance, lightning flashed in the clouds, and Phoebe felt the hair on her arms stand up. “Maybe we should call it a day?”
“Probably a good idea,” he agreed. His tone was mild, but she could see that heat in his eyes and knew what he was thinking. They’d spent so little time together, but opening up to the kind of intimacy they shared in bed made her feel like she knew the man down to his bones. And the way he was looking at her now had Phoebe thinking of things besides cool showers and fresh iced-tea.
Lightning forked across the sky, chased by a long rumble of thunder that went on forever.
John gave her a light shove toward the truck. “Get in,” he ordered.
He loaded up the paint supplies and tools into the bed and climbed in behind the wheel just as the first, fat drops fell from the sky. Within seconds the drops turned to an honest to goodness downpour so heavy Phoebe hoped it wouldn’t crack the windshield.
John drove by feel, sticking to the tire ruts in the trail that had taken them out of sight of civilization. The storm was upon them, turning the trail into a river of mud, at least from what little Phoebe could see between paltry swipes of the windshield wipers. But she wasn’t worried. There wasn’t a person alive who knew this land better than John.
She caught the flash of red from the barn ahead and knew that there, through the distorted glass, was the dry sanctuary of home.
John pulled into the three-sided shelter that housed the truck and tractor on the far side of the house.
“Gonna have to make a run for it. You ready?”
“A little rain doesn’t scare me,” Phoebe scoffed.
“Let’s see those long legs in action,” John winked.
Their mad dash was more slip and slide than sprint. The dirt and gravel drive was a muddy lake. She felt it, warm and wet, coating her calves as she ran.
They left a watery, mud-laden trail up the front steps. Phoebe pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and levered off her boots next to the door. Her grimy white t-shirt was plastered to her, and she felt John watching her. It was an adrenaline rush, that untamed lust in those gray eyes gone molten.
The rain impacted the porch roof, streaming over the gutters in an endless torrent.
Teasing them both, Phoebe straightened, sliding her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. She undid her fly with uncharacteristic leisure and slowly wriggled out of the wet denim.
John, muscled jaw tight now, toed off his work books, kicking them aside.
She reached for the hem of her t-shirt but got no further. He was on her, big hands lifting her up, settling her on his hips, wrapping her legs around him.
He tasted of salt and smelled like storm, a heady combination that aroused her. He was all man. Every inch of ripped muscle, every callus, every move of his powerful body. She couldn’t imagine a more potent aphrodisiac than the man she was wrapped around.
In the next weak breath, they were through the door and stumbling up the stairs as lightning lit the prematurely darkened house from outside.
