Page 75 of Finding New Dreams

Her eyes dipped to the front of my pants, where the darkness barely concealed the bulge in my pants. She inhaled sharply.

I groaned. “Don’t do that. Not helping.”

“Oh, sorry! I’ll, um, start getting the stuff together.”

She hurried over to pack up the scattered paint supplies, that round ass I’d barely gotten to know bobbing up and down as she bent over.

Growling, I stalked over to the river, knelt down, and splashed water over my face. The shock of the cold helped numb the “inferno” a bit. But I needed to get off this beach if I was going to keep my word to Wyatt.

I took several deep breaths, in and out, focusing on my lungs like in yoga class. And it worked.

Rose had just finished stuffing the last of the blanket into the bag when I walked back.

“Sorry,” I said gruffly. “Here, I’ll take that.”

She handed me the bag, and I slipped it over my shoulder.

Glancing at the canvas dangling from her fingertips, I said, “You should keep that. Finish it if you want.”

“I’d rather finish it with you. I like painting with you.”

The sincerity ringing in her voice pinched my chest. I loved painting with her. It was like rediscovering joy. Or watching the sun rise—the canvas filled with light and color, joy and beauty like the new day. Not unlike being with Rose herself. Not unlike the painting I’d finished before Lumberjack Jam and stowed under my bed. And brought out to stare at from time to time.

What would she say if I told her about the painting? Or about how I thought of her? Would she like it, or would she be worried I was getting too attached?

Hell, why wasn’t I more worried about that?

Realizing she was watching me, probably waiting for a response, I simply said, “Me too.”

I was about to lead the way down a different path off the beach, per Wyatt’s advice, when Rose stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“For the record,” she whispered, “you drive me insane too. I’ve never wanted someone as much I want you.”

I gave her a small smile, relief and tension mixing like a dangerous cocktail in my stomach. “Glad I’m not alone.”

“Never,” she said with a wink. Then she took the lead off the beach.

I followed, and we parted ways with quick goodbyes when we reached the end of the trail. As I walked away under the guidance of the streetlamps, I glanced back at her once—and found that she was looking back at me. She waved, and I waved back.

A weekend with her up north? If she wanted me as much as she said she did, then I would give her every opportunity to have me. Regardless that the desire I felt for her went beyond sex. Way, way beyond.

Shit, I was in trouble.

* * *

“Um, I’m sorry, that’s Owen’s cabin?”

Wyatt laughed at my incredulous voice as we finally got to the end of the long, winding driveway through the woods on the edge of Tangled River.

Since the rest of our bridal party was already up north and the three of us had to work a bit later, Wyatt had offered to drive. Owen requested we pick him up at his cabin so he didn’t have to leave his car in town.

To be fair, it did look like a cabin, with its wooden logs and slanted roof. But it was more like a celebrity’s private ski lodge in the mountains for how big and grand it was.

I practically pressed my nose to the window as Wyatt swung the pickup around to park in front of the cabin’s entrance.

“Have you seen the inside?” I asked him.

“A few times. It’s pretty awesome. And very Owen.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t have many guests out here—probably afraid we’d want to move in.”

---