Page 49 of Head Over Heels
What would he look like in a bathing suit?
She counted to ten. Slowly she inhaled and exhaled, trying to talk herself out of the giddy prospect of him shirtless. Up close. Where she could study his tattoos.
When that didn’t work she started to list all the bathing suit options that would cool her desire.
Speedos were absolutely on the top of the list. If he came out in a Speedo, all her problems would be solved because no self-respecting man wore a bathing suit like that.
Next on the list was plaid. Plaid swimsuits were for grandfathers and three-year-olds named Bradley. If you weren’t in either of those camps, you didn’t belong in plaid.
Jean shorts. Sure, they were cool back in the day, cruising the Chicago forest preserves on the back of a truck. Now, at their age, they indicated a man had never grown up and still had the fashion sense of a sixteen-year-old burnout.
Next—the door opened.
She jerked to look at him.
Her mouth went dry. Oh dear God. Deliver her from the evil temptation of this man.
His aviators were back in place, and he carried a file of papers and an iPad. Shirtless, his skin golden and muscled, his abs ridiculous, the black ink on his skin only highlighting his perfection. He wore red board shorts that hung low on his hips, emphasizing the cut between muscle and bone.
She had the irrational desire to punch him.
He ran up the steps, put his stuff on the small table where she had her glass of iced tea and her now-discarded book, and flashed her a smile. “Be right back.”
He jogged back down the stairs to his garage and disappeared inside before returning with a lawn chair and setting it up on the other side of the table.
When he stood, she glared at him.
“What?” His voice was a touch too innocent.
She waved a hand over him. “You’re so obnoxious.” He chuckled, not even pretending to be indignant. “You’re pretty obnoxious yourself, darlin’.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that the stupid dismissive pet name you settled on?”
He stretched out on his back, and all his glorious muscles glimmered in the sun. He picked up her sunscreen. “Yep.”
“Why’s that?” She really needed to look away, but she stared transfixed as he slathered sunscreen over his chest.
He winked at her. “That’s the one you like best.”
“It is not!” Her tone was full of outrage. But she couldn’t lie; his body distracted her. She wanted to bite his hip bone, then lick it, before she licked other things. Namely, she wanted to trace the word “freedom” written across his ribs with her tongue.
Wrong train of thought, and not at all helpful.
“Well, even if it’s not, I don’t really care.” His hand slid down his stomach, over the chiseled muscles. “I like the way your eyes flash.”
Sophie tried not to think about her body’s response. She looked up at the sun. “I can’t believe how warm it is today.”
His hand kept gliding over his skin. “It’s hotter here than up north where you live.”
She closed her eyes and let the warmth kiss her skin. “Did you ever think about living in Chicago?”
Moving from small-town Illinois to the big city was a common occurrence because of job opportunity and growth.
“Nope. I’ve always liked living in a small town. I’ve been there, but it’s not for me.”
“Why not?” She didn’t understand how anyone chose anything else.
When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “I guess I like knowing people. I like them knowing me. And I wouldn’t want to be that far away from my family.”