Page 66 of Her Mercenary
“What are you doing?” I asked, my heart rate picking up considerably.
“Fishing.”
I glanced at the creek, at the rotted old log stretching from one side to the other, the boulders spearing up from the murky blackness, the grassy overhangs that surely lent themselves to a den of snakes. It was nothing like the serene rivers and lakes my father and I had fished when I was a little girl.
“You’re fishing in there?” I asked.
“Are you hungry?”
I licked my lips. I was absolutely starving.
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Then yes,” he said simply. “I’m fishing in there.”
His pants fell to his feet, revealing a tight pair of black boxer briefs.
And since when did I have a leg fetish?
Roman’s thighs were as thick as tree trunks, his calves carved to perfection. His ass was like two bowling balls, and his bulge—dear Lord in Heaven ...
The shirt came off next.
Was I hungry? Uh, yeah ... but for something entirely different from food now.
Obviously comfortable and unaffected by stripping in front of a woman, Roman grabbed his rod—the wooden one, to my dismay—and strode half-naked into the water.
I shifted my weight, feeling useless, standing there in my baggy T-shirt and tactical pants, with my dirty, wrapped feet. I watched him pick a spot, widen his stance, and settle in.
Suddenly, he stilled, and a beam of light darted across his face.
My stomach tickled.
“Come here,” he said, but I didn’t move. “Come here.”
“Uh ... there?”
“Yes. Here.”
“Okay.” I lowered down, unwrapped my feet, and literally exhaled when they were freed. The fresh air felt like cool silk over the throbbing, hot, swollen skin.
My cheeks heated as I unbuttoned my pants, and I mentally laughed at this. The man had already seen me stark naked, chained to a bed.
I glanced up, peeking at him under my lashes. He was watching me intently, and suddenly, the moment felt more like an erotic strip tease rather than two people trying to survive in the wild.
I slipped out of the pants, taking the time to fold them neatly, and set them aside while trying to conjure up some courage. Luckily, the oversized T-shirt covered all my bits, the bottom seam hitting just below the crease of my butt.
In nothing but the shirt, I tiptoed my way over the sharp rocks and waded into the water.
“Hooooly ...” I squealed with delight as the cold water slipped between my toes. If heaven had a feeling, this was it.
Carefully, slowly, I made my way over the slick rocks to Roman in the middle of the stream. The water hit me midthigh, cooling my legs.
“Fish have four basic needs, just like we do,” he said as I approached.
For some reason, I was disappointed. In my fantasy, I imagined him so attracted to me that seeing me in nothing but his T-shirt would render him incapable of control, and he would toss me over his shoulder, carry me to a bed of ferns, spread my—
“They need oxygen, food, shelter, and rest,” he said, jerking me from my fantasy. “The best time to catch a fish is when they’re fulfilling need number two, food.”