Page 19 of Nobody Does it Better (Lucky in Love)
CarolAnn: They do need go-getters like us to move them along. And we know how to wring the most out of our lives.
Sara: Nobody does life better than us.
11
Vanessa
I dip a toe into the bubbling water. “It’s toasty,” I declare as stars twinkle in the inky sky. I shiver as the chilly night air wraps around me.
But I’ll be hot in seconds.
Shaw peers at the hot tub. “It damn well better be boiling since it’s colder than a polar bear’s pinkie outside.” He glances toward the back door—I wedged a brick in it. I’m no dummy. I’ve heard stories of people who freeze to death in outdoor hot tubs on back decks when the door locks behind them. The keys, bathrobes, and towels are all on a chair right outside the glass door.
Which is unlocked.
We’re triple-covered, though, because Shaw raps his knuckles on the window he’s also cracked open. “That way I won’t have to break out the ax and bust down the door if we did get locked outside.”
“But you could, right?” I untie the bathrobe and drop it on the wooden deck.
His eyes bulge.
“Could what?” He sounds transfixed.
I step into the hot tub, and I roll my hands, reminding him of the conversation. “You could break down a door or a window? That’s what you firemen do, right?”
“Yeah,” he draws out, as if the word stretches into the next century.
“Why do I get the feeling you lost the thread of the conversation and you’re staring at my boobs instead?”
Shedding his bathrobe, he steps into the tub as well. “Because I was. Because you’re fucking distracting. You’re naked and hot as hell. I can’t think about fireman stuff. I can’t think about anything but getting my hands on you again.”
That’s all I want too.
Once wasn’t enough to curb my desire for him. Once, as magnificent as that one time was, barely scratched the surface. As I sink into the decadently hot water that bubbles around us, he glides over to me, wraps his arms around my waist, and drops a delicious kiss to my lips.
I murmur, my eyes fluttering closed, goosebumps rising on my flesh.
This time, his kiss is soft, an exploration. Like he’s taking the time to get to know my mouth, my lips, my jaw. His lips skate over mine, travel across my face as if he’s marking me with kisses—with mind-bending kisses. I scoot closer, my wet, naked body pressed to him.
He slides his hands up my back, into my hair, then down again, cupping my ass. “You’re spectacular.”
My fingers have goals of their own, and they travel along his chest, across his shoulders, down his strong arms, tracing his muscles. “So are you.” I stop at the jagged white scar cutting from his stomach to his right hip. “I noticed this in the calendar.”
“You were looking at my calendar page?”
“Of course. You’re the hottest.”
“Damn straight.”
“Is it from work?”
He nods. “Fire at a winery. A beam fell. Hit me and ripped some skin.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
He shrugs like it was nothing. “I’m tough.”
“I know. But I want you to be careful.” My voice sounds tender, and that’s the truth of how I feel for him. Even if this is a one-night-only thing—and I don’t know why it would be more—I want him safe and happy and well. “Your job has risks.”
He grins like that’s the best thing I could have said. “I am safe. And I’m careful. I promise.”
“Good. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
His grin stretches. “You want me sticking around, V?”
I punch him lightly. “Yes, stick around, please.”
His smile possibly reaches the sky. “I’ll do my best.” After sinking onto one of the seats in the tub, he tugs me on top of him so I straddle his legs.
“And now this hot tub is getting red-hot.”
“Please. It’s white-hot.”
He hums a dirty little ditty, then his expression shifts to serious. “In there,” he says, tipping his forehead to the cabin, “I meant everything I said.” His eyes are etched with honesty and a vulnerability that reaches into my chest and grabs hold of my heart, squeezing it tightly. The way he looks at me makes me want to run inside, call Perri, and ask for forgiveness and then permission, because this man is all I want.
But this isn’t about her right now. Because I don’t know that Shaw wants the same things I do. If he doesn’t—and I still have no reason to think he does—Perri doesn’t need my confession. Not if tonight is all there is.
Oh, but if he does want the same things . . .
He is, at the very least, worth testing the waters.
“What do you mean?” I ask, hope wrapping around me.
With the pad of his thumb, he strokes my chin. “I’ve wanted you for so damn long. I’ve wanted to kiss you, I swear, since . . .”
