Page 577 of Summer Heat
That’s when something in me snaps. “Shit, Summer, turn the fuck around.” I hear the heat buried under the anger in my words, the unearthed fire and brimstone warning her to mind her manners or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.
For a second there, it looks like she’s just plain not going to heed my barking command.
And for a second there, I actually want her to take my last bit of control.
But she doesn’t.
Jesus Christ.
As soon as she takes her eyes off my dick and spins around, I finally feel the red haze that had been fucking with my senses for the last few minutes start to dull and fade away. Enough for me to talk like a human again.
“Go on to the jobsite, Summer. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
I see her nod and start to leave without questioning why it’s going to take me that long to get there. Hallelujah.
But before she goes, she quickly reaches for the towel hanging on the back of the door and blindly shoves it at me. “Sorry, I made you drip all over the floor.”
And then she bolts.
Damn it all to hell. She’s just so fucking cute.
I toss the towel on the counter and head back into the shower, her ironic choice of words in parting not lost on me.
5
| SUMMER |
MONDAY
(Time: 5:52 a.m.)
All the way to the jobsite, I feel like I should be hitting the ground running with follow-up plans now that Jason agreed to consider the marsh lands behind the lot.
But I’m not.
Instead, all I can think about is how unbelievably sexy the man is. How in the world has it never affected me before today?
A vividly clear snapshot of him standing in his bathroom today suddenly hits my memory banks again, and I very nearly swerve into a parked car.
It’s like some kind of mental dam has broken. And now, isolated memories of him over the past month and a half are starting to look like those optical illusion images. Like the one with the rabbit that’s clearly a rabbit…until suddenly, your perception shifts and you realize it’s a duck.
Things like how huge his calloused hand had felt gripping my elbow the other week when he stopped me from stepping into a muddy puddle. Or how his deep voice is always so much rougher, raspier the mornings I accidentally wake him up. Or the way his body emits heat like a furnace whenever I stand too close, but in a pleasant way, like when my skin gets warm and toasty in front of a campfire.
Suddenly, all of it has the inside of my car feeling
hotter than a burning kiln.
I roll down all my windows to let in some brisk mountain air, and though the early morning fog helps a little, I’m starting to think that nothing short of an ice-cold shower is going to work.
Almost thirty years I’ve been on this planet and this is the first time I’m actually, legitimately hot and bothered over a man.
Not that I’ve never been attracted to a man before. I definitely have. But it was always short-lived, usually dying the moment that put-off look would creep into his eyes. The same look most people get around me when they realize they can’t quite figure me out, and moreover, that they don’t want to.
I swear, I make an effort to not be weird. But it just…happens.
Maybe it’s because I’m not good at keeping behind those invisible lines people draw around themselves. I’m not sure why I don’t see said lines until well after I’ve trudged across them.
With guys, it always starts out the same. With them asking for my number. Every time, I find myself wincing and almost wishing I were the kind of woman that drew over the men who’re only looking for one night stands. I’ve gone out drinking with my guys enough times to have heard how simple and quick the exchanges go when they’re picking up their drunken flavor of the week, no-name, walk-of-shame quickies.
