So Now You're Back (18 page)

The disconnected feeling lingered, as if she existed in a fog—her body clock out of sync with the time of day—but it became a warm, comforting fog instead of the hot, blistering, bone-melting fog of earlier.

She scanned the trees, only occasionally distracted by the sight of Luke's tall athletic form striding down the trail ahead of her. The forest's shadowy depths provided some much-needed shade from the mid-morning sun while holding secret caches of natural wonders, most of which she couldn't identify with any degree of certainty. The oak and maple trees, the azalea blooms and ferns weren't hard to name, even the gnarled thorny branches of the odd hawthorn bush, but easily the most prolific and spectacular plant—a
branched shrub festooned with lime evergreen leaves and dying clusters of spiky white and pink flowers—was unrecognisable but incongruous in its profusion. Bushes of the stuff appeared in every break in the trees as the trail climbed slowly upwards, framing some awe-inspiring glimpses of the Smoky Mountain range, which spread out in a panorama of rolling peaks and misty dips.

After twenty minutes of patient plodding, the trail opened into a wild meadow, which stood like an oasis of vibrant variant green, edged by an array of showy dark pink blooms on its far side. The rambling bushes reminded Halle rather bizarrely of the gardens of a stately home she'd once visited in Wiltshire.

‘Are those rhododendron bushes?' she asked, incredulous.

Luke paused to observe the flowering scrubs. ‘Yeah. Catawba rhododendrons. They grow wild all over the Appalachians.' Obviously, he'd done his homework, unlike her.

‘Do you know what those other plants are, the ones with the white and pink flowers?' she asked, pointing out the other shrubs she'd been unable to identify.

He patted the damp skin of his neck with his bandana. ‘I'm pretty sure that's mountain laurel, although I'm no expert. We'll have to ask Bill when he picks us up.'

‘It smells incredible.' She drew in a breath of the perfumed air. ‘I really didn't expect to see so many flowers.'

‘Amazing, isn't it?' Luke tied the bandana round his forehead and Halle's pulse spiked. Apparently, the Smoky Mountain scenery wasn't the only arresting sight on offer.

‘Yes, it is.'

Luke's wide shoulders tilted as he let the backpack slide down to drop at his feet. Tucking his hands into his back pockets, he lifted his chin to absorb the sunshine, the quiet moment of contemplation like a benediction. His sun-burnished skin
glowed, stretched tight over the high planes of his cheekbones, and she pictured him as a fallen angel haloed by a nimbus of hallowed light.

She blinked away the romantic thought. Luke Best had never been anyone's idea of an angel. Fallen or otherwise. But the realisation didn't stop the saliva drying in her mouth when a trickle of sweat skated down the corded sinews of his neck to disappear in the hollow of his clavicle. Her pulse fluttered as response tingled over her skin.

‘How much further to the falls?' she asked.

Was he really planning to go for a dip in this waterfall? How did she feel about seeing him with less clothes on?

The flutter turned into a punch as her pulse thudded against her neck.

Don't be ridiculous. What's there to be nervous about?

He was just a man. And his body had once been such familiar terrain. She'd known every secret nook and cranny. The slopes of muscle and bone, the ridges of tendon and sinew, the sensitive hollows, the ticklish places, all his erogenous zones. She'd known exactly where and how to touch him, to kiss him and caress him, to make him groan and grunt and sometimes even shout with pleasure.

OK, stop right there.

She shook her head to shake off the sensual fog.

But as he knelt to retrieve the trail map from the backpack and then stood to study it, she took the opportunity to study him. And it occurred to her that the once familiar terrain wasn't as familiar any more.

His body looked much more substantial now, having been wiry to the point of scrawny when he was a young man.

She noted the generous thicket of sun-bleached hair on his shins and how it thinned out above his knees. His forearms were fuzzy with hair, too, while sweaty darker wisps
clung to his chest where his collarbone peeked from the V-neck of his T-shirt.

Apparently, Luke had gained quite a lot of body hair in the past sixteen years, too.

She tucked the thought away, dismissing the pleasantly floaty feeling engulfing her as a by-product of tiredness and the emotional exhaustion from her outburst.

He shoved the map into his pack and swung the bag onto his shoulders. ‘Can't be much more than a mile.' He nudged his forehead against the short sleeve of his T-shirt, giving her a glimpse of the dark thicket of hair beneath his armpit. ‘Let's get moving. I can't wait to get wet.'

She fell into step behind him, too tired to argue.

But it wasn't until the burble of water cascading over rocks beckoned through the trees that it occurred to her she hadn't packed a swimsuit. And if she'd forgotten her swimwear, what were the chances Mr Spontaneous had remembered his?

I don't care how much I need to cool off, skinny-dipping is out.

Cherokee Creek poured over the shelves of lichen-covered rock, tumbling into a deep pool of mossy water, which looked cool and inviting and just what Luke had been praying for. Because the sweat soaking his shirt wasn't the only heat he had to worry about.

Halle sat on the shallow pebbled beach in between the rocks, prising off her dusty trainers and peeling off her socks.

‘It looks very inviting.' She swept her hair back to retie her ponytail.

‘Doesn't it just,' he agreed, because she didn't sound entirely sure.

She'd calmed down since that whiplash-inducing slap. Enough for them to have a conversation about something other than whether or not they were lost. Which was all good. Not so good was the low hum that struck his abdomen every time their eyes met.

Despite her avoidance tactics over the past few days, his awareness of her seemed to be getting more acute. Even after she'd slumped off to bed yesterday halfway through the afternoon, he'd been hard-pressed to concentrate on the notes for his article. His head had been filled to bursting with images of her: shooting him the gimlet eye while they got smarmed to within an inch of their lives in Monroe's office; chomping down on her breakfast muffin this morning; and, just a few minutes ago, pursing her lips into that little moue of surprise as she was blown away by the wild flowers.

Given that she seemed to be waging quite a battle to even be able to stand the sight of him, not one of those images should have been remotely hot. But somehow that didn't stop the heavy weight in his belly lowering to tighten his ball sac as she wiggled her toes.

‘I doubt it's safe to swim in it, though.' She tucked her socks into her trainers. ‘I can't see the bottom. Dipping our feet in should be enough to cool us off.'

‘Suit yourself, but I'm going in.' Because nothing short of a freezing-cold dunking would cool him off enough. He crouched to unlace his boots—and hoped she couldn't hear the roughness in his voice. ‘The park authorities don't much like people swimming, but I reckon it's fine as long as you're careful.'

Their gazes connected and he could see his own awareness reflected in the glassy sheen of her eyes.

Dream on, Best, she's not interested unless you can time-travel back to 1998.

‘You're mad,' she said, lowering her big toe into the water. ‘You do know it's freezing.'

‘Spoken like a true girl.' He tugged his T-shirt and shorts off, keen to get into the water before the heat swelling in his gut hit critical mass.

From what his now completely one-track mind could recall of the research he'd done into the region, Cherokee Creek flowed down from the snowmelt on the highest peaks of the Blue Ridge in North Carolina—which should ensure the water was sufficiently cold enough to get his wayward dick under control.

He climbed up to the shelf of granite overlooking the pond. Clamping his teeth together, he cupped protective hands over the Eiffel Tower growing in his pants and leaped into the water, yodelling like a Comanche on the warpath.

He hit with a magnificent splash and heard Halle's yelp of protest, above his own startled hiss, before he plunged under, gulping for breath a split second too late. The cold stung his skin, freezing the heat in his nuts. The shock to his system, though, made getting another stiffy before Christmas unlikely.

Mission accomplished.

Kicking off the rocks at the bottom, he broke the surface spluttering and coughing to expel the ice water he'd inhaled into his lungs.

‘You drenched me, you idiot.' Halle stood over the pool wiping the droplets off her face.

‘Oops.' He smiled. For once, she sounded amused instead of pissed off.

Mission impossible accomplished.

‘How cold is it?' she asked.

‘Absolutely bloody freezing.' He shuddered, treading water, his groin now blessedly numb, like the rest of him. ‘But it feels great. You coming in?'

She plucked at the soaked cotton of her top, which had moulded to her breasts as if she were modelling a wet T-shirt competition. ‘Sod it. All right, then.'

He grinned.

Then she whipped her T-shirt over her head, revealing a plain white sports bra that flattened her breasts against her torso, and the smile died. Her choice of underwear couldn't have been less erotic, but it did more than enough to remind him of the full, firm weight of Halle's breasts, the dusky pink shadow of her supersensitive nipples … The Holy Grail of his teenage years.

Fantasising about Halle's boobs had caused him several mortifying moments as he sat cross-legged in the assembly hall and watched her file in with her class while he imagined the treasures that lay beneath the shapeless pinstriped blouse of her uniform.

Despite the thick fabric of the bra she wore now, which disguised the shape into a flat ridge, he could imagine the plump swell of soft succulent flesh, the large, ripe nipples through the spandex. And the soft sobs of her breathing as he captured them between his lips and tongued them into hard peaks. Damn, he could still remember the night they'd found out a guaranteed way to make her come with penetration was if he licked and nipped all around the areola and then sucked the tip to the roof of his mouth while establishing a deep, even rhythm of strokes. It had required every ounce of his control not to climax before she got there, but despite the occasional mishap, he'd learned to do it the way she liked with some degree of finesse.

He could perform with much more finesse now.

Was that still the only way she could hit the jackpot if he wasn't manipulating her clitoris? Or had she discovered other sure-fire ways to achieve orgasm in the years since?

Blood pumped into his crotch while simultaneously blazing a trail up his neck.

He dived under the water, horrified at how quickly his thoughts had gotten out of control. But as he came up for air, there she was standing on the bank, wiggling out of her hiking shorts. And the torture continued.

She folded the garment and bent to add it to the neat pile she'd assembled, affording him a tantalising glimpse of her lush bottom covered in snug white cotton.

‘I'll have you know I'm not a complete pussy,' she declared as she marched towards the water.

Terrific choice of words, Ms Best.

He gave a tight smile. At least she seemed to have forgiven him for that ill-advised comment about her lack of guts.

But as she sat on one of the rocks to dangle one cautious toe into the water, something glittered in the fold of pale flesh above the waistline of her panties. No way! She still wore a stud in the belly piercing she'd gotten at seventeen. So some remnants of the rebellious girl did still remain beneath the sophisticated veneer of the successful career woman.

The startling thought brought with it a renewed surge of excitement, followed by the unsettling feeling of connection.

Ignore it. She's not that girl and you don't want her to be.

She sucked in a breath as she eased herself off the rock. ‘Good God, it's a miracle you didn't stroke out jumping into water this cold at your age,' she said.

‘Give over, I'm only thirty-seven,' he countered, the teasing a welcome change from the razor-sharp snark. ‘And, anyway, I'm a guy. Risking death for no good reason goes with the territory.'

‘Tell me about it,' she scoffed. ‘I've got a ten-year-old son who thinks he's immortal.'

On a startled gasp, she dropped the rest of the way into the pool with a gentle plop. Shivering while she adjusted to the frigid temperature, she did a smooth breaststroke towards him. Her pale limbs glowed like lightsabres against the dark silted green of the water. ‘Wow, it feels glorious.'

She flipped onto her back to paddle away across the swimming hole, and his gaze snagged on the contours of her nipples, poking against the wet and pliant fabric of her sports bra like high-calibre bullets.

He did a shallow dive to duck back under the water's surface, swimming down to explore the cold bottom of the pool, but it was already too late. Arousal sizzled through his system again like a firework ready to explode.

Mission accomplished, my arse.

‘I'm definitely going to get the recipe for this fried chicken from the resort's chef.' Halle bit into her drumstick, humming as she chewed, the sensual combination of spicy coating and chicken juices exploding on her tongue. ‘It tastes phenomenal.'

‘You do that.' Luke grabbed another wing from the array of picnic food she'd laid out on their drying towels. ‘I just plan to eat it.' He set about devouring it in huge mouthfuls.

‘I can see that.' She frowned, her skin still zinging from the refreshing chill of their swim.