Finally I pull off the road and park at the foot of a hidden driveway, baby birch trees growing along the edges. I get out of the car and grab my towel, then point across the road to where the dust from my car is still lingering in the hot air.
“What?” Harrison asks.
“We’re going in there,” I tell him.
“Into where? Those trees?”
“Mmhmm. It might be time for you to leave your jacket behind. It’s going to get torn up.”
Now he looks panicked. “Where are you taking me?”
“Don’t worry, it’s an easy hike. And anyway, I don’t know how on earth you can wear that suit in this weather. Don’t you have some formal secret agent shorts or something?”
“Not a secret agent. And no, we don’t have shorts. What a ghastly sight that would be.”
I grin and wave him forward. “Come on.”
I cross the road and head into the forest, Harrison following. I point to a tall chain-link fence that ends a few feet away before walking through the brush that skirts around it.
“That fence didn’t use to be here, but the fire department put it up to stop us from using the lake.”
“Wait a minute, you’re taking me to a lake?”
“Where did you think I was taking you?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Perhaps an old abandoned hunting lodge with a bed in the corner.”
I laugh and look at him over my shoulder. “My god. I have higher standards than that.”
“Do you? You’re taking me on what seems like an illegal excursion to a lake.”
“It’s not illegal. They just tried to, you know, dissuade people. This lake is gorgeous, and for whatever reason they decided they didn’t want people to use it. Someone complained, probably Barbara Mischky, or one of the houses on the lake. They say it’s because it’s a reservoir, but a lot of the other lakes on the island are reservoirs, and you don’t see them fenced off.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look at him again. He’s marching through the undergrowth with ease, branches from the hemlocks tugging at his shirt as he passes by.
It’s about fifteen minutes of bushwhacking before we see the lake.
Just as I suspected, there’s not a soul here, and from where we are, tucked into a small bay, you can’t see the houses at the end of the lake either. It’s just us, the gleaming jewel-green water, the sun-dried moss that covers the slopes of granite and quartz that lead to the shore, the tall, wavering fir and cedar.
“Shit. It’s a beauty,” Harrison says.
I waste no time.
I immediately pull my dress over my head and throw it to the side along with my towel, then scamper down toward the shore in my bikini, kicking off my flip-flops just before I carefully climb onto a couple of rocks that jut out into the water.
“Piper!” Harrison calls, but I ignore him.
I get to the last rock, find my balance on the sun-warmed surface, and then launch myself into the lake.
And by launch, I mean cannonball. Any attempt at diving would result in a belly flop, and besides, I’m like five years old at heart.
The water is cool, shocking me awake as I hit with a big splash, my arms wrapped tightly around my shins. I open my eyes to the bubbles and then kick up to the surface, bursting through to the sun on my face.
I tread water and look over at Harrison, who is on the lakeshore, his hands on his hips, frowning at me. But there’s a smile on his lips too, just as I’m grinning widely at him.
“Come on in, the water is just fine,” I say, splashing around.
He stares at me for a moment, then starts to unbutton his dress shirt.
I am here for this.
I keep treading, my eyes focused on each sliver of skin that’s slowly revealed.
Yes, I’ve had sex with Harrison.
But I never got to enjoy his body the way I would have liked to.
This is my first look, and I am going to look.
He reaches the last button, then removes his shirt.
Damn.
I watch as he folds his shirt neatly and places it on the moss beside him, my eyes drawn to every bare inch of his torso, from the wide expanse of his chest, to his rock-hard shoulders, to his literal six-pack abs, all of which are covered in tattoos, tattoos that mean something to him, tattoos that tell the story of Harrison.
I am determined to read that story as far as he’ll let me.
Of course, he doesn’t stop undressing.
His pants come off next.
Socks.
Shoes.
Then he’s just in his boxer briefs.
And then . . .
He’s completely naked.
Head to toe.
Completely naked and standing in a sun-dappled forest, looking like some kind of Celtic warrior with his brawny muscles and mysterious tattoos, decorating him like runes.
It takes me a moment to bring my eyes away from his appendage and up to his face, where he’s taking off his sunglasses, because of course they were the last thing to go.