Almost.
Chapter Eight
Claire
I adjusted the strap of my bikini top and pushed my hair out of my eyes. An ant crawled across the textbook. I let it be. I was so tired of reading that I could barely think, but since I had already highlighted this section, I was just reviewing and trying to memorize the key points.
My test was coming up fast, and I barely saw the light of day other than during my daily walks.
But today was unseasonably warm, I was pasty, and Gran’s backyard had been calling. I had found some old tanning oil that smelled faintly of coconut and was lying out in the sun, trying to get some vitamin D while studying.
I finished reading the chapter for the fourth time and reached for the edge of the blanket. It was warm in the sun but still a little chilly. My butt was getting cold.
“Don’t cover up on my account,” a deep voice rumbled from behind me. I turned over and sat up, yanking the blanket over my legs. Hunter stood there, a warm smile on his face. Not warm.
His smile was blazing.
“What are you doing here?”
“Fixing a couple of things in exchange for a hot meal,” he said with a wink. I frowned. He was holding a ladder and a toolbox. And Gran did have a couple of loose shutters back here, along with an old wooden picket fence that was falling down under the weight of the ancient climbing roses.
I shrugged, trying not to act ridiculous. The man made me feel like he was giving up his afternoon just for the chance to see me. That was before I noticed which way his eyes were traveling. He was leering at my legs . . . through the blanket!
I wrapped myself up and gathered my books.
“Fine. I’ll study inside.”
“But it’s a beautiful day,” he said with a frown. Like he cared. I was starting to think he just liked messing with me.
“It’s fine.”
“I can work out front first,” he said, looking almost guilty. “I don’t want you to miss the sunshine.”
I stopped short. I was chasing the man away like some sort of shrew. Maybe he really was just here to help Gran out.
“I’ll stay. I just need to pop inside and put some clothes on.”
“Pity,” he said with a wide smile.
I hurried inside and slipped on a pair of jean shorts. I threw a button-down over my bikini top for good measure. I glared at my reflection. I was being rude to Hunter for no reason and I was ashamed of myself. Not all men are dogs, I told myself. At least, not all the time, I amended. Gran handed me a tray with a pitcher of lemonade as I passed back through the kitchen.
“Be nice,” she said with a wink.
I nodded dutifully and took the tray, using my hip to nudge the screen door open. I stepped out into the sunshine and stared.
Hunter was on the ladder, reaching up to clear the gutter. I swallowed, unable to ignore the way his shirt lifted, exposing a flat stomach covered in dark hair. It was the first time I’d seen him without his leather jacket on, I realized. I couldn’t look away from the way his body moved under the thin cotton shirt. I could see everything.
And it was magnificent.
Dark ink swirled over his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his worn-in looking black T-shirt. His skin was swarthy and smooth. He looked . . .
“Is that for me?” I heard a teasing voice ask. My eyes snapped to his face. Hunter looked pleased. Smug, even. He’d clearly caught me gawking at him and was as pleased as punch. I arched an eyebrow and covered my embarrassment with attitude. It was pretty much my go-to these days.
“Gran thought you might be thirsty. She made it from scratch herself,” I added, making sure he didn’t get too full of himself.
He climbed off the ladder, and I made sure I was not looking at his admittedly gorgeous body. I stared at his boots instead. Rough and worn-in, but well-made and well cared for.
Kind of like him.
His fingers brushed mine where I held the tray, and I lifted my startled eyes to his. That simple touch had done something to me. I could feel it from head to toe.
And he knew it, too.
He didn’t look smug, though. He looked as surprised as I was. He made a low sound of approval as he stared down at me. The man was even bigger up close.
It should have been intimidating. But it wasn’t. Instead I felt . . . safe.
I watched him lift the glass to his lips and drink. I watched his throat move as he swallowed. I watched his fingers grip the glass as it sweated cool drops that ran down the back of his hand.