Exposed to You (One Night of Passion 2)

??re keeping it a secret?” she asked, amused.

He shrugged. “It’s my private place. I come here to think sometimes.” He whipped off the ugly polo shirt, revealing his ripped, sweat-glistening torso as casually as he might flick at a fly. He kicked off his shoes, stripped off his socks and jerked down his shorts and boxer-briefs with as much ritual or thought.

“You coming?” he asked her when he finally stood there nude and more glorious than the rising sun.

“I’m just going to stretch a little to cool off,” she said breathlessly.

He nodded and headed toward the lake, shoving aside some tall grass with his hand, heedless when it snapped back behind him, brushing his ass. Joy just stood there for a second, breathing hard, watching him with her mouth gaping open, a sense of unreality clouding her consciousness. How could he possibly be so sublimely beautiful and seem about as aware of it as the air he breathed? If there were a trace of disingenuousness in his actions, a hint of contrivance, it’d be one thing. But instead, he was all easy male grace and quick intelligence, good-natured humor interspersed with sudden, dark, smoldering sexuality. He was just . . .

Everett.

She blinked, rising out of her trance at the loud splashing sound of his body hitting the water. She did a few stretches and wandered over to a sycamore, using the minimal cover of the low-hanging branches while she carefully took off her clothes and set them on a flat rock. Unlike Everett, whose lack of self-consciousness was epic, she felt extremely exposed walking in the tall grass completely nude. Luckily, he wasn’t there to watch her ungainly progress; he was swimming toward the middle of the lake.

The water was pleasantly cool when she stepped into the shallows, her feet encountering smooth stones and silt. She dove in when she reached thigh level, delighting in the cold rush of water over her heated body. She swam a ways, and when she surfaced, Everett’s head poked out of the water ten feet in front of her.

“It’s nice,” she said, returning his grin and pushing her short, streaming hair off her forehead.

“I thought you might protest,” he said, floating closer to her, both of them treading water.

“To the skinny-dipping?”

“No. To swimming in a lake with a bunch of fish and worms and mud and stuff. There’s no such thing as fish and mud repellent.”

She laughed. “Don’t make me into a priss just because I don’t want to be bitten by mosquitoes.”

He came near enough that she could see the water droplets on his eyelashes and the green and blue dots of pigment in his irises. His hand brushed along her side in a liquid glide. She shivered at his touch.

“Actually,” she said breathlessly, “my father used to take us camping. I’m used to roughing it a little,” she said.

“And did you like it? Camping?”

“More than my mother,” Joy said, laughing at a memory. “She never slept when we went camping. Never. She was too scared to in the tent. She was convinced we were going to be murdered in our sleep by a mad axman or something.”

His smile widened. “Well, those mad axmen need to work, too. They’d be in the unemployment line if it weren’t for clueless campers.” She chuckled and touched his shoulder, drawing herself closer. His legs tangled for a moment with hers as they tread water.

“Was your mother an artist?” he asked.

“I thought so, even if she didn’t.” She saw his eyebrows quirk up in a query. “She was a claims adjuster, but she was always a natural at drawing. Never had any formal education, but it was uncanny the way she could capture a fleeting expression on a person’s face.”

“Ah,” he said, his hands touching the back of her rib cage. He brought her closer and brushed his chest against the tips of her breasts. His small smile made her think the action was completely intentional. “So you get the talent from her.”

“I think so.” She was having trouble catching her breath. Her nipples pressed fleetingly against his lower chest again. He pulled her gently in his hold, and their bodies came into contact, her right thigh curving over his hip, his cock sliding ever so briefly against her lower belly. He felt deliciously full. She bit her lip and forced her attention back to the topic of conversation. “I probably got it from my mother and from Seth’s and Dad’s mom. Grandma did beautiful pottery and watercolors.”

“You prefer oils, don’t you?” he asked.

Her breath caught when he touched her left breast with his right hand. He fondled her as they both continued to tread water. It felt wonderful; the water was cold and soft, and Everett was warm and hard.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.

“Exclusively?” He must have noticed her dazed expression as she focused on his fingertips circling her nipple, because he clarified. “You never use any other medium?”

“Well . . . sure, I like charcoal, and of course I use various things when I’m helping Seth with body art or makeup—”

She gasped when he lightly pinched her nipple. Everett brushed his long body against her, making his growing erection obvious.

“I just had this brilliant idea,” he murmured next to her right ear.

“And does this idea possibly involve something that might get us arrested if we get caught?” she asked softly.