Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

But with Gabe...with Gabe she’d laid it all out on their second meeting. And he was still around. And he was taking her hiking.

The thought made her smile, but the smile vanished as soon as she looked back at her computer. Hot date or not, she still had no idea what to tell Torn.

She gave up on work and shut her laptop. The stupid column wasn’t due until Monday evening, anyway. Maybe she’d have a different perspective by then. Maybe she’d be thoroughly fucked and altogether debauched and she’d tell Torn to run after her dreams as fast as she could.

Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up, pulse already speeding. But it wasn’t Gabe; it was her father. That was a real heart-rate killer.

Charity auction Monday 8:00 p.m.

Oh, Christ, not another one. Ever since she’d returned to town, her dad had treated her like an extension of the family name, requiring her to make appearances, but this was his first request since ski season had ended. She didn’t know how to say no to him. She never had.

A second text appeared with the name of the gallery.

She checked her calendar in vain. There was nothing on it. Okay, she texted back. See you then.

That was a good enough reason to start getting ready for the hike. She showered quickly, then styled her hair and put on the bare minimum of makeup. Despite Gabe’s kind words, she wasn’t going barefaced when she could wear a little mascara and lip stain. She didn’t come by makeup skills naturally, but she was no idiot. Men could claim they liked the no-makeup look, but there was natural and then there was natural.

She grinned as she chose a pair of exercise shorts that covered only the top two inches of her thighs. If he liked her legs, he’d get her legs.

She didn’t need sunscreen, as they’d catch only the last ninety minutes of light, but that meant she couldn’t pick a cute tank top, either. She settled on a long-sleeved shirt that at least fit tightly across the chest. After packing a water bottle, a flashlight and a hoodie into a light backpack, she was ready.

He knocked precisely at six-thirty, which was a nice surprise. She hadn’t expected punctuality from a guy who was so laid-back. Cerebral thoughts about how considerate he was fled when she opened the door. He was wearing cargo shorts and a faded purple T-shirt and lots of lean muscle. Lots of it.

“Hi,” she said to his biceps. She looked up just in time to see his gaze sweep down her body, too.

“Ready?” he asked, eyebrow raised in a way that made his smile look wicked. He’d noticed her legs.

Yeah, she was so ready.

She locked up and led him down the street toward the hills. “Are you sure you’ve never hiked this? It’s pretty basic and crazy busy in the summer, but the views are great.”

“Never. When I’ve been in town before, all my hiking was heading in and out of climbing areas. I’m happy you know a trail we can hit with such a short amount of time. If we had to drive to a trailhead, the sun would be setting before we could start.”

“Or we could’ve just hiked over to the brewery,” she suggested.

“We can work our way around later.”

She felt him watching her and glanced over. “What?”

“You look pretty today, Dear Veronica.”

She didn’t even try to fight the blushing anymore. She was just so aware of him. And she was crushing on him so damn hard. “You look nice, too. In fact, no one should look that good in a T-shirt. It’s distracting.”

He brushed a hand over his chest as if unsure how to respond. The hair on his forearm glinted in the sunlight. She wanted to pet it. She managed not to say that out loud, but she thought it really, really hard.

They turned left onto a street that ended at the base of the foothills. They were on the trail and gaining elevation ten minutes after leaving her place.

“Since I’m a librarian,” he said from behind her, “you have to tell me your favorite books. It’s required. And if you don’t read, you’d better lie about it.”

“I read,” she said, noticing that he wasn’t even breathing hard. She kept her breath as even as she could. “A lot of nonfiction, actually. But my bachelor’s degree is in English. Maybe I’ve read more books than you have.”

He chuckled. “Your favorites?”

“I hate this question. How am I supposed to choose? To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously—everyone loves that. Anything by Margaret Atwood. I adore narrative nonfiction like In the Heart of the Sea. I deal with a lot of relationship issues in my work, so I love romance. I hope you’re not a book snob.”

“No way. I’ve read romance.”

She turned to shoot him a doubtful look. “Really?”