‘Okay, I really need to shower,’ she said, breaking out of his grip and hurrying back into the house.
Nate followed her up the stairs. ‘I do as well. This stuff gets everywhere.’
‘Um, you don’t have anything I could wear, do you? My pyjamas are a bit icky.’ Of course, she hadn’t brought any spare sleeping clothes, because who would have guessed that Nate was bringing her to a farm where she’d have to birth a cow. Absolutely no one.
He grinned and dug a shirt from his case.
The shower was warm (not scalding) and she soaped everywhere, and washed her hair. Twice.
Jack would have been proud. It had been years since she’d been hands on (in) a cow giving birth, especially not a complicated birth of a massive calf like that one. The smile stilled on her face.
Had she been a bit strong with Jess and Owen? A bit too angry with them for not knowing what to do? No. She was in the right, and if you’re going to own animals, then you have to learn how to look after them. At least after tonight, it seemed that Jess and Owen were open to learning.
She dried herself, and pulled on Nate’s shirt, undoing an extra button. Towel drying her hair, she scrunched it to give it a messy, wet look. It wasn’t quite sexy underwear, but yes, this would work. Once Nate was done, they could pick up where they’d left off.
Chapter Eighteen
Nate
If he’d thought the wine-coloured pyjamas were sexy, there was nothing that could have prepared him for wet-haired Laurel wearing nothing but his shirt. His cock had stiffened just at the sight of her.
Now, he stood in the shower, scouring his body free from cow gunk.
God, Laurel was impressive. She was passionate, knowledgeable, commanding and absolutely beautiful. She cared so much about everything and was, quite frankly, amazing. There was no other word for it, and the worst thing was that she didn’t know it.
He’d brought her here as a favour because she needed to relax, and they were friends, right? That’s what friends did.
What friends didn’t do was kiss and stroke and nip at swollen lips. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her mouth had tasted, and how she had reacted to him, urging him to touch her with moans and sharp breaths. God, he wanted her.
But it was more than that.
A little thought at the back of his mind niggled at him. If he were truthful with himself, he’d brought her here to meet his friends for another reason, hadn’t he? She’d shared so much of her life and he wanted to show her a little bit of his.
The hot water pulsed down on his shoulders as he investigated his feelings even further, slowly brushing away the layer of dirt obscuring the find underneath. Laurel well and truly triggered his defensive instinct. Whether it was George Hibbert, her knob of a brother Robin, or his longest friend, it didn’t matter. But, why?
There was something more, something not quite enough to touch. He’d have to dig deeper, otherwise this confusion would linger and that was the last thing he needed. Nate was a clear-headed archaeologist, not a little lost lamb.
Laurel hadn’t needed his help with the BAS endorsement. She was fully capable of dealing with it herself. But he didn’t want her to have to deal with it by herself. She should have help, someone standing beside her to share the burden, to support her, to make her happy.
It should be him standing beside her, holding her hand.
What was it Jack had said about the way he looked at Laurel? The not-so-veiled comments Jess had made? Christ, even Anwar had made some snide little remarks that he’d waved off.
Laurel Fletcher had hidden herself within him, and he hadn’t even realised it had happened.
He was in love with her, and that was a deep, hard, irrefutably evidenced find.
Just like every other discovery he had made since he’d met her, he wanted to share this with Laurel. Wanted to tell her about this amazing find that he’d just uncovered, so deep down it had taken an awfully long time to find.
Nate would have to talk to her, have to tell her. It was bursting out of his chest, trying to claw its way to her. He would lay his find at her feet and hope and hope and hope that she felt the same way.
What if she didn’t? He couldn’t think like that. He had to believe there was something there and all he had to do was blow the dust away and find it. Because otherwise, he would have the agony of working with her, being around her and knowing that she would forever be unattainable, she would forever not need him, not want him. Would he risk that? He would have to. He couldn’t know this, feel this, and not tell her.
Also, they were too old for shit like hiding feelings, tiptoeing around each other, not being able to communicate effectively. They could be grown ups about this.
Nate closed the door to the en-suite softly behind him. Laurel had turned off the main light, and the bedside table gave a soft yellow glow over her where she lay in the bed.
Sleeping.
