I shift my weight, feeling heat rise in my groin. She’s always been cute for a girl. But this … this is something else. She’s got me keyed up like a teenager. I’m a grown-ass man who should know better.
Still, I linger. She steps down off the ladder, grabbing a water bottle and tipping her head back as she drinks. I try not to stare as the full spectrum of her breasts come into view. I fail.
“Wanna see inside?” she asks, capping the bottle.
Is this a trick question?
Tessa continues, “I’ve made progress. The smell of raccoon pee is officially at tolerable levels or gone. It’s hard for me to know because I think I sort of got used to it, disgusting at that sounds.”
“I’ll give it the smell test for you,” I reply.
Right now, I’d follow her into a swamp, sinking down into the mud. She’s temptation in motion wearing that tiny strappy thing covering her tits, not to mention those damn short cut-offs.
A little too eagerly, I follow her up the steps—like a man with no business walking straight into temptation. She throws me a grin over her shoulder. I swear, if she bends over in those shorts, this cabin’s not the only thing getting painted today.
Chapter 9
Tessa
Later That Week
The rhythmic sound of a shovel scraping against something pulls my attention toward the trees. It’s Liam.
I set my paintbrush on the rim of the can and step to the edge of the porch, squinting into the bright afternoon sunlight. He’s down by the lake with his truck backed up to the slope.
He’s unloading sand on his private beach like a man on a mission. Each shovelful arcs through the air before thudding onto theexisting beach. Apparently, the man doesn’t believe in rest days.
He’s shirtless, glistening, and built like trouble. Every muscle working overtime in the sun. It’s criminal, honestly. His muscles flex with every motion. Shoulders tight, forearms corded, back gleaming under the sun. I know I should probably look away and go back to painting trim. But I don’t. My brain says get moving, but my eyes have other plans.
He straightens and seems to adjust his sunglasses. It’s a casual move that looks cinematic on him. Liam could have been a Hollywood star. Those abs — and that deep, unfair V that should be illegal in all fifty states.
Lord, help me. I’ve never even gone all the way, but if Liam Rowe said the word … well. Let’s just say, I’d stop fantasizing and volunteer as tribute. Oh well, that’s wishful thinking. We’ve become friends while I’m here, nothing more. He could have anyone he wants and why would he want a redheaded, pudgy girl like me?
Still, I can fantasize and dream. That’s what I’ve been doing since I hit puberty. Every time he was within fifty feet of me, I lost at least five IQ points and the ability to regulate body temperature.
Sometimes I have to laugh at myself. I can be so ridiculous. But whatever spell I’m under doesn’t break until he starts walking up the hill toward me.
Crap.
I yank my brush off the can, pretending I’ve been super focused this whole time.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” he says, slowing near the steps. “Just out here giving the beach its annual facelift.”
I arch a brow. “Facelift, huh? Looks like more of a full-on body sculpt.”
He smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You watching me work,Montgomery?”
“Only because the raccoons are on strike. You’re the next best entertainment.”
He chuckles low and gazes briefly at my bare legs. “Guess that makes us even.”
I ignore the blush creeping up my neck. “So what’s the plan? You turning this place into a summer resort?”
“Nah. Just trying to keep it usable. Sand shifts, rain water drags it down. Gotta top it off or you end up with mud.”
He looks toward the lake, contemplative for a second. Then back at me. “You about done with that trim?”
“Almost.”
