Uh-oh. He took a step in the direction of the noise. “Charli? Is that you?”
“No.”
But it was. Even having just met her, he would recognize that slight rasp in her voice anywhere. Despite his best efforts, the sound went straight to his groin every damn time. Something about that hint of hoarseness made him think of how she would sound when she cried out in pleasure. Or pain. He was a fan of both.
He adjusted the front of his jeans and made his way through the grove of trees, almost afraid of what he’d find. Once he got to the other side and the moon offered enough light to find her, he discovered Charli sitting in a puddle of mud with her hands above her head, holding something.
“What in the hell?”
She looked to the heavens and groaned. “Can you take this please? If it gets wet, they’ll probably fire me.”
He grabbed the device from her, an iPad from what he could tell, and offered her a hand. “Need some help?”
“I got it.” She pushed herself up and then grimaced when she put weight on her right leg. “Ouch.”
He had to hide his own grimace, but for a completely different reason. Since he’d left her earlier, she’d changed into boxers and a T-shirt—both of which were now soaked and covered in mud. If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been comical. But all he could focus on was how the garments now clung and outlined every naked part beneath—curves and dips and points. Mud wrestling had never sounded so tempting.
He cleared his throat, thankful for the dark night as his cock hardened behind the fly of his pants. “Are you all right?”
“I think I tripped over a root or something.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and winced a bit. “Pissed off my ankle.”
He frowned at the way her words stumbled into each other, hearing the slight slur in her voice for the first time. Apparently the wine had made it over to her cabin. “Let me help you get back to your place. Do you need me to carry you?”
She shook her head, swaying on her feet ever so slightly. “I can…manage. Just carry the tablet so I don’t get any of this on it. Don’t need another talk from the boss, now do I?”
She took a few hobbling steps and tilted to the left. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Enjoyed the wine, Charli?”
“It was soooo smooth,” she said, flashing him an off-kilter smile and stumbling another step. “And potent.”
“So I see.” He tightened his grip, halting her. “Tell you what. This isn’t working. Wait here and don’t move.”
Before she could protest, he left her standing there in the dark and jogged toward her cabin. She’d thankfully left the door unlocked, saving him the trouble of going to his place for the key. Once inside, he found the half-empty bottle of wine and a cupcake wrapper. The roasted chicken he’d sent over looked untouched. He set her computer tablet on the counter and grabbed a large towel from the bathroom.
He hustled back outside, finding she had followed his instruction, something that gave him more pleasure than it should have. He handed her the towel. “Clean off what you can, then I’m carrying you the rest of the way. You may have sprained your ankle.”
“I don’t need to be carried. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You’re injured and drunk.”
She raised a finger to him. “I am n—”
He cocked his head, giving a pointed glance at her muddied state, and she clamped her mouth shut. With unsteady movements, she wiped off her bare legs and cleaned her arms and hands.
He looked over her shoulder toward the fields, trying to do anything but watch her spread that wet mud along that freckled skin. “What were you doing out here anyway?”Author: Roni Loren
“The Internet signal sucks. Thought if I got close enough to your cabin, I could catch your wireless if you had it.”
“You could’ve called me.”
She gave him a warning glance, no doubt anticipating a hindsight lecture, but he kept quiet. Some things didn’t need to be said.
Once she’d cleaned off what she could, Grant bent and put an arm beneath her knees and under her back, lifting her with one swift movement and catching her by surprise based on the hitch in her breath.
“You’re going to throw out your back, you know?”
He gave her a wry look. “I’ve carried injured men on the battlefield. I can handle one little sports reporter.”
“Little?” She snorted. “I’m almost six feet tall.”