Enough to take his breath away.
“Oof.” She leaned her body against his and the warmth of her surged through him. He had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from sliding them around her and pressing his fingers into her skin.
She tipped her head back against his chest until her eyes met his. They were hot and intense, as though she could read his mind. He swallowed, shocked by how his body responded to hers. If this was another time, another place…
“Who’s there?” a voice called out from the house at the far end of the yard. He looked to see a figure standing on the deck, hands on hips.
“That’s Della Thorsen,” Cora murmured.
Gray lifted his hand in a wave. “Shall we get out of here?” he asked Cora.
“You go. I’ll throw myself at Della’s feet and beg for forgiveness.”
“Save your begging for another time,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll help you over the wall.”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“Like this.” He threaded his fingers together, palms up, then scooted down in front of the wall.
She sighed. “I’m too heavy. I’ll break your fingers.”
“It’s okay, they’re insured.”
She gave him a look.
He grinned. “Hey, I figure you know who I am. These fingers are my tools. If I lose them, I lose a lot of money.”
“That’s a good reason for me not to stand on them,” she told him. “And for the record, I always knew who you were. You were wearing a hat, not a mask.”
“Well thank you for not giving me special treatment.”
“I warned you off the eggs,” she pointed out. “I’d call that special treatment.”
“I’m calling the police,” Della shouted from her deck. “You’re trespassing!”
“Come on,” Gray urged Cora. “Let’s get out of here.”
With a skeptical expression, she slid her foot into the cradle he’d made with his palms and reached her hands forward. Gray stood and flexed his arms to push her upward until her hands curled around the top of
the wall.
“What do I do now?” she called out. “I don’t think I can swing myself over.”
“Just keep holding on. I’ll give you another boost.” This time, he slid his hands around her warm, denim-clad thighs. “I’m going to push again,” he told her. “Try and go with the momentum.”
“I’m sending the dogs out,” Della Thorsen shouted. “Sic ’em, Dodger.”
“Dodger’s seventeen years old and incontinent,” Cora muttered to him. “Ignore her.”
Gray slid his hands until they were right below the swell of her behind, then launched her up, letting go as she swung her legs with the momentum of his thrust. Her foot almost hit his face, and he had to step backward to avoid the collision, but sure enough she made it over the wall. He took a running jump and reached for the top of the stones, easily pulling himself over before he dropped to the other side.
“You make it look simple,” she muttered. “That’s not fair.”
This time, they didn’t stop to see if the homeowner was going to let their dogs out. Gray took her hand and they ran to the gate at the back of the yard. It was bolted shut, the lock rusty, but he managed to shimmy it free and opened the gate to let Cora out first.
As soon as it closed behind them, he started to laugh. Not just because his whole morning had been completely absurd, but because the adrenaline pumping through his warm veins was making him feel high. He leaned against the fence, letting his head tip back, as his chest erupted with loud amusement.
“It’s not funny,” Cora said, though she was laughing, too, enough for her eyes to water and tears to escape. “Imagine the headlines, Gray Hartson Mauled by Hound of Hell as he Escapes from Church. You’d never live it down.”