Page 58 of Love By a Landslide

She needed her mind to stay on task and handle the current issue: help Jonathan. She could unpack what happened—whatever that was—later. Like how he was built out of solid, functional muscle, painted with that positively lickable landscape of a mountain range—was it the Cascades?—along his chest and arm. And how he touched and kissed her like a man starved. Or how his multiday dusting of stubble tickled across her skin. The rough against soft sent pleasure twisting from her bare breasts down to her . . .

Ohmygod!

Suddenly, Lucy shot to a stand, realizing she was still topless, and let out an embarrassed squawk. Both arms flew up to cover her exposed skin. Flames seared up her neck and engulfed her face. She compulsively turned away despite feeling silly at her knee-jerk modesty in light of what had happened minutes before.

Jonathan’s deep rumble of laughter caught her off guard. “Here,ow.” The groan of discomfort was quickly replaced with another sultry chuckle.

Lucy peeked over her shoulder. The magenta bra hung from his outstretched fingertips. Without turning, she shuffled nearer and snatched it away. Once her girls were holstered, she felt comfortable turning back around.

A sleepy grin played across Jonathan’s handsome face as helooked up at her. His chest rose and fell at a relaxed and steady pace. Relieved his discomfort had receded, she returned the grin.

“Are you all right?” He seemed to be, but she wanted to be sure he wasn’t just toughing it out.

“I’ll survive,” he replied.

Lucy picked up her shirt and wiggled back into it. She grabbed his and moved to help him put it on, but Jonathan raised a hand to halt her attempt.

“We should probably get some rest. No need for a fresh shirt. I’d rather save it for tomorrow.” He prepared to stand with a hand on either knee, and Lucy stepped quickly to his side to assist. Once she settled him in the hammock, she shuffled around, cleaned up the campsite before crawling in after him and zipped up for the night.

It was a while before either of them spoke. She thought Jonathan had fallen asleep until his silky baritone voice drifted over to her. “We should talk.”

It wasn’t a request.

And he wasn’t wrong.

They needed to discuss what happened. Their make-out session was . . . it was . . . wow. Lucy could still feel the ache of the orgasm that slipped away. You’d think gyrating around on a man so hard that he reinjures his back would have a cooling effect, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. The lingering thrum of excitement teased her nerve endings, and the tenderness of her lips and nipples prompted vivid flashbacks of Jonathan’s not-quite-a-beard-yet stubble dragging across her sensitive flesh. She could nearly feel the way his rigidity dragged against her core with every fluid thrust. His mumbles and groans lit a fire in her that she could never recall experiencing with her ex.

As she had prepared camp for the night, there’d been ample time for her overactive brain to analyze and reanalyze thesituation. Regardless of how she attempted to construct the logic, one thing remained glaringly clear: She wanted more.

More touching.

More kissing.

More of Jonathan.

But with considerably less back pain.

Unfortunately, the inflection in his voice didn’t exactly hint at his enthusiasm to repeat their sexy encounter. Those three little words,we should talk,filled Lucy with disappointment. Beyond that, an unsettling flush of embarrassment began to take hold. Had she misinterpreted his signals?

It’s been agony keeping my hands off you.

No.

His intentions couldn’t have been clearer.

Which meant he’d had a change of heart. He wasn’t interested in what she had to offer. He’d sampled her wares and wouldn’t be placing an order. Ouch. Whatever. Despite the immediate sting, she’d survive.

“Lucy,” he pressed with some impatience.

“I’m listening,” she submitted.

Jonathan cleared his throat a few times then croaked, “That wasn’t . . . I don’t want you to think . . . I don’t normally . . . you see, my business is . . .”

Oh boy, was he struggling with this. She could have laughed—and would have too—if he hadn’t been figuring out a way to let her down easily.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to. I get it.” She tried to give him an out. Already feeling a twinge of regret for her brazen behavior, in part because she was still stupidly horny from being tripped at the finish line, she didn’t want a heaping scoop of rejection plopped on top.

“Wait, let me explain—”

---