Page 33 of Love Me Dangerous

The big puffy clouds in the blue sky seem to have doubled since the morning, turning the air thick, like it might storm. A breeze rustles the tall grass lining the little creek and scuffs the surface of the water. Goosebumps ripple down my bare arms, but I’m not cold.

I set my pack on the grassy ledge and slip off my boots and socks, then scrunch up my jeans and pad over the gritty sand bar to the water. The cold is a delicious shock on my feet. I risk wading in a little deeper.

When I turn back, Zach is still unlacing his shoes. He doesn’t notice me watching, and I look away before he catches me. Before the butterflies in my stomach can multiply.

Zach splashes into the creek and wades past me. He’s rolled up his cuffs to his knees, revealing pale skin and calves well-defined by muscle. It starts me wondering again about his past.

Zach bends down and scoops water to his face, then stands and flips his head sideways, sending the excess water flying.

I recoil as the spray pricks my sweaty skin.

He scoops water into his hands and compresses his palms so that a spurt arcs in my direction.

I dodge, but in doing so, the bottoms of my cuffs get wet. “Hey!”

“Afraid you’ll melt?”

“Not funny. You ever hike in wet jeans?”

“Yep.”

A memory flares of him at the lake, diving back under the water to pull Jesse out. But I get the feeling he’s not referencing the rescue.

He scoops more water and aims it at me, grinning.

“Don’t you dare.”

With a grin, he pumps another squirt, hitting my arm.

I shoot him a murderous glare. “Show me how to do that.”

“This?” He cups more water and arcs a squirt over my shoulder.

I give him a little splash with my toe, but he dodges. “It’s easy.” He steps closer to demonstrate. “You make a seal along the bottom.”

I cup palms together the way his are, fingers together, hands at ninety degrees, the opening made from the circle between my right thumb and the crook at the base of it.

“Start with a little bit of water.” He bends down to scoop some, then pumps a squirt straight up.

I try to copy him, but my squirt just oozes out of the cracks.

“Quicker,” he says.

When I try that, my squirt hits me in the neck.

Zach laughs. “Maybe work on your aim next.”

I wipe the creek water off my neck, but it’s already dribbled down between my breasts and soaked the top edge of my tank top. Prickles erupt on my chest, and I’m regretting this invitation. Because I’m liking whatever this is with him way too much.

As if to goad me further, he takes another scoop and aims it at me.

“No—”

But he’s already fired, and even though I spin away, he gets the side of my right breast, soaking through to my skin.

“Oops. I seriously didn’t mean to do that.” His anxious expression makes me feel even more exposed.

I try to pretend I’m not blushing and flustered.

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