Page 45 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Still,” he throws the towels down, then shrugs his shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. The sight of his bare chest makes me gasp. A few of the men I’ve dated have worked out, but none of them have looked like this. He’s tan and muscular, his chest sprinkled with dark hair. He’s every bit a man. “Dare’s a dare.” He takes another few steps toward the ladder, toeing off his shoes, then pauses to take off his socks.

“You’re not really going to get naked and go in there, are you?” I ask, even though I kind of want him to.

He stops, his hand on the button of his pants, and starts laughing. “No. But you should have seen the look on your face.” He retreats to grab his shoes, then his socks, but before he can go for the T-shirt, I grab it.

“You know, I think I’ve decided I’m taking this back.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, eyebrows cocked, his shoes hanging off the fingers of one hand, the socks now stuffed inside. “That’s a dirty trick. If a man did that, you’d say he was a dick.”

I feel myself blushing, because he’s absolutely right, and I hold the shirt out to him.

“I was just fucking with you,” he says, waving it off. “I like that you want me to walk around shirtless.” He takes my hand—the one not holding his shirt hostage—and tugs me toward the ladder leading down into the empty pool. “What do you say we go sit down there to finish our game?”

“I say yes,” I tell him.

I let him lead me to the ladder. He goes down first, then lifts up his arms for me.

“You think you can bear my weight like that?”

He gives me a look that questions my intelligence, and he probably has a point. He has the muscles of someone who usesthem for workandplay, a thought that makes my mind take a deeper dive into the gutter.

So I get down and let him lift me into the pool with seemingly zero effort.

“We should have brought the scotch,” I say as he sets me on my feet. I don’t particularly miss it, but I want it because my nerves are rubbed raw, being down here with Rowan, remembering his mouth against mine and wanting it to explore other places.

“No, I think we made the right call about the scotch. Jonah’s family should have stuck to their generational wealth. Work isn’t for them.”

I laugh, but I’m very aware that he hasn’t backed away from me. Looking up at him to make sure it’s okay, I lift my hands to touch his chest. It’s hard and hot beneath my palms.

He hisses in a breath.

“I think it’s my turn for Truth or Dare,” I say.

“Let me guess,” he says, making no move to shift my hands as they slowly explore the expanse of his chest. “You want a dare. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No,” I say as I continue to glide my fingers over his bare skin, unable to stop myself. I look up into his eyes and find them scrutinizing me. There’s a flame of need in them, and I feel an answering one inside myself.

You know where this kind of wanting can lead…

Still, I can’t bring myself to care.

I hold his gaze, then say, “Truth. You wouldn’t dare me to do what I want to do. You’d probably ask me to give Jonah peroxide shampoo or something.”

His laughter sounds surprised. “That would be pretty damn funny,” he says finally. “But what makes you think I’d ask you to do that and not to take off your shirt? It would be no more than you made me do.”

I smile at him. “You’re right, but you still wouldn’t.”

His expression turns serious, maybe even a little annoyed. “I’m no saint, Kennedy. I can’t have you thinking that.”

“I should hope not,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest. Maybe that’s why I lay my palm flat againsthisheart. His eyes are like black holes as he reaches up and holds my palm in place. I can feel his heart beating fast too. Relief courses through my veins, a tonic. I’m not the only one who’s affected by what’s happening between us. I’m not the only one driven half mad by it. “Truth,” I repeat.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, his hand still holding mine, his eyes pinning me.

“I know what I hope we’re doing,” I say. And I reach up onto my toes and kiss him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROWAN

---