Page 33 of Death Valley

“Not quite a hot shower, is it?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

She turns to face me, making no attempt to cover herself. Her nipples are hard, pink pebbles seeming to tighten under my watch, while the water laps just below her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. “It’s good to cool off sometimes.”

Her eyes drop briefly, taking in my body with the same open appreciation I showed her, lingering on my cock, now standingthick and at attention. When her gaze returns to mine, there’s heat there that has nothing to do with the morning sun.

“Didn’t take you for an early riser,” she says with a smirk.

“Always,” I say hoarsely.

“Want some?” She holds out the soap, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

I close the distance between us, the cold water splashing up my legs, cock bobbing in front of me, as I take the soap from her outstretched hand.

“Turn around,” I say, voice low. “I’ll get your back.”

She hesitates for just a moment before complying, presenting her back to me. It’s a small gesture of trust that doesn’t escape my notice. I work up a lather between my palms and place my hands on her shoulders.

A small, breathy gasp escapes her as I begin to wash her back, my touch firm but careful. Her skin is smooth under my calloused hands, shoulder blades shifting as she leans into my touch. I work my way down her spine, painfully aware of our nakedness, of how easy it would be to pull her against me.

How much I want to.

So much it fuckin’ hurts.

“Your turn,” she says, taking the soap back when I’ve finished. “Turn around.”

I obey, feeling strangely vulnerable as I present my back to her. Her hands are smaller than mine but surprisingly strong, moving confidently across my shoulders, down the muscles of my back. She pauses at the McGraw tattoo on my shoulder.

“Is this your brand?” she asks. “I’ve seen it around the ranch.”

“Sure is. If it’s branded on our cattle, it’s only fair it’s branded on me.”

She brings her hands lower now. “You carry a lot of tension,” she murmurs, thumbs pressing into knots along my spine.

“Comes with the territory.” My voice is tight, controlled.

“The territory of running a ranch? Or something else?”

“Life in general is rife with tension, ain’t it?” I ask.

The tension between us shifts, transforms. No longer just sexual, but something more complex. The last thing I want is for Aubrey to start questioning the real business at the ranch, and the fact that Red and Cole aren’t the people she thinks they are.

“We should head back,” I say, though it’s the last thing I want. “Before the others wake up.”

She nods, but neither of us moves. We stand there, water lapping at our bodies, morning sun warming our faces, caught in a moment that feels charged with possibility.

Or with dead end trails that lead straight off a cliff.

“Jensen…”

My name on her lips sounds like a question, feels like a lifeline.

I step closer, unable to resist the pull between us any longer. Water parts around me as I advance, giving her every opportunity to back away.

She doesn’t.

We wade out of the creek together, water streaming down our bodies. I grab her towel where it’s thrown on the plaid blanket, holding it open for her. She steps into it, and I wrap it around her shoulders, my hands lingering longer than necessary. She looks up at me, droplets clinging to her eyelashes, lips parted slightly.

I stand firm, trying to resist.

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