Page 8 of Wild Horses

“Are you okay? Jesus, Trouble, you scared me.”

“Wh-what?” I swipe away the stinging water blurring everything around me. A shape shifts in front of me. Blinking harder, I focus on the figure until it crystalizes into the bare chest of a man. A barebroadchest with a smattering of reddish-brown hair that tapers off before picking up below his navel.Shit, Laramie, stop ogling the man.I force my eyes upward.

War leans over me, concern etched on his brow. “You were under the water when I came in.”

“Did you call me Trouble?” I ask, not sure what I’m saying.

“I did. You’ve got it written all over you.” War smiles. “Mind if I join you?” When I don’t immediately answer him, his grin falters. “Or not.”

I grab his hand, shuddering at the spark my skin against his generates. “No, I mean, yes. Join me.”

“What were you doing underwater?” War asks, sliding into the hot tub. He’s close enough that our knees touch.

What was I doing? Reliving one of the stupidest decisions I’ve ever made. Remembering how I couldn’t catch my breath. “Meditation.”

He purses his lips. “You don’t seem like the meditating type.”

“I’m totally Zen. Plus, it’s not like you know me.” I nudgehis shoulder with mine, ducking my head when we both wince.

“The way you kicked that weight earlier and cussed like a sailor says otherwise.”

“Okay, maybe I’m still mastering the art of tranquility.” He shoots me a devastating smile before we fall into silence. The quiet between us shifts from comfortable to awkward, and I can’t help but break it. “So, what’re you in for?”Ugh, nice, Laramie. You make it sound like we’re doing time, not soaking in a hot tub at a bespoke physical therapy center.

If War is put off by my phrasing, he doesn’t show it. “Swimming injury. Or maybe a being-over-thirty injury.”

“Ah, so you’re an old man.”

He arches one eyebrow. “Thirty-three isn’t old.”

“If you’re telling me in six years I’ll be back here because of swimming, I have to disagree with you.”

“You’re a little bit of a smartass, aren’t you?” His words are softened by his teasing grin.

I pinch my fingers together. ”A little.”

The back and forth comes naturally, and I can’t help but notice War’s gaze lingering on my lips a fraction too long to be innocent. A shiver of lust licks down my spine.

Shaking his head, War clears his throat, then asks, “What about you? How’d you end up here? Pilates?”

My nose wrinkles. “Pilates? That’s the vibe I give off?”

“Okay.” He lets out a rumbly laugh. “Not pilates. So what then?”

“Got bucked off a bronco.”

“You’re kidding?” His eyes widen.

“Nope.”

“Damn, you really are trouble, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea, Pretty Boy.”

War inches closer, his fingers brushing against my thigh. “You’re right, I don’t. But that sounds like a fixable problem.” His voice is soft but sure, and for a split second, I wonder what his lips would feel like on mine.

I let out a low, throaty laugh. “Good luck with that.”

We lean in as if drawn by some unseen force, but whatever might happen comes to a screeching halt as the door swings open, shattering the moment.

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