Page 45 of Catch and Release Groom

Vaguely, she registered his tree-trunk arms winding around her waist. She’d never win this scuffle, so she gave herself over to the free-fall, anchoring herself to a man who’d elicited more passion over the past few days than she’d experienced in years.

They plunged into the cool embrace of the river, the rush of water roaring in her ears an instant before all noise seemed to disappear. Her bottom bumped the rocky riverbed, and she jerked her feet underneath her, searching for purchase and then pushing to the surface with a gasp.

Easton popped up, too, and rather than let him regain his bearings, she lunged with a battle cry that made his eyes fly comically wide. They wrestled for control, splashing and shoving and laughing in the current.

Gator bounded into the fray with a happy bark, her enthusiastic pouncing, fur-shaking, and licking creating extra waves.

Within minutes, they were soaked, head-to-paw-to-toe.

Then suddenly, Imogen was literally swept off her feet and into Easton’s arms, their clothes plastered to their bodies as tenaciously as he’d fused his mouth to hers.

After that, it no longer mattered who was in control. And she wasn’t just saying that because it definitely wasn’t her.

…

Easton walked himself and Imogen ashore, wet fabric clinging to his body and creating a sopping second skin.

Since this quiet bend didn’t have a lot of shore, he strode toward the shady cluster of trees where he’d parked his truck. Maybe he’d let her down there, or perhaps he’d hold on forever.

Well, not forever. This is all just temporary.

An important distinction and reminder, which had him slowing his pace and reexamining things.

Except, hadn’t he given Imogen a whole speech about living in the moment? He loved that about the present—there weren’t any ticking clocks, complications, or commitments he was far from ready to make.

At least neither of them were looking for that last one, and it’d be impossible while living in different states, so what did it matter anyway?

Easton glanced down at the woman in his arms, and his blood turned molten with lust. He’d always been a visual learner, and with her shirt now see-through, he could make out her lacy bra and the barest glimpse of peaked nipples he couldn’t wait to tweak and suck.

That certainly hastened his steps.

Once they reached his pickup, he lowered Imogen to a seated position on the tailgate. He walked closer, wedging himself between her legs and gathering the hem of her shirt in his fingers. “I’m afraid we need to get you out of these wet clothes. It’s survival 101.”

“How convenient.”

“Is it now?” He peeled the damp fabric up and over her head and tossed the wad into the bed of his truck. “As I recall, you were the one who started the ogling and instigated the wet T-shirt contest.”

His mouth went dry, and he fumbled as he craned his arm to remove his own shirt, the wet fabric requiring an extra hard yank on the collar. Once he’d shed that layer, he switched it up, going from fisherman to interrogator. Bracing a hand on either side of her thighs, he leaned close enough to see the outer rim of her irises was a darker shade of blue and adopted a sterner tone. “So, Miss Kaplan? Convenient forwhom, exactly?”

“I’ll gladly fess up to the ogling, but you—” She jabbed a finger to his bare chest, her mouth falling open and a crinkle of intrigue forming as she slowly poked it again and then flattened her palm and squeezed. A dazed smile curved her lips as she kneaded his pec in a similar way he’d imagined doing to her breasts.

“You gonna finish that sentence?” he asked, and she looked up as if surprised to find him there—while fondling him. Not that he was complaining.

“It doesn’t seem pertinent anymore.” The tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, and his cock stirred, immediately launching a complaint about the heavy, binding denim. “But those safety measures sound super important. I’d hate to skimp on those.”

He undid the button on her shorts and felt a corresponding zing behind the fly of his jeans as he undid her zipper. Their gazes collided and sparked, and he grasped both sides of the denim waistband and said, “Then hips up, buttercup.”

Satisfaction whirred when she rushed to do as instructed, and he paused to memorize the sight of her in the back of his truck, water trickling from her saturated strands and over the swells of her breasts before getting lost in the valley between. “That contest you mentioned? I was a fool to go up against you”—he stripped her of her shorts and reveled in the matching red underwear—“you win, hands down.”

“Except, now you’ve gone and turned it into anoshirt contest.”

“Actually, that reminds me…” Easton reached around and unhooked Imogen’s bra, adding a low whistle of appreciation as he came away with the undergarment clenched in his fist. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m the clear winner here.”

Imogen blushed at the compliment, and warmth trickled through the cracks in the wall he’d erected around his heart, along with a side of indignance. Such neglect, and for a woman so passionate she’d cried over a fictional princess in a star-crossed lover’s tale.

It was a damn shame she didn’t realize how amazing she was, and high time someone corrected that. He might’ve abandoned the notion of long-term, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his best to show her during this little interim of theirs.

He cradled her face in his hands and spoke in earnest. “Imogen Kaplan, you’re the sort of pretty that seems unfair to the sunrise—all that light and color, and it still falls short of the glow you radiate. It’s no wonder I keep getting pulled into your orbit. Add that killer wit and your incredible laugh and the gorgeous lips I’ve become obsessed with and…” His harsh exhalation roughened his voice, or perhaps it was the unfiltered truth scraping its way out. “I count the minutes till I can see you again.”

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