Page 12 of The First Day of Breeding Season
But when I return to the back porch, I no longer have it to myself.
Drew Lowry is climbing the steps at the far end.
And he’s peeling off his sweat-soaked t-shirt.
He doesn’t see me at first, because the shirt is over his face, so I have a shocked moment to justlookat his broad, bare chest.
He looks even bigger without his shirt on, heavily muscled and well-padded on top of that. He’s tan, suggesting he takes his shirt off outside a lot—stop staring, Brynn—and crisp, dark hair dusts across his chest and narrows down the center of his torso all the way to a heavy belt buckle.
Seriously, stop staring.
I suck in an audible breath and he jerks to a stop.
All that hard, warm flesh flexes as he drops his arms.
The screen door slaps shut behind me.
I swallow hard and jerk my gaze up, only to find his eyes also doing a sweeping path down my body.
His glaring inspection goes all the way down to my faded cowboy boots. I resist the urge to squirm as he looks at me.
The oddest tingling sensation climbs my legs as he slowly lifts his head, dragging his gaze upward.
Something in me stretches under the weight of his stare. Not fear. Not even embarrassment. Just… awareness.
“You’re back,” I breathe.
“I didn’t know you’d be out here,” he says gruffly. Then he balls his shirt up in his hands. “I was just going to shower, then come find you. We need to get you a horse for tomorrow.”
“Right.” I nod happily. “Yes, okay. Great. And maybe we can talk about why I want to shadow the work you’re doing and how I can be helpful. I’m very eager to be as helpful as possible.”
Don’t sound so desperate, Brynn. Be serious and professional.
“Okay,” he says slowly.
I press on, pulling a folder of research material out of my backpack. “As you know, breeding is an area of significant interest for me. Based on our emails, I collected some articles I wanted to discuss with you and?—”
“Yeah, okay, listen,” he says, interrupting me. “Ranching in practice isn’t the same as the theory that you’ve studied. Or, um…” His eyes drops to my shirt, which I still haven’t changed out of, and his gaze turns hooded. Heavy. “It’s notfun.”
“I understand,” I promise. “No fun expected.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me.
And he’s looking at my shirt again. I swear I can feel his eyes tracing the roundness of my breasts.
Which he really shouldn’t do, because it makes my thighs all hot and my sex starts to ache, which isn’t professional at all.
“I’ll dress appropriately,” I hear myself say.
And to my horror, the words have an edge to them.
Noooo, Brynn, don’t be snarky. Don’t?—
Genuine shock floods his expression. “What you’re wearing is fine,” he says, tripping over his words like they’re loose gravel. “I’m— I’m not gonna tell you what you can’t— But we are— You should know, we’ll get incredibly sweaty.”
“Sweaty?” My eyebrows go up.
He swears under his breath again and gestures at his bare chest. He’s definitely…glistening. “Don’t wear anything you’re fond of.”
