Page 113 of Hot Knot Summer
Upstairs, I sit on the bed and carefully unwrap the box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a bikini. The world’s smallest, most scandalous bikini I’ve ever seen, in bright yellow that will probably glow against my skin.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, holding up the scraps of fabric. There’s barely enough material here to cover a postage stamp, let alone my assets.
“Really?” I call down to him. “And what exactly are you wearing for this mysterious adventure?”
“Quit stalling,” his voice drifts up from downstairs.
I hold the bikini up to myself in the mirror, trying to figure out how it’s even supposed to work. The top is basically two tiny triangles connected by strings, and the bottoms... well, calling them bottoms is generous. They’re more like strategically placed patches of fabric held together by more strings.
“What the hell,” I mutter, stripping out of my clothes. “When in Rome...”
Getting into the bikini is like solving a puzzle. There are strings everywhere, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve got them all in the right places. When I finally look at myself in the full-length mirror, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The yellow fabric is practically neon against my skin, making my hair look like spun gold and bringing out the amber flecks in my hazel eyes. But more than that, I look... sexy. Dangerously, devastatingly sexy. The kind of sexy that stops traffic and starts wars.
The top pushes my breasts up and together, creating cleavage that could probably be seen from space, while the bottoms sit low on my hips and high on my thighs, showing off legs that look endless. The back is basically non-existent—just a string that disappears between my ass cheeks.
I feel exposed and powerful all at once, as if I could conquer the world or at least reduce a certain fire chief to a puddle of want. The thought makes me grin wickedly.
I quickly pull on denim shorts and an oversized t-shirt over the bikini—no way am I walking downstairs dressed like a centerfold model—and head back down to find Atlas closing the tailgate of his truck.
“Ready?” he asks, opening the passenger door for me.
“Such a gentleman,” I tease, climbing in.
He starts the engine, and country musicfills the cab.
I reach over to squeeze his thigh, then slide upward. The muscle jumps under my touch.
“Keep touching me like that, and we’re never leaving this driveway,” he warns, his voice rough.
“Promises, promises,” I say, but I move my hand back to my own lap. For now.
We’re barely out of the driveway when his phone rings through the truck’s speakers. The caller ID shows Claire’s name, and Atlas glances at me with an apologetic grimace before answering.
“Atlas here.”
“Hey, boss!” Claire’s voice is bright and cheerful, clearly not knowing she’s on speaker. “How are you doing today? I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
“What do you need, Claire?” Atlas’s voice is clipped, professional in a way that makes me bite back a smile.
“Oh, just checking in! We got some new volunteers today, and I have the team showing them the ropes. Everything’s really quiet here, but don’t worry, if anything happens, I have you on speed dial.” There’s a pause. “So, where are you off to today? Anywhere special? Anywhere you might want some company?”
She giggles, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from snorting. The audacity of this woman is almost impressive.
“Just kidding!” she adds quickly, but the damage is done. “But seriously, if you need anything at all, and Imean anything, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
I can see Atlas’s jaw tightening, the muscle ticking in a way that means he’s reached his limit. “Claire, we need to talk.”
“Oh?” Her voice perks up hopefully. “About what?”
Atlas glances at me, and I nod encouragingly. It’s past time someone put a stop to this.
“Your behavior,” he says bluntly. “The flirting, the inappropriate comments, the way you’ve been treating Emma. It needs to stop.”
The silence stretches so long, I wonder if she hung up. Then she gasps, and I can practically hear her scrambling for words.
“I... what do you mean? I haven’t been?—”
