Page 47 of No More Billionaires

“Yeah, but I need a shower. There’s dust all over my clothes and hair. You want to go first? You’re soaked through. If there’s any hot water, it’ll make you feel better.”

Oooh. The thought of a hot shower filled me with longing. I shivered.

“No—you go first. You need to get all the dust off. I’ll see what else there is to eat besides Spam.” I headed for the kitchen cabinets while Larson disappeared into the bathroom.

I pulled canned black-eyed peas, tuna, and a jar of salsa from the cabinet. My stomach growled so loudly I was glad there was no one else around for miles.

Then it hit me—there was no one else around for miles.

It’s just me and Larson, and he’s—the sound of splashing water came from the bathroom.He’s naked.

“It’s fine. We’re co-workers. We’re stranded together in an ice storm, in a remote cabin… happens all the time,” I assured myself.

I dug around in the drawers until I found a can-opener.

Taking a saucepan from a lower cabinet, I set to work combining the ingredients, doing my best to season them with salt and pepper, and setting the concoction on top of the wood stove to warm.

As I stirred, I had to push images of a wet, soapy Larson from my mind again and again.

“Mmm. Smells good. What is it?”

I turned to see Larson emerge from the bathroom, bare except for a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was rubbing his wet head with another towel.

“It’s uh… it’s…”

I literally could not remember what I’d put into the pot. My mind was wiped clean by the sight of the flat stomach, wide chest, and long legs in front of me.

“…something. Something I found in the cabinet.”

Larson walked toward me. “Whatever it is, I can’t wait for supper. I’m starved.”

Reading my shocked stare, he stopped and looked down at himself, giving me an apologetic look.

“Sorry about the lack of… I don’t have any other clothes. Those were all covered in—”

“Dust. I know.” I forced my eyes away from his body and trained them on the simmering pot in front of me.

Shrugging, I swallowed hard. “It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me…”

I lifted my head, spinning back around. “Pants,” I nearly yelled as the thought hit me in a rush of relief and gratitude.

“What?”

“There are pants in the cedar chest up in the loft. The hunting kind. Maybe they’ll fit you.”

“Oh, good. I’ll check them out.”

I turned back to the stove, making sure not to watch Larson climb the ladder in a towel. Within minutes, a pair of large feet came into view, stopping beside me.

Larson held his hands over the stove’s heat, shuddering. Goose bumps lined his forearms.

“Nice save on the pants. Although they’re a little short… and big around the waist.”

They were. They hung on his shirtless form, the waistband resting low around his hips, leaving his abs on full display. Even those mysterious V-lines cutting in from the sides of his waist and dipping down below—

“I’m sorry to say there’s no hot water.” Larson shivered again, causing those maddening abs to contract forcefully. “That was by far the least fun I’ve ever had in the shower. I’m frozen solid.”

And now I’m thinking about Larson and “fun in the shower” in the same thought. Alex, I’ll take “things that are solid” for three hundred.

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