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He shrugs. “I’m not worried about moose.”
“They kill people every year,” I say, though I’m forced to amend, “Mostly in Alaska, but still. Mama moose can be dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as ticks,” he counters. “Tick-born illnesses are on the rise and some of them are incurable at this point.”
I hum around my last bite of stir-fry. “You’re right. We’re going to need good bug spray.”
“And to do a thorough tick check before we roll up for the night,” he says, his eyes dancing in the firelight. “Which could get tricky. You can’t search every inch of yourself without a mirror.”
I set my plate on the ground beside the camp stove and shift to face him with a flirty smile. “You’re right. We’ll have to bring mirrors.”
He exhales a soft laugh. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.” He leans across my thighs, setting his plate on top of mine. On his way back, he hesitates, his mouth inches away from my lips as he adds, “But that could work.”
“Or we could just check each other, I guess,” I whisper, my nervous system flashing like the giant holiday lights my cousin Nancy hangs on her Christmas tree every year. “Might be more efficient.”
He hums low in his throat, not making any move to shift farther away. “Efficient is good. And we could practice tonight. Deer ticks are active in Minnesota until November.”
My lips part, and my heart thumps harder. “I know. I put spray on my boots when I got to the parking lot, but I…” I trail off, mesmerized by the way the firelight caresses his face. After a beat, I realize I’m being a spazz and hurry to add, “But yeah. I totally forgot to reapply.”
“Turn around,” he murmurs, his voice a physical caress that does further damage to my panties. “I’ll check your neck and you can check mine.”
“Sounds good,” I say, sounding as flustered as I feel.
But I don’t know the meaning of “flustered.” Wesley teaches me that as he sweeps my hair to one side and tugs my flannel down far enough to bare the top of my shoulders. He brushes warm fingers over the back of my neck, sending lightning bolts of awareness ricocheting through my body with such force, that it takes my breath away.
My jaw drops and I try to suck in oxygen, but my lungs no longer remember how to perform that function. My eyes slide closed and my world narrows to his touch, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over my skin, the rumble in his chest as he performs a very thorough check of my exposed flesh.
“Well, nothing so far,” he murmurs, “but you know what ticks like.”
Forcing my lungs to draw in air, I wheeze, “What’s that?”
“Tight places,” he says, his mouth so close to my skin, that I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. “Would you mind if I lifted the straps on your bra and looked underneath?”
“Sure,” I say, not bothering to tell him that it’s a tank top with a built-in support shelf, not a bra.
Hopefully, he’ll find that out for himself soon enough…
I don’t know when I became this scandalous woman intent on having my way with a man that I absolutely shouldn’t have my way with. But thoughts of what my bestie might have to say about me having co-ed naked fun times with her brother are suddenly the furthest thing from my mind as Wesley slides my tank top straps down my shoulders.
My nipples immediately celebrate the development with a contraction that makes the ache between my thighs even worse. And then Wesley utters a sympathetic sound, beginning to rub the grooves left behind by the straps, and I melt into a simmering puddle of lust.
“Ouch,” he murmurs. “This looks like it hurts.”
I hum as his big hands curve over my shoulders, kneading gently. God, his touch is…magic. “Just one of the many trials of being a woman with a large chest,” I practically purr. “You should see the shoulder grooves after a run.”
“I would like to see that,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself.
I glance at him over my shoulder, my heart swooping in my chest at the rapt expression on his face. “Yeah?”
His focus shifts my way, building the tension between us until it’s almost unbearable. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just meant…”
“What did you mean?” I whisper after a moment.
“I meant that…you’re beautiful,” he says, sending the swooping, spinning feeling spreading through my entire body, until I feel like a bird about to take flight. “And I like touching you way too much.”
“Or maybe just enough,” I say, following the magnetic pole in my chest sucking me inexorably toward this man.
Before I know what’s happening, I turn and lean in, pressing my lips to his.
