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"Whatcha say we take a break, Nora? That water's callin' our names." His voice is smooth, like gravel washed over by a gentle stream.
"Are you serious?" I ask, my eyes widening at the thought of the cool water against my skin.
"Never been more serious in my life." He starts toward the creek, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.
I follow, my heart racing. The idea of swimming with Sawyer sends a thrilling shiver down my spine. We reach the bank, and I watch, almost in a trance, as he peels off his shirt, revealing a chest that's all hard planes and taut muscle. He dives in, splashing up a crystal spray, and beckons me with a devilish smirk.
"Come on in, the water’s perfect!"
I hesitate only for a second before kicking off my boots and pulling off my shirt and jeans, revealing the plain bra and panties I wear underneath. I tell myself that it’s no different from wearing a bikini.
His gaze sweeps over me, lingering just long enough to ignite a fire deep in my belly.
The cold rush of water envelopes me as I plunge in, and a gasp escapes my lips. Sawyer is beside me in an instant, his hands finding my waist as he steadies me. Our laughter mingles, echoing off the surrounding trees, as we splash each other playfully, the rest of the world melting away.
"Gotcha!" I squeal, sending a wave of water his way.
"Is that how it's gonna be?" he challenges, his eyes flashing with mischief.
"Maybe," I tease, trying to swim away, but he's quick, capturing me in a gentle but firm grip.
"Caught ya," he whispers, and for a moment we're just there, floating, the tension between us as palpable as the droplets on our skin.
Eventually, we clamber out onto the bank, breathless and dripping. As I wring out my hair, Sawyer's already digging through his backpack.
"Here, put this on," he says, offering me his shirt. "Gotta protect that soft skin of yours from the sun."
"Thanks," I murmur, taking the fabric from him. It's warm from his body, smelling faintly of sweat and something uniquely Sawyer.
"Need help?" he asks, a hint of huskiness in his voice.
"Sure," I reply, my breath hitching.
He steps behind me, and as he helps guide my arms through the sleeves, his fingers brush lightly against my bare skin, sending ripples of desire cascading through me. I tilt my head back slightly, catching his eye.
"Perfect fit," he murmurs, his hands resting on my shoulders a moment longer than necessary.
"Feels like you’re still holding me," I whisper, turning to face him.
"Wouldn't be the worst thing," he says, his voice low as his gaze drifts to my lips.
"Definitely not the worst," I agree, my heart thundering against my ribcage, aware of the growing heat between us even as the shirt hangs loose and open around my frame.
"Better button up," he suggests, though his hands make no move to leave me.
"Maybe in a minute," I reply, realizing that with every word, every touch, I'm coming undone under the spell of Sawyer Blackwood.
He finally steps back and clears his throat. “What do you say we grab a bite to eat? My treat for working you so hard today?”
All I can do is nod.
* * *
I slide into the booth across from Sawyer, the worn red leather creaking under me. The diner is a cozy, neon-lit slice of Americana with the scent of fried food lingering in the air like a savory promise.
"Thanks for inviting me," I say, picking up the laminated menu. It's sticky and has probably seen better days, but it feels warm, familiar.
"Least I can do after you slaved away fixing fences with me," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Besides, I heard how much you love pie, and they have the best pie in the world hear."
