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“Your turn,” she told him.
“I don’t need a pillow. I’m used to sleeping on bare ground.”
“I mean, your turn to take most of your clothes off. Or you could pretend I’m not here and take them all off.”
“I’m sorry to inform you, that would be impossible. I could never pretend you aren’t here.” He unzipped the rain jacket he’d put on after he gave her his wool one, then pulled off the sweater underneath. His layer of Thinsulate came next. He tended to think of his clothes in terms of what material they were made out of. Rubberized rain gear over wool over Thinsulate worked best, in his experience.
When his head emerged from the opening of his Thinsulate, he saw that she was devouring his chest with her eyes. It felt almost physical. His cock gave an eager pulse of response.
Did she lust after him the same way he did for her? It seemed miraculous after all these months of pining for her. But she was obviously riveted by his bare chest, and didn’t bother to hide it.
“I’m a little hairy,” he said awkwardly.
“I’d say you’re the perfect amount of hairy. It sets off all those muscles. You’re really fit, aren’t you?”
“Fit as I need to be. I don’t go to a gym or anything. I just do what I do and this is how it works out.”
“Pants now,” she said, sounding almost impatient. “I’m looking forward to seeing that silk underwear. Unless you’re going commando today.”
“Nope. Just plain old Hanes.”
He stripped down to his navy blue boxer briefs, hoping to God that he hadn’t worn the pair with a quarter-inch hole over his left ball.
“You should be a model.”
He laughed, then realized she was sincere. “What?”
“I’m serious. You should be an underwear model. Those guys work out hours every day so they can look like you.”
“Oh yeah? Beard and all?”
“Sometimes, I suppose. There’s the whole ‘lumbersexual’ thing.”
Now she’d completely lost him. “The what?”
“You’ve never heard of ‘lumbersexuals’?”
“No, but if it involves anything that’ll give you splinters…”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my God, I don’t even want to go there. A ‘lumbersexual’ is a hot woodsy guy. Like a ‘metrosexual’ except in the woods. A lumberjack with sex appeal, except they also tend to be on the hipster end of the spectrum instead of the lumberjack end.”
He’d never heard of such a person, but he might have run into a few while guiding. “I’m not on any part of that spectrum,” he said as he reached for the lantern to turn it off. “I’m just a guy who loves the forest. Ready for the light to go off?”
The last thing he saw before he pressed the button was her expression as she surveyed his body.
Which meant she probably got a good look at the bulge swelling his boxers.
fourteen
Brenda dreamed of sex. She dreamed of a hard, muscular body moving over her, inside her. She dreamed of eyes filled with light and lust, of calloused hands with a gentle touch.
She dreamed of Galen.
The dreams left her tossing and turning in her five-star sleeping bag. It had been a while since she’d had any form of sex in her life. The last time had been a short-lived relationship back in Arizona, with someone her mother had insisted she meet. Alan was a good-looking guy, just starting his career as a corporate lawyer, not necessarily looking for a wife, but open to marriage should the right person come along.
Or so he’d told her on their first date, in a tone that told her she’d be so lucky if he decided she was the right woman.
They’d gone to bed on the second date, and looking back, she knew why. Because her mother always said things like “men enjoy the hunt, you have to make them work for it or they’ll lose interest.”
