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“And what if I do? Why do you care?”
She breast strokes closer toward the shore.
My body tenses at the thought of her rising from the water, dripping wet. Fuck, my cock is already at half-mast because of a brief eyeful. I don’t need Marci aware of what she does to me. That mental image of her naked is going into my shame-fueled spank bank.
“Let’s see,” I say, tapping my chin once. “Why do I care? Huh. Maybe because you’ve caused enough trouble for one day? Or maybe because I’m off-duty, and I don’t feel like cleaning up when you smash yourself to pieces on the rocks?”
“Such a gentleman.”
“Only when it comes to you, Angel.”
“I’m coming out,” she says.
I turn my back on her so she can have some privacy. I might have enjoyed the view when she was up there, but I’m not about to creep on her purposefully. Still, the sounds of her moving around on the shoreline nearby send my thoughts in aspecificdirection.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask. “You got a towel?”
“I need your help like I need a heart attack.”
I laugh under my breath.
“Decent?”
Marci strides past me without a word, barefoot, wearing cut-off jeans and a top that rolls up around her stomach.
Sexy as hell.
Trouble.
If Marci didn’t hate me so damn much, or if I believed in long-term relationships, I would have made a move long ago. But I’m a realist, and she’s a firecracker who doesn’t want a man and deserves better than a one-night stand. Besides, she’s too loyal to her lowlife brother.
I follow her, moving toward my squad, but she strides right past it.
“You going to walk up to the ranch house?”
She ignores me and keeps going. I hop into my squad and tail her there, admiring her ass the entire way.
Three
JESSE
“I say this with love,”Cash says, clapping me on the shoulder and squeezing, “but you’re out of your fucking mind for even thinking about it.”
Just the vote of confidence I need from my famous little brother.
“Gee, thanks.” We’re gathered near the fireplace in Cash’s dining room with its log cabin vibe.
Savage runs his hand over his beard and considers me. “Why not? He’s the funny guy. People love a funny guy.”
Savage is my brother’s best friend and has been for years. He’s ex-military, and keeps to himself, running self-defense training camps on his ranch at the edge of town.
The kind of guy who has neck tats, rides motorcycles, and could probably murder you in your sleep without you waking up. Or anyone finding out.
“I’m not the funny guy,” I say, with a shit-eating grin that fades fast. “I’m the reliable guy.”
“Reliably funny,” Cash says. “Come on, brother. The folks in this town won’t take you running for sheriff as a serious thing.”
I don’t let it show that my younger brother has eviscerated my ego.
