Chapter Two—Cat Got Your Tongue?

I leaned against a tree, surveying our tent and picnic table laden with food and supplies. To Lola’s delight the biggest pile was the beer.

Rock music pumped out of the stereo, mixing into several other tunes coming from further up the road. We hadn’t seen a single person over thirty, or fully clothed. Not that I complained.

Lola lugged bags of ice through the dirt toward the three coolers. “Damn girl, who would’ve thought that frozen water weighed this much?”

“Not I.” I snatched the empty water jug from the bed of the truck. “I’ll be back.”

“Hurry up,” Lola sang, hips swaying. “It’s beach time, baby!”

I saluted. “Yes, dear.”

“You can’t call me dear, unless you buy me dinner first!”

I flipped her the bird. “Look at the table. I bought you dinner for the next seven days.”

“I bought the liquor. The most important part.”

Obsessed much? I winked. “Of course, my mistake. Sorry, boss.”

Barefoot, clad in a black bikini top and a pair of shorts, I trudged down the hill. I spotted the wood pile. Instant head smack moment. I’d walked right past the bucket without thinking about a fire. Indecision clawed me. Go back, and get the bucket, or bring as much as I could carry?

I cranked the faucet and ran the water as I picked through the chopped wood. My heart rate picked up seconds before I realized I wasn’t alone anymore.

“Do you plan to carry all of that by yourself?” A deep, slightly accented voice purred. Each syllable strung a different erotic level deep inside of me.

I straightened as if I’d been shot out of a cannon. My eyes wide, I turned to find a sinfully detectable guy standing there. My heart thudded against my ribcage. My mouth ran dry.

He blinked, his mouth parting in a slow, predatory smile. His tongue darted from between his full lips. I had to look up, way up to meet his gaze.

"If you don't mind me asking, how tall are you?

"I don't mind. I'm 6'6."

More than a whole full taller than I am.

I had a come to Jesus moment. My foot lifted as if to move closer to him, as if to absorb some of his radiant body heat, or smell that incredible woodsy, wild scent that cling to all that succulent, muscled flesh.

I shook myself, slamming me back to the earth, and reality. It didn’t help.

His silky black hair brushed his shoulders, framing crystalline green eyes that seemed to soak up the natural light and hold the rays within. He wore nothing but a pair of swimming trunks that left very little to the imagination.

My nostrils flared again. That scent. Hadn’t I smelled it when I’d gotten out of the truck? My body tightened to the point of shattering. My bikini bottoms underneath my shorts moistened. His intense, unblinking stare narrowed just a hint. A rough, ragged breath exploded from him. He grinned.

My heart flip-flopped.

“Or are you waiting for your boyfriend to come get the wood?”

My gaze dropped to his crotch. He might’ve chuckled. I don’t know. I couldn’t think. “The what?”

“The firewood. Is your boyfriend coming to get it?”

“Right.” I shifted focus to the stack. Any reason to stop my idiotic gawking. “Wow.”

“What?”

“That is an ambition stack,” I mumbled. I cringed, fearing I had no idea what I was talking about. “And the answer to the other question is no. I don’t have a boyfriend…to pick up my wood.”

“Good to know.”

My cheeks burned crimson.

His grin turned downright feral. He stepped closer, revealing a light dusting of beard caressing his jaw and neck. The rugged aspect broke the polished, poised man, made him radiate a fine edge of menace.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“You could say that,” I stuttered. Lola rubbed off on me. No, wait. Lola would’ve jumped him already. The inexplicable urge to run for the hills crashed through me. “I’m going to get my wood, and ahh, go.”

“You’re really going to carry all of that yourself?”

“Oh, sure, why not.” Or I’d hope to, in three trips.

“And the water jug?” He crossed his arms and cocked his hip. Oh, sexy much? All those planes and dips a tongue could sink into… “I would love to see this. Girl power, and all that.”

“I’m not a feminist, just believe if I get myself into a mess, I should get myself out of it, you know?”

He nodded. “I can agree to that. Well, Miss. non-conformist to the female gender, would you like a hand?”

I studied him. He seemed sincere enough, despite my surprise. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Love to help a damsel in great distress.”

“Hero complex?”

“Many would tell you that. I prefer to think of it as being friendly.”