Chapter 43
JADE
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brA, PANTIES, AND jeans in one hand, my other hand clutches Hart’s as he guides me out of the gazebo.
My insides are still tingling from his touch. At this point, I don’t know if they’ll ever settle down. And I don’t want them to.
Especially not when he’s beside me, wearing nothing more than his briefs with his clothes and my boots tucked under his other arm.
And damn, his body is a masterpiece.
I’ve been around cowboys my whole life—lean, rugged, sunburnt men who carry their strength in the way they walk, in the way they work.
But him?
He’s something else entirely. A mountain of beauty carved from raw muscle and quiet intensity. Broad shoulders, hands that look like they’ve wrestled the earth into submission, and a jaw that could cut glass.
But he doesn’t act like his looks are some ticket to take whatever he wants from the world. He walks through life like he’s just a man doing his best.
Alright, maybe I would’ve thrown that in his face a week ago, accusing him of being an arrogant, smug prick who thought he was entitled to whatever the hell he wanted.
But I knew even as I said it, it wasn’t true.
He’s not conceited. He’s not even fully aware of the effect he has on people.
We stop at a little wooden sign with an arrow carved into it.
“I suppose we’re headin’ that way.” He doesn’t move, so I glance up at him.
“I suppose we are—” I stop when I catch him staring at me with a smirk that lights up his face.
It’s been years since I’ve seen him smirk or smile. He’s always snickering, always grumpy, and always frowning. And I wonder if that’s been his life? Holding this grudge, staying away from me, and punishing himself daily.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just you.” He inhales and lets it out with a grumble. “In nothing but that T-shirt.”
I laugh and lightly hit his arm. “Stop.”
He drops everything and scoops me in his arms. He’s enormous, and his whole body swallows me whole. His mouth is on mine again.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Desperate as if he’s been starving for it, and the last hour in the gazebo hasn’t quenched his hunger.
The force of his kiss and the way his mouth devours mine steals my breath—his stubble scrapes against my skin. The wet heat of our mouths merges. The taste of him is sharp, wild, like a storm, like thunder echoes in the distance.
It’s intoxicating.
It’s overwhelming.
And I’m drowning in it—in him.
He pulls away and presses his forehead against mine. “We’re never going to make it to the guesthouse at this rate.”
I lick my lips, the taste of honey and Hart lingering. “I’m not in a rush.”
I could stand here all day with him.
He peels himself away from me, and his gooey torso sticks to my shirt. “We need a shower.”
“Or chicken feathers.”
The flash of an angry scowl makes me laugh.
“I’m kidding.”
“C’mon, before I take that T-shirt off you right here and press you against the tree and fuck you all over again.”
“The answer is yes. Yes, to all of that. Don’t make me wait, woodsman.”
He laughs, and his rumble is beautiful. But he doesn’t follow through on his dirty little threats and pulls me along the path.
“Tease.” I lean against his side as we navigate through the backyards’ winding pathways.
Who am I right now?
I don’t do handholding.
I don’t do leaning.
And yet, here I am, clutching his hand like it’s the only solid thing in this jungle of a backyard.
It feels good.
Too good.
My fingers fit into his like they are meant to, and my body soaks up his warmth like I’ve been starved of it.
And maybe I have.
Strong doesn’t mean untouched.
Independent doesn’t mean invincible.
Maybe it’s okay to let someone hold me up for once.
We step over roots and duck branches. The path forks, and another arrow points us left. The further we go, the wilder it gets. Ferns brush my arms. His hand squeezes mine every time I stumble, and I can feel him watching me, amused.
“We are disgusting.” I peel off a leaf stuck to the honey on my arm. “I call dibs on the shower.”
It would be presumptuous of me to assume he’d shower with me, right? He didn’t exactly jump at the idea of pinning me against the tree, and both options are thrilling. The rough bark against my bare back or water raining down on us in the throes of passion.
My core thrums, acting like I didn’t just have the most explosive orgasm of my life.
He smirks down at him—that adorable smirk.
“Dibs? Pretty sure I earned the first shower. I let you slather me in honey like buttered cornbread at a Sunday cookout.”
I laugh, dodging a low branch. “You loved every second of it.”
I’m in his arms again, scooped up, and pressed against his front. “I loved every second with you.”
I tilt my head, expecting another dynamite kiss, but he looks past me.
“We’re here.”
It’s tiny—like storybook tiny—with a peaked roof, a single square window, and a porch just big enough for two chairs. The wood appears weathered yet cozy, half-hidden under a layer of ivy.
“It’s cute.”
“You’re cute.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And there’s that shower you called dibs on.”
He points just past the, and I follow his gaze. Beside the cabin, tucked behind a fence of tall bamboo, stands an outdoor shower, the metal showerhead peeking out the top.
He lifts his arm. “Ladies first.”
Yeah, ladies first.
I smile against my disappointment, walking ahead of him.
The door creaks when I pull the handle. I pause in the doorway and feel Hart press up against my back.
It’s an intimate space with enough room for two.
Close, but not cramped. The floor is smooth, weathered slats.
The walls are lined with bamboo poles. And there’s a wooden bench in one corner. The space is secluded.
“Well.” His voice is warm. “Looks like there’s everything here.”
Unease tugs at my chest. “Shampoo, soap... even towels.”
I nod toward a neat stack of fluffy towels, folded and waiting on the wooden bench. It’s all perfect for a shared shower.
Should I suggest?
Invite?
Why is this so hard after what we’ve just done?
“So—” I turn to face him, and he’s leaning against the propped door. “I called dibs.”
I regret it the minute it comes out of my mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, light, teasing.
“You did.”
“Or we could play rock-paper-scissors.” What am I, ten? “You know, since I did attack you with honey.”
“Alright.”
He takes a slow step closer, forcing me into the shower. The door swings closed behind him, and the space shrinks around us. Every time we’re in close quarters, the space is constantly shrinking. He’s just too damn big—or the perfect big.
I command my eyes not to drop to the front of his briefs.
“I’m game.” His deep, smooth voice is profound in this small space. “Let’s see who gets dibs first.”
“Best of three.” I raise my hand for the first round, and he follows suit. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” we say together.
He fists a rock, and I flatten my hand for paper.
“Not looking good for you, Wilde.” Why do the words slip out, heavy with desire? “Again?”
His hand opens and hovers over mine. “Or”—his thumb brushes over the back of my hand, holding my gaze for a beat longer—“we could shower together.”
My heart speeds up. “I can think of a few reasons why that might be fun.”
“I can think of a few reasons myself, but I’m guessing yours are much more interesting.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m talking about conserving water and sharing soap. Efficiency is key, right?”
“Absolutely.” He doesn’t sound convincing. “Saving the planet one soap bar at a time.”
He grasps the hem of my shirt and, ever so gently, lifts it over my head. His fingers trace up my sides, and I squirm the tiniest bit. He grins, showing how much he loves having this effect on me.
“Ticklish?” His laugh is almost silent.
“Only with the right hands.”
His stare is velvet smooth as he tosses my shirt over the fence. His briefs follow, and I can’t ignore that he’s already hard. I expect him to pin me against the shower wall and slam inside me.
He doesn’t.
The water hisses when he twists the handle and adjusts the perfect temperature. The thick steam wraps around us like a warm embrace. I prefer his embrace, but he doesn’t offer it.
He steps under the stream. The water pours over him, running through his hair.
He closes his eyes, tilting his face to the sky as the water runs down his face, making him look relaxed and so exposed.
I follow the droplets that glide over the contours of his muscles, making every inch of him look impossibly smooth and enticing.
“Come here.”
I don’t realize my back presses firm against the door until he curls a finger at me, his eyes heavy with intent.
I join him under the shower, closing my eyes as the water cascades over me. It’s refreshing, seeping into every pore, cool and smooth. Not pounding out, but not trickling either. It’s a steady, balanced pressure peeling the honey from my skin.
I step back, tilting my head out of the water, as it rushes over my front.
His hands are on me before I know it, but not in the way I expect. His fingers weave through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp.
His touch sends shivers down my spine. Firm, yet tender fingers work the suds into my scalp. My body relaxes into his touch. The scent of coconut and lime fills my nostrils.
“How’s that for efficiency?” I hear the smirk in his tone.
Smirking to myself, I tilt my head back slightly, enjoying the feel of his hands in my hair. “I think I could get used to this.”
He leans into my ear. “I think I could get used to this, too.”
He spins me around, and a soft gasp escapes me as my feet slide on the wet floor. His arm is around my waist, his grip tightening and steadying me against him.
His erection presses against me, and when I glance up at him, his gaze is so intense.
Heated.
Concentrating.
His damp strands of hair fall perfectly behind his ears, slicked back with a controlled precision that adds an edge to his rugged features.
His other hand brushes up my side, an almost casual touch, but it sends a jolt of electricity straight through me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but I already know.
“I’m bathing you.” He tips up my chin, and in one fluid motion, tilts my head back into the water.
The cool spray hits my scalp, rinsing out the shampoo in a quick rush. His fingers slide into my hair, slowly dragging the shampoo to the base of my neck. Then he moves to the side of my head, repeating the motion, each sweep of his hand sending heat through me.
“Careful, I might expect this every night.”
“Lucky you, because I’m nothing if not consistent.” His arm pulls my waist closer, snug against him, until I’m melting into his torso.
“I guess I’m in good hands then.” My palms rest on his chest.
His racing heartbeat matches mine. My feet can’t find the ground anymore—it’s all him, holding me up.
His eyes are intense, unblinking, as if he’s studying something far beyond me, yet I feel the weight of his gaze in every second that ticks by.
His fingers work through my hair, easing away the water, each movement calculated and steady. My throat feels exposed, vulnerable.
The whole thing is euphoric.
I’m breathless.
I’m floating.
I’m completely consumed by him, as if everything has slowed down.
The water pours over me, cascades down the back of my neck.
The water glistens on his face, droplets dotting his scruff and accentuating the dark shadow along his jawline.
“I want to taste you.”
My lips part, an overdue invitation.
He glances down with the most delicious smile.
“Not your mouth.” His growl is possessive.