He groaned, her name a long rumble from his throat as he came.
Chapter Ten
Megan parked her bike in the small dirt lot at the base of one of the hiking trails in Hidden Oaks. The single-track trail was rarely used, since it was too bumpy for all but the most resilient of mountain bikers, and it kept away the day hikers, too.
A long, winding path full of switchbacks awaited her, and she could use a good run to plan the rest of the shoot. Running was the perfect backdrop to review her photo plans. After her brother, Smith had been next in front of the camera. Megan had posed him in a traditional sort of shot—leaning against the fire truck, shirtless, staring off in the distance. He was Jamie’s man, and Megan had no interest in him, but the subject matter sure made for a fun shoot. One of her favorite photographic assignments, it turned out.
Back in Los Angeles, she’d landed a few quick gigs shooting head shots for aspiring actors, and while she’d wished them all well in their careers, most of them were far too tightly wound to make the shoot fun. But a fireman posing for a calendar? These men had a good time in front of the camera and rolled with it.
Of course, they all made it seem like they were taking one for the team and only tearing off their shirts and flexing their muscles for the good cause behind it. While that was true, Megan knew better. The chance to be ogled was something most of them enjoyed.
As for Becker, she had a hunch he wasn’t the preening type. More of the keep-to-himself type. She wanted to find the ideal location for him.
As she hit the trails in the morning fog, she logged not only miles, but a list of locales. There was the requisite vineyard shot with rolling hills and row upon row of grapes. She’d love a shot, too, of one of the men framed against the wide-open curling roads that wound their way around the county. She lingered on that image for a mile or so, cycling through the most picturesque roads nearby.
Then there was the river that looped around the outskirts of Hidden Oaks and lazily drifted down through the other towns. She wasn’t far from the river, and the ribbon cut a peaceful image, but a steady one, too. Rocks, water, and a fireman, maybe? She rounded a switchback, heading higher uphill on the trail. She hadn’t yet passed another runner, but that was often the case this early in the morning. These trails attracted only the stalwarts.
She heard quick footfalls from above. Around the corner came the powerful form of the man she’d slept with. The man she wanted to touch again, but couldn’t and shouldn’t. The man she’d sent that naughty text to last night.
Megan should have been surprised to see him, but she wasn’t. Because it made all the sense in the world that he came here in the early hours of the dawn, too. He might as well have been carved from solitude. His head was down, and he wore a dark T-shirt that revealed his stunning arms, and running shorts that showed off strong legs. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He saw her and slowed to a jog.
“Good morning, Miss Tattoo Artist.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bar Owner,” she returned with a wink.
“How was bowling last night?”
“Great. I won a round, Smith won a round, and Jamie landed a strike. How was your night?”
“Restless for a bit. But then my mind wandered to something ‘toe-curlingly good,’” he said, sketching air quotes around her words.
She tried to rein in a flirty smile but had no luck. “Wish I’d been there to help.”
“If you were with me, there wouldn’t be any helping going on.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Independent?”
He leaned forward, dipped his head to her neck, and said in a husky voice in her ear, “If you were with me, I’d be so deep inside you that you’d barely be able to form words.”
“What would I be able to do?” she asked, her voice feather-thin.
“You’d have your legs wrapped tight around me and you’d only be able to moan and scream in pleasure,” he said, his lips dangerously close to her skin, so close she was dying for him to lick her, kiss her, touch her. “And incidentally, I love those sounds that you make.”
She swayed as desire flooded all the corners of her body, goose bumps rising across every inch. Her skin felt electric. Her brain was firing images at her like a movie reel in fast-forward. Flesh against hot flesh. Fingers exploring everywhere. “That’s not fair,” she finally managed to say as he backed away.
“I know,” he said, his lips curving up. “Nor was your text last night.”
There was a tight line of tension between them. They were all alone in the world, wrapped in only the mist of the early-morning fog. Fog doesn’t tell secrets. Fog shields stolen kisses. They could veer off this path and find a spot on the grass, or a tree, and he could take her standing up, as she held on for dear life. They could get tangled up in the woods, surrounded only by the chirping of birds and the quiet murmurs of the river gurgling down below.
She briefly flashed back to the conversation with her brother, to his warnings. But he wasn’t here now, and she didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to worry or fret over what Travis would think if she spent more time with Becker. He’d already made it clear he didn’t want her to. Right now, though, she abolished those thoughts. Because, f**k it. She wanted to think about this man, to touch this man, to talk to this man. She wanted to know more about him, about the things he’d seen, about why Travis had warned her off. And though she had no intention of getting serious with a fireman, her intentions were not on a relationship at the moment—they were on exactly what she’d wanted from him in the first place. A little bit more.