His voice pulled her from her idiotic thoughts. “Hey, gotany of that ham left?” Gone was the hard edge, replaced by his usualplayfulness.
“You’re hungry?”
“Always.” He gave her a mischievous smile that sent herheartbeat into a gallop.
What is wrong with me?
All casual-like, he took another pull of his beer andstepped closer, so close she felt his heat caress her arm and got a whiff ofhis heady, masculine scent.
“In exchange,” his deep timbre resonated dangerously, “I’lloverhaul your chairs. Show me one of your favorite fishing spots tomorrow, andI’ll fix your leaky bathroom sink and your running toilet. Bet you’llsee a drop in your water bill.”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, so she snapped itshut. She’d forgotten about her bathroom—and every other repair the houseneeded—but he’d noticed. And now he wanted to go fishing with her? “Didyou just say ‘a drop in your water bill’?”
He flashed her a grin. “You caught that.”
“Your jokes are as lame as mine.”
“Not even close. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Who’s bringing the food?”
“You are. Unless you want food poisoning.I’m capable of eating twenty-four-seven, but anything beyond microwaving pizzarolls taxes my culinary acumen.” His grin broadened. “So youtaking me fishing or what?”
“Be here at five sharp.”
With all the fizzing in her blood, she wasn’t sure she’d getany sleep tonight.
CHAPTER 21
Dangerous Curves Ahead
What the hell is wrong withme?
The same question had been on a loop in T.J.’shead since he’d wormed his way into the fishing trip. His logic—if he couldcall it that—had gone something like, “If she gets to know me, likes me alittle, maybe she won’t throw shit at me when I tell her the truth.”
So here he was, riding in Natalie’s Durango asshe maneuvered a curvy mountain road. In the back lay Ford, rods, and bags ofgear, one of which held waders and boots belonging to her brother that she’dfinagled for T.J. He was pretty sure that not having his own fishing gear wasan offense worthy of stripping him of his man card. Worse, she was behindthe wheel—not that she wasn’t a good driver, but Jesus, she was putt-putting around a curve as though she drove a go-cartwith no go.
He side-eyed her. “Aren’t you going kind ofslow?”
Not looking at him, she said, “You’ve got torespect the curve.”
His brain short-circuited for an instant andunfortunately came back on line at half-capacity. “I respect the hell out ofyour curves,” he blurted. Every. Single. One.
Now she did look at him … as though he wereinsane.
Dragging his hand across his jaw, mentallybackpedaling, he pointed straight ahead. “Keep an eye on the curves ahead.”
And I’ll keep an eye on yours.
Soon she pulled onto a narrow dirt track,coaxing her POS vehicle over ruts and mud until she reached a sandy crescent,where she parked. Ford had been emitting high-pitched, barky noises from theback, and when T.J. put eyes on him, the dog’s whole body wagged. Apparently,Ford was excited they’d arrived.
“We’re here!”
Natalie threw open her door and was outsidebefore T.J. could spit out, “Where?”
He followed her out of the car and took in hissurroundings. Trees and bare bushes crowded together, looking like a tangle ofgiant birds’ nests. Through their screen, a narrow trail descended atwenty-foot embankment, below which a stream of clear water rippled in sombertones.
Behind him, Natalie pulled gear from the car,cooing to a whimpering Ford. “No, sweet boy, you can’t come out for this part.But we’ll let you out later and you can splash around all you want, okay?”
Down went a tarp. Next she set up two campchairs, dropping a bag beside one, and pointed T.J. in its general direction.“C’mon. The fish aren’t gonnajust hop into our nets,” she said.
“So we’re keeping them?”
A grin split her face. “Just long enough forpictures, then we’ll release ’em.”
She wriggled out of her jeans and plopped into achair. Hello, standing right here. But she was all business, obliviousto his ogling. Instead of theracy red panties he itched to get a closer look at, she was wearing the pinkthigh-hugging leggings from before.
Glancing over at him, she ran her eyes from hisfeet to his … crotch? Could she see what was happening behind his zipper?
“You going to put on your waders?” she asked.
Unlike her, he only wore knit boxers under hisjeans, and at the moment, they were doing little to contain the growingproblem brought on by the sight of her in the skin tightpants. “Uh …”
She gave him an eye-roll. “Take off your pantsand pull the waders on. If you’re not wearing long underwear, then leave yourjeans on and try not to get them wet.”
Bossy. He liked it.
Once dressed, she led him down the path to thewater’s edge and pointed out a few places fish would be hanging out. Hecouldn’t see it. While he messed with his line, trying for allthe world to look like he knew what the hell he was doing, she wadedsurefooted into the swift current, stepping her way over large rocks.
“Eyes on me,” she called. He had absolutely noproblem with that. Mesmerized, he watched as she smoothly cast a linethat lay perfectly flat on the water, just like he’d seen on the outdoorchannels. She was a natural … and pretty damn sexy, concentrating hard as sheworked the line fluidly. Turning, she flashed him a brilliant smile that madehis heart stutter. “Did you see how I rolled my wrist when I cast the line?”
Uh, no.He’d been too focused on other parts.
Since when had a girl in waders turned him on?Never. Until right now. More puzzling, that hotfisherwoman stood on a pedestal he’d apparently put her on, and hecouldn’t knock her off. Worse, he’d convinced himself—wink, wink, nudge,nudge—that he was safe from falling for her as long as Kevin May was in thepicture. But that safety net was gone, stripped away. Nothing left to keep himon the straight and narrow.
Damn.
A few sloshes brought her to him. “Ready?”
His competitive nature warred with practicality.With a huge puff of air, he said, “I have a confession.”
Her eyebrows went up.
“I
