by Debbie Mason
She told herself she didn’t want to bite him because he’d hurt her feelings but because he’d terrified her. He was also ruining what she was positive would be the video that reignited her career.
As they moved deeper into the woods and the women’s voices and the firelight began to fade, he nudged her along another path, his hand still firmly over her mouth. “I’m going to take my hand away but don’t make a sound.”
“You are—”
He clamped his hand over her mouth again, cutting off her furious words. “If you think my aunt’s a pain in your ass now, you don’t want to know what she’d do if she discovered you filming them tonight.”
His hot breath tickled her ear, and she shivered. His lips curved against her cheek, and she stomped on his foot, smiling when he muttered a curse.
After Hunter guided her along the path with one hand over her mouth and the other pressed to her lower back for what felt like an hour but was in all likelihood less than five minutes, they stepped into a clearing just up from the yellow barn.
As soon as he removed his hands from her mouth and back, she whipped around, about to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but the words dried up in her throat when he said “Strip” and began taking off his jacket.
She worked the saliva in her mouth to get the words out. “If you think I’m going to have sex with you after the way you manhandled me, you have—”
“Abby, I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Why not?” she said without thinking, her eyes glued to his chest as he stripped off his shirt. Wrong thing to ask! Even though she really did want to know.
“Because you were lying in a bed of poison ivy.”
Her eyes jerked from his chest to his face. “I was not.”
But then her mind went someplace else entirely. It seemed she wasn’t as concerned that he was telling her the truth and that she had been lying in a bed of poison ivy. What she really wanted to know was: Would he want to have sex with her if she hadn’t been?
“Yes, you were. I’ll take you back tomorrow, and you can see for yourself. But right now, you’re going to take off your clothes and then put on my shirt. And you’re not going to scratch, rub, or touch yourself in any way.”
Maybe because it sounded a little dirty and Hunter was standing in front of her half naked in the moonlight, she shrugged off her sweater and began taking off her jumpsuit without first telling him to turn around. The memory of her conversation with Sloane quickly cleared up any let’s get down and dirty thoughts.
“Do you mind?” she snapped, twirling her index finger.
She couldn’t be sure but she thought his lips might’ve twitched before he turned his back on her. The man might be annoying but his back truly was a work of art, she thought while stepping out of her jumpsuit and then undoing her bra, mesmerized by the sculpted lines of his smooth, golden skin. Her eyes took a leisurely tour over all that masculine beauty before blinking to a stop at the deep purple pucker peeking above his jeans on the lower right side, and she gasped.
He whipped around. “What’s wrong?”
“Hunter!” She crossed her arms over her bare chest.
He raised his eyes to her face and held up an apologetic hand. “Sorry. I thought you saw something that scared you.”
“I did.” She lifted her chin. “Your back. You were shot.”
His face hardened, and he turned around. He crossed his arms and the muscles on his back flexed as if daring her to say anything more.
“I didn’t notice the scar the other day…”
“My tool belt covers it.” He glanced at her over his broad and muscled shoulder. “You’ve got five seconds to finish stripping and putting on my shirt before I turn around.”
“You were shot when you tried to save Sloane’s brother, Danny, weren’t you?”
“I wondered how long it would take for the gossip to start after I left. I didn’t get shot trying to save Danny. I got shot recovering his body.” He turned and looked her in the eyes before walking past her. “That’ll teach you to listen to small-town gossip, Abby. They never get it right.”
She stood almost completely naked in the golden light of the moon, and he hadn’t so much as sneaked another peek.
As she bent over to pick up his shirt, he said, “Leave your clothes on the ground. I’ll get them later.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying he hadn’t turned around to deliver his mandate.
“Panties off too,” he added, his voice gruff. “And your sneakers.”
So much for that hope, she thought, and shrugged into his shirt. She was just about to set off across the meadow to the house when he called, “Abby, this way.”
She turned to see him heading for the far corner of the barn and decided she might as well follow him. She couldn’t afford to have poison ivy, especially now that she was about to get her new channel off the ground. If anyone would know how to take care of it, Hunter would.
He shone a flashlight at her feet, lighting the way to where he stood beside an outdoor shower made of cedar. The water was already running, steam billowing into the cool night air. “Get in. Don’t worry about the shirt. You can take it off when you’re in there.”
“Okay, but can you at least tell me why I’m having a shower outside in the middle of the night?” she asked as she got in and began peeling off his now wet shirt.
“You need to get the urushiol off you. It’s the sticky oil from the plant that causes the allergic reaction. Here.” He handed her a bottle of liquid detergent. “I’m going to get you some towels and a salve.”
She held up the bottle and made a face. “You expect me to wash my hair with this?”
He looked at her like she was being a diva.
“Trust me, if you had crazy-curly hair like me, you’d understand.”
“I’ve got some shampoo and conditioner you can use. But you have to wash your hair with dish soap first. It’ll cut through the oil.”
“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.” She grinned at the thought of Hunter using conditioner and squirted the green liquid soap into her palm.
“Liz used me as her guinea pig. She was experimenting with shampoo and conditioner made with honey before she died.”
His face had changed, and she felt bad for teasing him. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Duck,” he said, just before she was dive-bombed by two bats.
* * *
After he’d finally convinced Abby the bats were gone and it was safe to get out of the shower, Hunter took her place and lathered up with the dish soap. He’d been careful not to touch her anywhere the poison ivy might have but wasn’t willing to take the risk that he was wrong. Although it might’ve been worth the risk, he thought, remembering how she’d looked standing in the moonlight. He’d never been one for curvy women. He’d always been attracted to the strong, athletic type.
Through a cloud of steam, he glanced to where she sat on a log in another of his shirts with a towel draped over her head to protect her from bats, working her cell phone. The woman was addicted to the thing. She’d just about pitched a fit when he’d wiped it down. No doubt she’d guessed his intention to delete the video she’d shot at the standing stones. He would have if she hadn’t looked close to tears.
He knew he was in trouble the moment he spotted her in the woods tonight, and his heart had stuttered to a stop seeing her lying there. He’d panicked, and Hunter didn’t panic. But his mind had immediately gone to Granny MacLeod’s premonition. Abby’s belief that the prophecy was about her past and not her future hadn’t been enough to shut down the fear.
Once he realized she was all right, he’d panicked for an entirely different reason. The emotions that had stopped him cold were over the top for someone he’d known for little more than a week. She’d gotten to him. He felt something for her, something he’d vowed never to feel for anyone else again. He couldn’t completely shut down his feelings for his family and longtime friends, but he could and sh
ould shut them down for her.
As though sensing him watching her from the shower, she looked up and gave him a blinding smile. “So, Mr. Cranky Pants, Sadie thinks the Outlander attraction is a brilliant idea.”
Mr. Cranky Pants. Seriously? That made him want to smile. He wished that was all it was, but it wasn’t—it was her. Abby and her optimism and resilience, her wide smile, pretty green eyes, and flame-colored hair, and that body he couldn’t stop thinking about.
He’d known from the moment he’d met her that she’d turn his world upside down. And if her plans for a tourist attraction with the standing stones playing an integral role came to fruition, things were going to get a whole lot worse around here.
“Stop glaring at me. It’s a great idea. We’re going to be rich. And even though you’re being all negative and grumpy about it, I’ll cut you in on the action. When I go back to LA, I’ll pay you to manage the attraction. How does that sound?”
Like he’d be left running the show when she eventually headed back to her real life in LA. He wasn’t sure why he resented the idea of her leaving more than he resented the idea of her staying and turning his quiet world into a sideshow. Yeah, right—if he needed a sign to show him just how into Abby he was, he’d just gotten it.
“Like you haven’t heard a word I said. My aunt isn’t exactly your biggest fan, Abby, and the standing stones are sacred to the members of the Sisterhood.”
The owners of Three Wise Women Bookstore and Winter Johnson, the mayor, founded the group decades before. No one in town knew much about them or who belonged, but Hunter did. Mostly because he spent so much time in the woods and had come upon their gatherings. As he understood it, the Sisterhood was a group of women who celebrated their connection to each other and Mother Earth.
Little Miss Sunshine’s face said it all. She saw only rainbows and pots of gold and had no interest in his negativity.
He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel off the back wall, thinking the day had gone from bad to worse. But as he stepped out of the shower, Abby gasped. He looked up in time to see her fall backward off the log.
Securing the towel at his waist, he went over to give her a hand up. “There was a reason I told you to sit over there.” He nodded at the chair.
“You could’ve warned me you were getting out of the shower.” She glanced at him from under her lashes while straightening the towel over her head.
“You act like you’ve never seen a man’s body before. One that’s mostly covered with a towel.”
“The towel isn’t that big, and you are.” She glanced at him. “And, no, I’ve never seen a man like you naked before. But whatever. We can’t all be like you and not bat an eye when we see someone mostly naked.”
So that’s where the attitude was coming from. “Trust me, I did more than bat an eye, Abby. I’m just really good at not showing it.” It was the truth, but probably not one he should’ve admitted. But he’d sensed he’d hurt her feelings when he walked by her without reacting. Seems he’d been right, on both counts.
She smiled. “I didn’t think you noticed…It doesn’t matter. I didn’t fall off the log because of you. I fell off because of me.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed you have a tendency to fall,” he said, amused at her attempt to cover her reaction.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m tired. It was a long day at the festival. Made even longer when the man I was counting on abandoned me, and I had to pack up on my own. In case you’re wondering, I’m talking about you.”
He crouched in front of her and rested a hand on her knee. “Abby—”
“No, I get it. You haven’t seen Sloane since she broke your engagement so you went to a bar and drowned your sorrows. I wouldn’t have wanted you to drive anyway. But the least you could’ve done is respond to my texts.”
“I wasn’t at a bar drowning my sorrows.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. Owen had a problem with Boyd Carlisle. He lives up the mountain and sells moonshine without a license. He doesn’t like cops, especially Owen, but he does like me, so I went up to talk to him. And the only way Boyd will talk is if you drink with him. I didn’t get your texts until I came down off the mountain.” He gave her knee a light squeeze. “I’m sorry I abandoned you.”
“It’s okay. You went to help Owen so I can’t really be mad at you.” She glanced at her phone and then back at him. “But you know, it really was exhausting doing that all on my own, and I even helped Elsa pack up too.”
That was a surprise, but what Abby was attempting to do wasn’t. Earlier today, she’d been trying to get him on video. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work.” It did, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Oh, come on.” She held up her phone. “One little interview won’t kill you. And you don’t even have to get dressed. We’ll do it right now.”
“You want to interview me in my towel?”
“Ah, yeah. Sex sells, and while I don’t want it to go to your head, you look delicious.”
He stood up and crossed his arms, trying not to smile. “Delicious?”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I meant to say. Sexalicious.” She groaned.
And this time he did laugh. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” He turned to head for the barn. “I’ll—”
“Edible. Delectable. Urgh.”
“Abby, stop while you’re ahead. I was never going to agree to an interview anyway. I’ll be out in a minute to take you back to the farm.”
Five minutes later, he came to get her, only to see that she’d fallen off the log again. “That’s it,” he said, frustrated and concerned at the same time. “No more overdoing it, Abby.” He scooped her into his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Just embarrassed,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Dangerously sexy?” She sighed. “Now I get it right.” She wiggled her feet. “It’s okay, you can put me down. I can walk.”
“I feel better carrying you.” She felt good in his arms—too good. Out of the two of them, it was Abby who was dangerously sexy.
“Why won’t you let me interview you? I heard about the little boy you rescued at Willow Creek. Shane and your cousin said he would’ve died if it wasn’t for you. Can you really talk to bears?”
He snorted a laugh. “No, I can’t talk to bears.”
“Then why did they say the only reason that little boy is alive is because you got between him and a bear?”
Someone must’ve spotted him with a long-range scope. “The bears know me, and I know them. I respect them, and they respect me. I can read them. She wasn’t going to attack.”
“Shane said the ranger would’ve shot the bear. So you saved two lives. Why won’t you take the credit?” She played with the button on his shirt and murmured, “Because from what I’ve heard, you’re more than happy to take the blame, even when it’s not your fault.”
Every muscle inside him tensed. He knew what she was talking about. “Sounds like you got an earful when I left. Remember what I said, Abby. They never get it right.”
“Maybe it’s you who’s wrong, Hunter. Sloane doesn’t hate you. From what I saw, she doesn’t blame you for her brother’s death. Maybe in that moment, she did. Grief can make you a little crazy. But I don’t think she does now.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lowered her to her feet at the farmhouse door, then went to turn away.
She latched on to his arm. “Wait. Listen. You need to hear what she said.”
He turned around and moved into Abby, backing her against the door. “You need to stop talking.”
She placed her palms on his chest, not to push him away as he expected, hoped, but to gather his shirt in her hands and hold him close. “She helped me carry the tables to the parking lot.”
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the door, wanting to leave, but something kept him there and it wasn’t A
bby’s grip on his shirt.
“Her mother called her name, and I said ‘You’re Hunter’s Sloane’ and she said ‘Not anymore.’ She wasn’t angry. If anything, she sounded sad. I heard it in her voice, and you might know the woods and bears and every poisonous plant and creature out there, but I know people.”
“Stop.”
“I said you were a good man.” She shook him a little, as though to get him to look at her. “You need to hear this.” He looked down at her, and she held his gaze. “She said ‘I know he’s a good man.’ You don’t say that about someone you hate or someone you blame for your brother’s death, Hunter. You say that about a man who is good and kind and caring and—”
He kissed her to shut her up, and he kissed her because of what she said and how it made him feel. He didn’t want to feel, and yet that’s all he did around her. He was angry, and frustrated, and…scared. It nearly killed him to admit that, and it came out in his kiss.
This kiss was nothing like the one they’d shared that morning. It was a searing kiss with a lot of tongue and heat. Abby let go of his shirt, and he braced himself for her to push him away. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He wanted her to.
But she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, and all he saw was the vision of her stripped down to her panties in the moonlight. He wanted to lay her out on the porch and taste and explore every inch of her but he had to stop. He had to stop before it was too late.
He pulled back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, not like that.”
He turned and walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
Abby had spent the better part of the night tossing and turning after the kiss she’d shared with Hunter. Apparently sexual frustration wasn’t conducive to a sound sleep, which she should know because she’d spent more than a year of her marriage in the same state.
Her morning so far hadn’t improved matters. She’d gotten up early for her first day on the job with Highland Tours, only to discover that the couples who’d booked the tour had gotten their days mixed up.
But in the end, it gave her and Sadie the opportunity to get the town onboard with their plan to turn Highland Falls into the destination of choice for lovers of all things Scottish, including hunky highlanders.