He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. That does it.” Toeing off his boots, he bent over to tug off his socks. He stood straight and glared at her, as if daring her to stop him.
Lissa kept her mouth shut. No way was she interrupting a Dax Cannon strip show.
With one hand behind his neck, Dax gripped the collar of his shirt and tore it over his head.
Lissa bent her knees, lowering her body until half of her face was hidden in the river. Her cheeks still felt hot. Although he didn’t have the bulk of a gym rat, Dax’s body was strong and toned. Lines creasing his flat stomach hinted at the six-pack below. His pecs twitched as he worked the buttons of his fly. The hair on his chest was a deeper auburn than that on his head, bordering on chestnut, and her fingers itched to stroke through it. To scratch over his chest, to run along the sinews of his shoulders and the muscles of his back. She wanted to paint him into her memory using her fingers as her brushes.
She rubbed her thighs together under the water. Being an adventure guide worked really well for Dax. She bobbed her head above the surface and sucked her wet bottom lip into her mouth. Really, really well.
He peeled down his pants, revealing a pair of navy boxer briefs that left little to the imagination. And the reality was so much better than her imagination. Her heartbeat sped up.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Dax strode to the river’s edge and sliced into the water in one neat dive. He surfaced five feet away, drips of water trickling down his shoulders and chest. He tossed his head, droplets from his wet hair spraying in all directions. If the move hadn’t been so drop-dead sexy, Lissa would have laughed at the similarity of Dax shaking himself off like William after his bath.
Dax waded through the water toward her, unblinking, until they stood inches apart. All thoughts of comparisons to cute dogs died. Nothing about Dax could be considered cute right now. Before her stood nothing but virile masculinity.
Her lungs stopped working even as her artist’s eye took in all the details. For a man of his coloring, his bare torso was darker than she’d expected. His Scottish roots couldn’t negate a lifetime of working and playing out-of-doors. Small freckles dusted the tops of his golden shoulders. She wanted to trace the tip of her tongue between the dots, as if he was a paint-by-numbers coloring book. A two-inch-long pucker of white skin tried to hide under the hair on his chest, and she wondered how many more small scars marked his body. She was used to artists and musicians, men with creative genius no doubt. But men whose hardest physical feat was moving a drum set. Dax looked like he could cut down a tree and fashion it into a bed if she asked him to. He oozed rugged competence.
She raised her hand to feel the ridge of his scar the same moment he lifted a strand of wet hair off her shoulder. She tilted her head, inviting him to explore her body as she did his.
She smoothed her fingertips over the raised ridge of the scar. The contrast of textures delighted her; the smooth seam was like running her finger over a dollop of dried oil paint, the coarse dampness of his hair like one of her brushes. She trailed her fingers over his chest to his collarbone, across the rapidly beating pulse point, and over his shoulder, marveling all the while in the hardness covered with a thin layer of smooth skin.
Dax wrapped his fingers in her hair, the slight tug making her scalp tingle. He skimmed his other hand down her arm, raising gooseflesh in his wake, until he could tangle his fingers with hers. He held their joined hands up to rest against his chest.
She stared at their entwined flesh, transfixed by the play of colors. His lightly tanned skin retained its base tone of warm peach. Her honey-brown skin complemented it as beautifully as if it were on the opposite side of the color wheel.
He squeezed her hand, and she dragged her gaze up to his face. A lock of burnished hair crossed in front of one eye but couldn’t block the desire in his gaze.
She’d never felt as wanted in her life as she did with that one look.
“Dax.” His name was little more than a whisper. An entreaty for something she didn’t even know she wanted.
He lowered his head, his lids sinking to half-mast. She raised her face to him, eager to make the connection, but he paused an inch away from her mouth, making her wait. Maybe trying to decide whether kissing her was a good idea or whether she was more trouble than she was worth.
She took the decision away from him and rolled up onto her toes. She swayed from the river’s current until their mouths locked, anchoring her in place.
His lips were softer than she was expecting. And cold from the river, but they heated up quickly. He brushed his mouth across hers, featherlight, until he reached the crease at the corner, then swept the tip of his tongue over the bow of her upper lip.
Lissa sighed and sank into him. The bare skin of her stomach met his, a velvety slide in the water. Reaching up, she gripped the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair. Her heart caught in her throat. The yearning in the kiss was tangible, and she didn’t know whether it was coming from Dax or from herself. All she knew was she wanted more. More of the sweetness Dax was giving her. More of the heat. More of the feeling that she belonged nowhere else but standing wrapped in his arms.
She opened for him, and he slid his tongue inside. It tickled the roof of her mouth, and her lips curved into his kiss. Her amusement vanished when he curled his tongue around the tip of hers and suckled. A tingle started in the tips of her breasts and shivered outward.
She could kiss this man all day.
Until, all of a sudden, she couldn’t.
She yanked backward and pushed Dax’s chest. “Hey! Watch those hands. Not cool.”
Dax’s eyebrows drew together. He raised his hands palm up and looked at them.
And Lissa felt it again. A nudge where nothing should be nudging without an invitation. Yelping, she spun, and a slimy red tail darted around her hip.
William jumped to his paws and barked, as though he could scare away any fish.
Dax threw his head back and laughed.
Lissa splashed water in his face. “Hey. I just got assaulted by a salmon. Not funny.”
“I think it was a brook trout that was making time with you.”
She splashed him again, and he ducked with a chuckle. “I’m not the one who falsely accused an innocent man,” he said. “I should be splashing you.”
Something soft brushed against her thigh, and she jerked sideways.
“He likes you,” Dax said.
She glared at him, but she couldn’t deny the fish was cuddling up next to her like she was the butter to his lobster. Smiling sweetly, she reached down and waited for the trout to nudge her hand. “You’re right,” she told Dax. “It was very rude of me to think you’d be so ungentlemanly.”
The edges of his lips tipped up. “I love it when you get a little Southern drawl in your voice. But sounding sweet as spun sugar doesn’t make up for maligning my character.”
Yes, she could put it on. But Dax hadn’t learned yet to beware of her when the drawl came out. She inched closer, holding her hands behind her back. “You’re right.” Her breasts brushed his chest. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and gave him her best bedroom eyes. “I should make it up to you.”
He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her lips. “I like the sound of that.”
Placing one hand on his chest, she ran it down, under the waterline, until she reached the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. She arched her head up, bringing her mouth close to his … and shoved the squirming fish down his pants.
Dax stumbled back, his mouth a wide O. He slipped and went under with a gurgle. When he surfaced, his eyes blazed between dripping strands of hair.
She tried to repress her giggle. She covered her mouth, but still the laughter burst forth.
“‘Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.’” He reached for her.
She shrieked an
d dove under the surface, swimming for the bank. A hand slipped past her ankle, but she kicked away. Her hands hit dirt and stone and she clambered out of the river, crab-crawling up the bank. “I just thought you were feeling jealous that I was getting all the love.”
He stalked toward her, emerging from the river step by step like the swamp man.
William ran between them, wagging his tail and barking. Dax paused to pat his head before continuing his inexorable path toward Lissa.
She scrambled to her feet and darted to her pile of clothes. Shoving her feet in her sneakers, she grabbed her pants and shirt and looked up.
He was ten feet away and closing in on her.
Nope, no time for a wardrobe change.
“Come on, William! He can chase us down, but he’ll ‘never take … our freedom!’” she shouted in her best Braveheart accent. Spinning on her heel, she raced for the clearing. When the full sun hit her bare skin, she gave a whoop and tossed her clothes over her shoulder.
The Bluetick raced past her, baying.
But the sweetest sound was Dax’s own howls of laughter as he chased her back to the shelter.
Chapter 7
Lissa brought the steaming spoonful of chicken gumbo to her mouth, sighing happily. It wasn’t quite as spicy as what she’d get in New Orleans, but it was good. She did a little food dance in her chair.
“See? Told you the gumbo was good here.” Marla pushed her tortoiseshell sunglasses to the crown of her apricot hair. She, Izzy, Lissa, and a pack of dogs were sitting at a sidewalk table in front of Soup’s On, a small deli in downtown Pineville. The leaves of the maple tree overhead rustled with the breeze, and the scents of yeast and sugar from a bakery next door teased the senses.
Marla’s black standard poodle and funky-looking Mexican hairless, Maddie and Hoover, were lying quietly at her feet. Izzy’s boxer mix, Vi, was sitting with her eyes level with the table, silently watching to see if any bit of food was up for grabs. And William …
Lissa sighed and unwound the leash from around the Bluetick’s neck. His leash was looped under her chair leg, tethering him to a five-foot radius. But he made full use of those five feet, racing one way and twisting the other, as bored as a two-year-old on a road trip. She ruffled the fur on his head. Maybe she should have left him at the shelter. But the recrimination in his eyes when she’d tried to go without him had cut deep into her soul. He really needed someone to adopt him soon.
Izzy nibbled on a cracker. “My chicken noodle smells so good, but I’m scared. This morning after breakfast wasn’t pretty.” She rested a hand on her still-flat stomach. “I didn’t have morning sickness with Ana. I’m blaming Brad. Something about his demon seed is triggering it.”
Lissa grinned. These two women were a hoot. When Marla had invited her to lunch with her and Izzy, Lissa had wondered if the three of them would have much to talk about. Each of them was in a different decade of life after all. But from the first weird Lord of the Rings reference Marla had made to the madcap story Izzy told about how she’d met Brad, Lissa knew. These were her people. Slightly weird. Definitely kind. And 100 percent fun.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Marla said, even as she passed her friend her own crackers. “You know it will be worth it.” She glanced down at Izzy’s stomach, a look of longing crossing her face.
A black Cadillac Escalade drove down the cross street half a block away, a dark-haired man in the passenger seat. Lissa’s stomach flopped to the ground. Leaning forward, she squinted. It couldn’t be. The car rolled from sight, and she sank back against the chair. Great, now she was seeing things. There was no way Morris’s goons were here in Pineville, Michigan. She shook off the crawly feeling on her flesh and focused on her companions.
“It will happen for you, too.” A strand of Izzy’s dark hair blew across her face. She reached into her bag and pulled out a hair elastic. She tied her hair up in a ponytail. “Don’t worry about it so much. Stress doesn’t help.”
Lissa lowered her spoon. “Wait. You and Gabe are trying for a kid?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked by the idea.” Marla adjusted the knot on the Hermès scarf around her neck. “It is what two people who love each other tend to do.”
Lissa held up her hands, palms out. “No, of course. It’s just you’re busy with the charities you run, and Gabe doesn’t seem like the most paternal type of guy…” Crap, she was digging herself in deeper. But when she looked at Marla and Gabe, they seemed like such a happy couple, completely into each other. Izzy and Brad already had Ana, so adding another child didn’t seem like a stretch. But a couple who was already really happy wanting to add a distraction …
She stared at her gumbo, pushing her spoon around. “It’s just … not all couples want the bother of having kids around. It can take time away from the person you really care about.”
William stopped trying to wiggle his head free from the collar and trotted over to her. He rested his head on her thigh and whined softly. She patted his back. She hadn’t meant for that to sound as pathetic as it did. It was only a fact of life. Sometimes the perfect unit was just two people. There was nothing wrong with that. It wasn’t as if her parents had ever come out and told her they hadn’t wanted her.
Izzy cleared her throat. “So, did you grow up in New Orleans? Is that where your parents live?”
“No.” She twirled an infinity pattern in the gumbo with her spoon. “I grew up on the road. My parents think staying in one place drains a person’s creativity.” She blew out her lips. “It was great. The Grand Canyon was my backyard one day, California’s redwood forests the next. But I landed in New Orleans about three years ago for the art scene.”
Izzy’s eyebrows snapped together. “But where do you consider home?” She said it with such consternation, Lissa had to smile. As if being a wanderer was the worst thing in the world. Lissa could understand the feeling, just in the opposite direction. She couldn’t fathom how people could settle into one place for twenty years either.
“Home is wherever the muse finds me.” She lifted one shoulder. It had been her modus operandi and had served her well.
“Very bohemian.” Marla nodded. “Must be quite an adventure.”
“So, how long are you in Pineville for?” Izzy poked the tip of her tongue into the soup on her spoon, wary. “Dax mentioned a school you’ll be attending soon?” Tilting her head, she made a “not bad” moue with her mouth, then dug into her soup with gusto.
Lissa hugged William. “Yep, the Bruggard-Tayo School of Visual Arts in New Mexico. I can’t wait.”
Marla’s eyebrows shot skyward. “That’s a good school. I know an art dealer who keeps a lookout for their graduates. You said earlier your parents are artists as well? They must be proud.”
“Sure.” In their own way, Lissa was certain they were. “But classes don’t start for six weeks. I’d like to earn a little bit of money in the meantime. Do you know how hard it is to get a permit to sell at the farmers market in Pineville? I don’t think the cops here turn a blind eye to unlicensed street vendors like they did in the Big Easy.”
“Ooh, I have a booth there,” Izzy said. “Well, the PTA does, but I’ve been responsible for it lately. We sell baked goods, student-made ornaments, that type of thing. You’re welcome to set up next to us. If you give the PTA a small cut of your earnings, I think that would be okay.”
“Sweet. Thanks.”
A flash of copper hair caught her eye, and Lissa jerked her head around.
Dax held the door open for an elderly woman, a sweet smile on his face, before disappearing into a Starbucks down the street.
Her heart did a little samba. She licked her bottom lip. She couldn’t get yesterday’s kiss off her mind. It had been seductive. Surprising. She wouldn’t have thought the Boy Scout would know how to kiss like that. And Lissa loved surprises.
Bobbing her knee up and
down, she turned back to her companions and tried to focus on the conversation.
“If it was a raccoon, I could have handled it,” Izzy said. “They might be mean, but I can be meaner. But it was a mole. One of those creepy ones, with the tentacles dangling from its nose, and those long, pale fingers.” She shivered.
“A star-nosed mole? Those are pretty rare around here,” Marla said.
“Star-nosed.” Izzy snorted. “That’s too kind a name. It’s a creepy-ass tentacle mole in my book.”
Marla leaned forward. “What did you do? Did the buyers see it?”
“Not at first.” Izzy smiled wryly. “The showing was going so well. But when I stepped into the kitchen, it was there, on the counter. And it charged! It was hard for Mr. and Mrs. Cho to ignore, especially when their real estate agent screamed and locked herself in the hall closet. I had to call Brad to come check my exit path before I would come out.”
Marla threw her head back and laughed.
Lissa’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t laugh at the woman. She’d never seen a mole with a tentacle nose. Locking oneself in a closet didn’t sound like a bad idea when confronted with that.
Picking up her iced tea, Lissa took a sip as she shot a glance down the street. Dax emerged from the shop, a paper cup in his hand and a messenger bag slung over one broad shoulder. He strolled down the sidewalk away from them. Lissa’s gaze lasered in on his tight behind.
“…looking for a new house … thinking Clarion Township …” Izzy’s voice was mere background chatter.
She wondered what Dax would look like in jeans. Those hiking pants seemed to be the only thing he wore. He looked good in them, no doubt, but they were a little too roomy to accommodate Lissa’s ogling. She nibbled on the end of her straw. And now that she’d seen him in nothing but his boxer briefs, she knew exactly what those pants were hiding. Maybe if she bought him some—
A hand waved in front of her face, and Lissa blinked.
Forever Wild Page 8