by DJ Jennings
He liked her train of thought.
“I have a sleeping bag or two in the back of my car,” he said, taking the opportunity to touch her, his palms eating up every spare inch of skin he could get away with exploring. God, she was luscious, so warm and sweet and soft, inviting him to—what? Was she really suggesting what he was thinking?
“A sleeping bag?” Her voice was filled with mirth. “You camp that much?”
“I camp at work sometimes.”
“Huh?”
“Not camping camping.” The words stuck in his throat, all his blood in his groin right now, making linear thought difficult. They began to walk to his car, his legs a bit stilted as the damn pole in his pants made it hard. Literally. “But sometimes all the on-call room beds are taken, and I have to grab a sleeping bag and sleep on a couch in the locker room...” The thought unraveled as an idea formed.
“Why are you suddenly smiling like that, Jack?” Oh, the sound of his name on her lips was like pure heat in his veins.
“Because I know exactly where we can go.”
Chapter 11