by Blue Saffire
Instead, I wink at her. “I like to think so.”
Her eyelids go heavy again and she lets her gaze drop down to my board shorts. I swear I could probably get her to do some naughty-as-shit things right here with everyone else on board. My eyes shoot to the rest of the guests as if I’m really considering getting something going, but whatever smile I’m wearing drops dead when my eyes meet Rosie’s.
Her lips move as she mutters something under her breath and shakes her head. I straighten in my perch on the back of the raft, first feeling somewhat chastened and then feeling all kinds of pissed that she can make me feel that way. I’m not doing anything wrong. And I damn sure am not accountable to Rosina Carmichael—even though I’ve spent the better part of my life being made to feel I should be.
“What?” The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
I get the side-eye this time as she digs her paddle in the river. “Absolutely nothing.”
God, she gets my back up. “You sure about that?”
“Yes, Denver. I’m sure. Now, how about we get this raft moving if it’s not too much to ask?”
I bristle at her use of my given name. Her friend, Gwen, coughs out a laugh and Chantal pats me on the knee as if to reassure me.
“Hand back on the T-grip,” I growl. I’m in no mood to flirt anymore.
If rapids are what Rosie wants, that’s exactly what I’ll give her.
My voice rises so everyone can hear. “The answer is yes, by the way.”
I get a few quizzical looks but none from Rosie as she continues her paddling.
“Yes, what?” Chantal responds, just as I wanted her to.
My words are in answer to Chantal, but my eyes are glued to the back of Rosie’s helmet and the fall of dark hair extending below. “You’re most definitely gonna get wet.”
Chantal giggles and I swear Rosie’s spine stiffens at my words. But she hides it by bracing her foot and pulling back on the paddle, starting a new rhythm to propel us toward the rough waters ahead.
2
The first time Rosie Carmichael tried to kiss me I shoved her into the mud and made her cry. I got grounded for a week and I don’t think I ever stopped resenting her for it. I was fourteen and had to sit in my room on the Friday night all my friends tried their first beer at Rich Flaherty’s older brother’s party out by Brickyard Road. Granted, if memory serves, they shared two cans of warm Old Style Light and wanted to spit it out, despite bragging up and down the next day about it.
But I blamed Rosie for making me miss a major milestone and for just being a general pain in my ass. She was all of eight years old, I believe, with dark bushy eyebrows, a lisp, and a determination to make me her boyfriend if it killed her—or me. My brothers thought it was a riot, but they weren’t the ones being chased around by the little pest.
The fact that our mothers are best friends didn’t help my cause one bit. Everybody thought it was cute as shit, this little girl following me around like a puppy, but it was fucking annoying and put a real dent in my street cred—something I was certain I had, even though I was just some kid from the decidedly non-street-cred-worthy mountain town of Asheville, North Carolina.
Suffice it to say, I was pretty much an idiot. But all boys are once they reach their teens. I like to think I’ve grown out of that, but my morning with Rosie and the girls from SCUW has proven one thing. Rosina Carmichael still has the power to drive me nuts.
We drag the raft up the bank at our designated rest stop and I pull out the cooler of waters and snacks that come included in the price of the tour. The women split into smaller groups, finding seats on shaded rocks or stripping off their gear and exposing a feast for my eyes. But I can’t seem to enjoy it, even when the redhead and Chantal link arms and strut around in a show clearly meant for me.
Nope. All my eyes want is to latch onto a certain someone still hanging out with her helmet and PFD, her denim shorts soaked from the last rapid we traversed. The sun is shining and I can feel the heat here on the riverbank now that we don’t have the breeze and the splashes of river water to cool us. I unclip my PFD and run a hand through my damp hair, all the while keeping Rosie in my sights.
There’s something decidedly different about her, besides the obvious fact that she’s grown into a woman and taken up waxing. Her eyebrows are perfect arches framing sky-blue eyes, and she’s lost those Italian-bred sideburns I used to make fun of. Yeah, I was a total prick. My eyes drop down to her long smooth legs, their olive tone already dark even though it’s only May. I wonder if her waxing routine includes… shit, I can not let my mind go there. I’ve known this girl since she was born, for Christ’s sake. She’s not only off limits, but she’s absolutely not my type.
I’m surprised when she steps toward me, her eyes meeting mine. I figured she’d continue keeping her distance, but she’s obviously got something on her mind. And if her frown is anything to go by, it can’t be good.
“You just had to call me Denver, didn’t you?” It’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth.
She pauses for a second and I think I spot a tiny grin curving her pink lips. “Well, it is your name, you know.” Her steps resume until only a few feet separate us. Rosie looks to her feet, probably trying to hide her smile.
I feel the unbidden urge to bend down so I can get the full effect of it, but I resist the temptation.
“I’m well aware, but just because you go by your full name now doesn’t mean I have to.”
She still doesn’t look at me or respond. I shake my head and raise my eyes to the sky where the clear blue is bracketed on either side by towering evergreens.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is more exasperated than I intended, but I can’t seem to help it. “And don’t say you’re here to raft. You could do this run in your sleep and I know you didn’t travel over a hundred miles just to see the Chattooga.”
A glance down shows her grinding the toe of her soggy tennis shoe into the dirt. She finally looks up and her smile is gone, replaced not by the perturbed look from earlier, but by something resembling sorrow. I want to back my ass up and dive into the river right this very second. That look can’t bring anything but a bucketful of trouble.
Her brows draw together and her voice is hoarse when she speaks. “Denny, you need to come home.”
I knew it!
I force out a laugh and pull my vest all the way off. “If that’s why you came, you wasted a trip, darlin’.”
She scowls at my throwaway endearment and I want to snatch it back, despite my raised hackles at her proclamation. I drop the vest on the cooler and cross my arms over my bare chest.
Rosie keeps her eyes on my face and I watch as her nostrils flare. “Don’t think I don’t know that. I told Mamma and Luca as much.”
So Luca was in on this. I’d already figured Adrina was behind it, but Luca?
My hands land on my hips. “So why didn’t Luca come himself instead of sending you?” I’m feeling a little pissed that my best friend couldn’t man up and, instead, sent his little sister.
Rosie’s eyes drop to my chest now, but her reaction isn’t the one I’m used to getting from women. She narrows her eyes and lets out the kind of sigh that tells me she thinks I’m the biggest idiot on earth. “He has a little thing called a job. He can’t just take off whenever he wants, unlike some people.”
Now I’m good and pissed. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” I gesture around to the raft and the flowing river behind me. “This happens to be a job if you haven’t noticed.”
But she has the nerve to completely ignore me. “Are you finished?”
No, thanks very much. I’m not.
I step closer and try keeping my voice low. “What about you? I see you’ve got time to flit about with the bikini brigade and have yourself a nice little vacation.”
I can see her fists tighten at her sides as she speaks through clenched teeth. “I am not on vacation. I just finished my finals and I agreed to take m
y few precious days off to come and fetch your ass since you can’t be bothered to return any phone calls.” She leans in and I can see the ring of dark denim blue around her irises. “God, you’re such a child!”
“Me?” I can’t help my laugh. “I’m not the one throwing a temper tantrum on a river bank and butting into other people’s business.”
I swear she growls and for some reason I feel it in my dick. “It is my business when it affects the people I love.” She shakes her head and looks ready to spit. “You only care about yourself. I knew this was a waste of time, so I’m just gonna lay it out for you and then we don’t have to speak anymore. We’ll finish this run and I’ll get out of your hair so you can go back to being a selfish asshole.”
There she goes cussing and yelling again. What in the hell happened to meek little Rosie? I open my mouth to hurl a retort or maybe a brilliant insult, but she cuts me off.
“Ginny is having her knee surgery on Thursday. Everyone is going to be there. Everyone but you. She won’t tell you, but it’s breaking her heart that you’re not even acknowledging it—or her, for that matter. It’s the least you can do to get over yourself for one minute and go home to see your mama.”
She’s right up in my face but I try not to let the words hit me. I can’t think about my mama right now. I can’t let my mind go to my family. I’ve spent the last four years training my brain not to go down that rabbit hole. But here Rosie is hauling everything out from behind that carefully closed door in my head and heart. I knew from the moment my eyes hit her this morning that she was going to turn my day upside-down—I didn’t anticipate her trying to turn my carefully constructed world over while she was at it. There is no way I’m letting her do this and there is no way I’m talking to her about my family.
Her eyes are blazing with fire and challenge. I erase the space between us, expecting her to back down, but she doesn’t. I’m about to tell her to go find her way back to the boathouse on her own when I catch her almost imperceptible glance down at my mouth. My words catch in my throat and I can feel her quickened breaths on my chin. I’d have sworn her intensity was due entirely to anger and frustration, but that tiny glance tells a different story. One my libido has taken particular notice of. When her lips part the smallest bit, I throw all common sense out the window and bend down to do the last thing on earth I ever thought I’d do—kiss Rosina Carmichael.
Her lips relax under mine as I cover them. She smells like sunshine and the river, but she tastes like the first bite of a ripe peach. Her full lower lip is between mine and I slant my head for another taste. The kiss is more than a little awkward with her helmet on, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not thinking about anything but the taste of her and the feel of those silky soft lips against mine. I reach a hand up to touch her, but before I can even brush one finger across her skin, both her hands hit my chest and she pushes me away.
“What are you doing?” She wipes the back of her hand over her lips as if she’s tasted something foul.
Okay. Not the reaction I normally get.
It’s only then that I remember we’re surrounded by seven hot women, all of whom have just witnessed the whole kiss/shove/sewage-sandwich-hand-wipe scene. Terrific.
I’ve been known to flirt and take a guest out before, but it’s never kept me from doing my job. I feel like I’ve crossed several lines at once, not the least of which is kissing the very girl I swore I’d never in my life lay a hand—or mouth—on. What is wrong with me?
So I choose to go to one of my main areas of expertise and shove the entire thing to the back of my mind, doing my best to pretend it didn’t even happen. I paste on my most charming smile and bring my hands together in a loud clap.
“Okay, ladies, break time is over! Let’s go hit those rapids, shall we?”
3
Chantal gives me the silent treatment for the rest of the tour. It’s probably for the best anyway, since I’m in no mood to work my moves on her or anyone else for that matter.
Apart from Rosie’s friend, Gwen, I seem to be persona non grata with this crowd. She’s sent me a few commiserating looks I’m unsure how to take. Rosie hasn’t even looked at me since we got back in the raft, and the rest of the girls are chatting between the shouts and squeals when we hit some good rapids. We still have Bull Sluice to go, and I’m not sure the group is ready for a class IV. I generally ask my guests if they want to opt out and I’ll be doing the same today.
“Bump!” I shout when I see an upcoming rock. To my surprise, the entire group reacts exactly as I demonstrated in the intro lesson earlier. We easily pass by without anyone falling out of the raft. “Great job, ladies!” Maybe they can handle it after all.
Not a single smile or response comes my way. It’s a shame, really—all this hotness wasted by the appearance of one cranky blast from my past. Brody and Josh will eat this up for sure. The tour can’t end soon enough, as far as I’m concerned, so I dig my paddle in to bring us closer to Bull Sluice and the end of this torturous run.
Twenty minutes later it’s decision time so I bring us to the river bank for a talk. Chantal and the redhead, whose name I’ve learned is Courtney, are still not looking at me, and Rosie has her arms crossed over her vest, but the rest of the women appear to have forgiven me for whatever transgression I’ve made.
I clap my hands together again to get everyone’s attention. “You all have a choice now, and nobody’s going to think any less of you if you opt out, but Bull Sluice is up ahead and it’s a class IV rapid.” This gets even Chantal and Courtney’s attention. “It’s considerably tougher than anything we’ve crossed yet and it has a nice drop where everyone is gonna get soaked. You’ll have to be sharp, listen to instructions, and paddle your ass off, but I promise it will be worth it.” I can feel myself smile and I’m almost back in my groove. “It’s a hell of a ride.” There’s nothing like the adrenaline kick from negotiating a tough rapid. Well, almost, anyway.
Gwen raises a hand first. “I’m in.”
She’s followed by a few more “Me too”s and a couple “Hell yeah”s. Rosie offers no comment, but before I know it, all eight are grabbing their paddles, everyone with a hand on the T-grip and a determined stride. If I were the type to do such a stupid thing, I might shed a tear or two.
“All right, then. Let’s go ride some rapids!”
As Rosie passes by me, I’m tempted to put an arm out to stop her. I’m trying my best to pretend this day hasn’t been weird as shit, but it’s damn hard when she’s pouting her lips and moving those long legs every which way. Not to mention the taste of her still lingering on my tongue long after my lips caught hers.
But I don’t. Because any interaction with Rosie will only lead to me dragging up a history I’d rather keep buried. Much better to enjoy the breeze, the sound of the birds singing, and the flow of the river. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get to end the day with a beer and my feet up on the railing of my tiny front porch.
High fives and whoops echo off the steep rock walls as my team of women celebrates passing through Bull Sluice like a bunch of pros. I feel like I owe them all a damn apology for doubting them for even a second. They’ve removed their helmets and Chantal and Courtney are doing some kind of dance that should make my cock stand at attention, but all I can feel is pride. Even Rosie is smiling as she watches the show. Before I can think about it, I sidle up beside her and give her an elbow to the PFD.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”
She tilts her head to me and her grin turns a bit smug. “Not such a bunch of delicate flowers after all, huh?” Locks of dark hair have escaped her ponytail and lie plastered to her cheeks. I pull back on my urge to tuck one behind her ear.
Instead, I shift my mouth to the side and unbuckle my vest. “Well, you have to admit, the day did start off a little rocky.” I’m not even sure if I’m talking about the flirtatious women or Rosie crashing my tour.
She considers me for a minute as she unbuckles her own PFD and slides it off her sh
oulders.
My mouth goes dry as ten-day-old toast as I get my first look at what’s been hiding under her vest this whole damn time. A wet aqua blue Biscuit Head t-shirt clings to her every curve, accentuating the swell of full breasts, a narrow waist, and the exquisite flare of hips that beg for a man’s hands. She tosses the vest on the nearby pile and I catch the phrase printed on the back of her shirt.
Put some south in your mouth.
Good God.
My eyes drop from the shirt to her ass in the wet cut-offs and I bring a hand to my mouth to confirm it’s not hanging open.
Since when does Rosina Carmichael have curves like that? Last time I saw her she was wearing a shirt three times too big for her and had a build that reminded me of my younger brother, Miller—scrawny, narrow, and flat as a board. How could four short years produce such an astounding transformation?
Rosie turns and I swear she catches me gawking but I can’t give one good goddamn. She’s hot as all fuckin’ hell—something she must know.
But she’s not playing and there’s no smug smile anymore when she swipes back the errant locks of hair and tightens her ponytail.
“I’m catching a ride back to Asheville tomorrow with Gwen.” Her hands perch on her hips and she looks me dead in the eye. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, Denny, but I’m begging you—for your mama’s sake—please come home. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m still taking in this new Rosie and trying to shove shit back.
Chantal lets out a shout as she swings Courtney around, drawing both our attention.
“Pushing people away doesn’t make them love you any less. And I’ll bet good money it hasn’t changed the way you feel about them either.”
It doesn’t escape my attention that she used the word them instead of us. And why wouldn’t she? I never gave her any reason to think she meant anything to me. She was nothing but a thorn in my side—a full-on clinger when all I wanted was to hang out with my friends and make out with hot girls.