His gaze flickers in the direction of the party. It’s barely audible from this distance, a faint glow across the sand and shore marking its location. “Not much was allowed before marriage, but if it had been, the gatherings probably would have looked a lot like what’s going on back there. Flirting, and other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
“Only on a more serious level.” He gestures behind us. “In there, people maneuver for intimacy.” How polite of him. I would have used a different word. “My ancestors were looking for spouses. They exchanged gifts between families when an agreement was made.”
“Ah, the old gifts in exchange for a bride. Did the bride’s family hand over cattle as a dowry?”
“Marriages were all mutually agreed upon, but…” He grins boyishly. “Rabbit, pine nuts, maybe an antelope or two—no cattle around back then.”
“Exactly what a lady wants,” I say, a smile on my face. “A dowry of rabbits really boosts a lady’s self-esteem.”
He laughs, and the pleasure that courses through me at the sound is like a drug. I want more. I want to make him happy and have him laugh with me all the time. “Hey, rabbits and pine nuts were like gold back then,” he says. “And the gift exchange went both ways. The groom’s family gave up prime pine nuts with their men.”
“Okay, we need to end this conversation right now. It’s degraded to a topic about men and their nuts, and can only go downhill from here.”
Lewis chuckles and turns up the bank to a log thicker than the both of us. He takes off his coat and lays it in front on the sand. “Sit?”
“On your suit? Don’t you want to wear it again?”
His eyes sparkle. He rubs the chin I’m intimately aware has a light bristle and glances down my body. “After you’ve sat on it. Yes.”
My face heats. Where did this naughty Lewis come from? He doesn’t throw sexual innuendo around willy-nilly, and it’s incredibly hot.
Canoodling.
I plop my ass on the coat and tuck my legs to the side.
He sits beside me and leans back as if to gaze at the dark water, but watches me instead. “What happened at the cascades? Why did you push me away?”
My attraction buzz dies a quick death.
I cross my arms over my middle as if to protect myself from the truth, but the topic can’t be avoided forever. “You called me Genevieve.”
He says nothing, waiting.
Waves on the lake reflect light from the moon like metallic shards, sharp and jagged. “No one calls me Genevieve, except my mom. Drake learned I’m a Genevieve instead of a Jennifer when we first met. That’s all he’s ever called me. When you and I were together, I heard him say it instead of you.” I brush sand off the edge of his coat and scoot back until my rear hits the log. “You caught me off guard, is all.”
His silence has me worried, and I glance over. “Try it,” I tell him.
“Try what?”
“My name.”
He drops his head back until it rests against the tall log. “Genevieve.” His voice is low and seductive without trying, and my gaze lands on his mouth.
“See?” I clear my throat. “Nothing happened. The only thing I was thinking about was the way you said it.”
His head tips forward, eyes focused on my face. “How did I say your name?”
“Sexy.”
“Hmmm. Last time I was touching you when I said it. Maybe we should perform an experiment.”
I laugh because it’s such a guy thing to suggest. I’ve never seen this side of Lewis—the playful, flirty side. “What did you have in mind?”
He runs a warm hand down my bare arm. I’ve been so focused on him, I didn’t notice how effing cold it is. “Genevieve,” he says, and inches closer, “are you cold?”
I shiver at the sound of his voice, low and gruff. “Yes.” I follow his lead and press my side against his.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders. “How’s this? Experiment going okay so far, Genevieve?”
The deep rumble of his voice when he utters my name and his full, sensual mouth, with the naughty scar at the corner that stands out like one of the slivers of the moon on the water are mind-numbingly hot. “Good. We’re good.”
He tilts my jaw up, brushing my lips with his. “Genevieve, you taste good.”
I’m about to tell him he does too, when his mouth returns and I lose track of my thoughts, our tongues tangling. He pulls me close and I burrow into his chest, running my hands up and down his sides, over his stomach. His muscles tense.
He pulls away with a concerned look. “Genevieve—”
“Your experiment worked. I’m cured,” I whisper, busily pulling his shirt from his suit pants and kissing his neck.
I’ve fantasized about what lies beneath Lewis’s buttoned-up exterior, reaching the core of him. I love the heat in his eyes as he watches me. My fingers trail over the ridges of his stomach and he covers my mouth with his.
He leans me back, cradling my head above the sand, and kisses me with a tenderness and heat that has my belly shooting sparks down my thighs. The bottom of my fitted dress cuts into my hips, making a northbound route to my waist. He feels so good above me, and by good, I mean amazing.
I wrap my leg around the back of one of his and run my hands over the dip in his lower back. I squeeze his muscled ass.
“Gen.” There’s a desperate tone in his voice.
I lick the scar on the corner of his mouth—still haven’t figured out where he got it. Will investigate later. “Shhh, I’m busy,” I mumble as I run my lips over his chin, his jaw.
“It’s—we have to slow down.”
I lean back. “What’s wrong?” Am I coming on too strong? It would be a first, but given how I react to him, entirely possible.
He runs his hands over my waist, raising my thigh higher and gliding up the sensitive underside with his fingers. “We should either slow down or stop. You have no idea how sexy you are. I’m trying to not take this places you’re not ready to go.”
He’s talking about sex? And he’s worried about what I want? I’ve never had a guy take things slow. They’re usually trying to see how far they can get. Is this some kind of reverse psychology?
Let’s test the theory. “Okay.”
He kisses me, slow and tender, then pulls away.
Huh? “Wait—” My thought gets cut off because there’s a massive breeze in places usually covered, and hello, my dress is hiked to my panties.
Lewis tugs down the fabric.
Did he just put my dress to rights? What kind of guy is he? “I mean, we could stop, if you want to,” I say, “but we don’t need to stop.”
His gaze is wary. “We should stop. We’re on the beach. There are people out.”
Just a dang minute, I’m the uptight prude. This sudden role reversal crap sucks. “Are you being modest?”
His gaze turns heated. “With my body? No. With yours? I don’t want any guy seeing it, or having thoughts about it, or watching what we do together. I want that to be private and between the two of us. And I want to do it all, just so you know. So when you’re ready—really ready—tell me.”
Well, shit.
Lewis pulls me up, dusts off his coat, and slips it over my shoulders. We return to the party, stopping partway there so I can put on my shoes. I’m so deep in thought trying to figure out what just happened, I don’t immediately notice the eyes on us as we enter.
Tyler’s face is a shade darker than normal, his gaze narrowed as if he’s angry. “Where the hell did you go? You can’t just leave the party without telling me, Gen. I thought some dickhead”—he glares at Lewis, who rests his arm over my shoulders—“snuck off with you.”
Technically, a guy did sneak off with me, but I think Tyler meant without my permission. And yes, that’s a frightening thought, given my close encounters with dickheads of late.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. I should have told you.”
He huffs out a sigh through his nose and runs a hand
through his hair, ruffling the mass of dark reddish-brown waves in all directions. He stalks to the drink station.
I’m an asshole. I knew Tyler was looking out for me at the party and I took off without saying anything. Where was my head?
Nessa walks up. “It’s not your fault. He was angry before you returned.”
I glance at Tyler warily. He’s taking a shot of something that looks like it’s gonna hurt tomorrow. “Why?”
Nessa’s gaze sways toward Mira without actually landing on her.
This is the first I’ve seen of Mira all night. I didn’t even know she was here. She’s chatting with a girl I’ve never met and stealing glances at Lewis, who’s watching the dance floor, pretending not to notice. “Mira? What does Mira have to do with Tyler being mad?”
Nessa wobbles a little as she pulls me to the side, the light scent of floral perfume and champagne wafting off her. “He was worried when he couldn’t find you, but he only just realized you were missing. Before that”—I lean in—“Mira arrived.” She cringes. “You know how they say instant attraction? Well, this was like hate at first sight. Tyler’s gaze narrowed on Mira. In response, she gave him one of the nastiest looks I’ve ever seen, and this is Mira. She invented deadly glares.” Nessa shakes her head. “How can two beautiful people hate each other so quickly? Have they met before?”
Have they? Tyler grew up in Lake Tahoe with Cali, and he’s only a couple of years older. “I don’t know.”
Tyler white-knuckles the bar, then spins around, weaving slightly. His face is still flushed. He completely ignores Mira as he walks past her to me. “Let’s go.”
“Okay…” I glance at Lewis.
“You need a ride?” Lewis offers, reading my thoughts.
“Ye—”
“No,” Tyler says.
I lean in and lower my voice. “You can’t drive. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“You haven’t.”
True. I’m searching for some reason to remain with Lewis, but that’s not practical with Tyler’s car here—or an angry Mira nearby.
“I’ll drive us home,” I tell Lewis.
He levels an annoyed look at Tyler and pulls me close. “He shouldn’t drink when he’s supposed to be driving you home. Are you sure you’ll be safe with him? You’re comfortable with his car?”
“I’m completely safe, and I borrowed his car when mine died.”
Mira sidles up to Lewis and throws her hair over her shoulder in Tyler’s direction like a bullfighter with a cape.
Tyler takes a tight breath and grabs my hand, jerking us toward the exit.
Lewis frowns.
Jogging on tiptoes in my heels to keep up, I wave good-bye.
“Tyler, what the hell?” I say after we exit the boathouse.
He doesn’t answer, but he slows his pace until we reach the car. He unlocks the doors, then hands me the keys. It takes me a minute to adjust the mirrors and figure out what I’m doing. It’s a good thing I’ve driven his car before, because it’s about thirty years old and not easy to maneuver.
I pull onto the highway and shift until we’re at cruising speed. Tyler looks out the window, tension radiating off him. Those shots did nothing to loosen him up. “Tyler, what is wrong?” He doesn’t answer me, and now I’m getting pissed. “Do you know Mira, or something?”
He squeezes his thigh above the knee. “I know her.”
“Okay, ’cause it seemed like you guys were angry at each other.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as if he swallowed something large. “There’s nothing to be angry about. I just don’t like her.”
Tyler’s pretty easygoing when it comes to women, easy being the operative word. According to Cali, he’s a manwhore. The way he acted with Nessa tonight, all flirty and fun, is how I’ve seen him the few times we’ve hung out. This anger at Mira doesn’t fit. “So, what did she do to make you hate her?”
He looks over, annoyed. “I don’t hate her—and it’s not worth talking about.”
“I don’t blame you for not liking Mira. She puts people off sometimes, but did she do something specific?” Even considering how Lewis helped Mira when she was young, her obsession with him is unnatural. Has she had this kind of obsession before? With Tyler?
“I didn’t say she did anything. We just—we knew each other in high school.”
Interesting. I got the sense Mira didn’t interact with people outside her circle. “So, you don’t hate her. She hasn’t done anything. But you don’t like her—and you knew her in high school… Exactly how well did you know her?”
His shoulders tense, his jaw clenching. “I’m not getting into this. Drop it, okay?”
I shake my head, exasperated. This brother stuff is more of a pain than it’s worth. “I guess.”
But I don’t believe for one second there’s nothing between Mira and Tyler. Seems like there is a lot between them none of us know about.
Chapter Eighteen
Lewis calls the next day—morning, to be exact.
“Ellow?”
A deep chuckle rumbles on the other end of my cell phone. “Gen?”
I sit up and swipe hair out of my mouth. “Yes?” I check the time. Seven. What the…?
“Are you awake?”
I rub my face and try to get my eyelids to fully open. “Sort of.”
“Okay, well, I thought we could get an early start training.”
“You want me to train at seven in the morning?”
“Is that a problem?”
I let out a deep, guttural sigh. He’s doing this for me, I remind myself. “My brain doesn’t function very well at this hour.”
“That’s okay. All I need are your legs. And your arms.”
I slip into a prone position and prop my head on my elbow to stay awake. “For?”
“Swimming.”
Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. “Where?” I ask slowly.
“The lake.”
Definitely don’t like the sound of that. “Are you bringing me a wetsuit?”
“You’re kidding?”
“Not really.”
“No wetsuit. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Lewis pulls off the highway and down a road to the shore north of Zephyr Cove, a place called Cave Rock. Mist hangs over the lake, evidence the water is friggin’ freezing in the morning, and, well, pretty much any time of day. Alpine lakes are not known for their warmth.
“Why are we here so early?” I ask grumpily.
He looks over and smiles. “Not a morning person?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re just now noticing? Why? Are you a morning person?” Because if he says yes, I might have to call this entire whatever we have going on off.
“When I have to be. I don’t sleep much.” He exits the Jeep and grabs thick towels from the rear while I stumble out. Lewis takes in my sweatpants and sweatshirt, the hood pulled over my head. “You do have a swimsuit underneath all that, don’t you?”
I glare at him.
He grins. He’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair ruffled as if from sleep.
In spite of my irritable mood, I have to admit he looks really cute first thing in the morning. And he brought me coffee, which saved his life. I cannot be held responsible for my actions when woken at ungodly hours.
Glancing up—way up—I take in the enormous cliff jutting proudly toward the lake like an Egyptian sphinx. Holes drilled through the center provide highway access. “What is Cave Rock?”
Lewis follows my gaze. “A sacred Washoe site.”
“Really?” I look again. The brittle, bricklike layering of stone that forms the cliff appears weathered and different from the rocks of the jetty below.
Lewis walks to the side of a boat ramp. He climbs across the boulders of the jetty and I stare. “You expecting me to follow you, or something?” I call.
He waves me forward. “Come on. I’ll tell you a story when you get out here.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of
incentive?” I take a few tentative steps, my flimsy Keds slipping dangerously. “’Cause it’s not working.”
He looks back and frowns. “Genevieve, the race is just over two weeks away. You are not ready. Scaling these stones and catching up to me is the first phase of your training today.”
The first phase?
I’m doing the weightlifting, the running, not to mention the gym and cascades torture, but I trust him if he says I’m not ready for the race. Mentally, I’m most definitely not ready. Physically, it’s debatable. I might finish the mudder with a decent time, considering my track conditioning—if I’m able to scale the walls, which is dubious. But the mudder doesn’t simply test physical endurance, it tests mental resilience.
We reach the end of the jetty and I sit on a flat stone, my legs dangling over the edge. They’re not sore for once, and though scaling the rocks took concentration, I don’t feel fatigued. The mist no longer lingers on the water, but that doesn’t equate to warmth below. The temperature outside is a cool sixty and rising, which means the water must also be in the sixties. Cold.
“So what’s this story you’re going to tell me?”
Lewis unzips his sweatshirt and lays it on top of the towels. He sinks onto a rock and props up a knee, leaning back on his elbow. My gaze strays to the smooth, ripped bicep peeking out of his T-shirt. Everything about Lewis is compelling—the way he moves, the things he says, his body.
When I look up he’s watching me. I should be embarrassed that he caught me checking him out, but I’m too startled by the matched look in his eyes. Longing.
For a moment, I think he’s going to reach over and kiss me, but his heated gaze cuts to the lake and he doesn’t say anything.
I stare at the water and try to figure out what just happened. Did I do something wrong? If he had kissed me, I wouldn’t have minded, no matter how tired and irritable I am.
A small duck suns itself on a stone separated from the rest of the boulders that form the jetty. This rock is smooth, the same color as Cave Rock—brown and weathered.
Mountain Man Page 14