The Liar

Spring had come in so soft and benign, he’d forgotten what a hot, wet hammer summer could pound with in the Smokies.

And today had been just a quick preview of coming attractions.

Once it hit full, he and Matt would start earlier in the day, knock off earlier in the afternoon. And that would give him time to work inside on his own projects. Then there were the plans for the bar and grill once the permits came through.

Then, of course, there was Shelby. He wanted as much time as he could steal with her.

Even as he thought of her, the glass door opened.

She stood, her hair curling wildly over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a knowing smile. With her eyes on his, she took the beer out of his hand, set it on the counter behind her.

“You’re going to need both hands,” she told him.

“It’s a day of miracles,” he said, and reached for her.

“It’s cool.” Tipping her head back, she traced her fingertips up his back. “The water’s cool.”

“Too cool?”

“No, it’s nice. And this is even better.” She rose up to her toes, fixed her mouth on his. And there was nothing cool in the kiss.

He thought it a wonder the water didn’t go to steam the way she heated his blood. Instant and fierce. Every sweaty hour he’d put in that day, every restless hour of the night he’d spent wanting her, worried for her, spilled away.

Soft skin, eager mouth, greedy hands—in that moment, she gave him everything he needed.

“I’ve been wanting you since I had you.” He couldn’t take fast enough. “Going crazy just to touch you again.”

“I go crazy when you touch me. Don’t stop touching me.”

Heat and need and pleasure mixed to hammer in her heart, to shimmer under her skin. The more he gave her, the more she wanted, and reveled in her own appetite.

For him, just him, the hard hands, the tough, workingman’s body. His mouth, patient and demanding at once, made her head spin.

He hiked her up by the hips, bringing her off the shower floor. That surprising strength, the hard grip with rough-palmed hands, combined to make her feel vulnerable, desirable, powerful.

Eyes on his, she wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her fingers into his shoulders for purchase.

Then she was crying out as he plunged into her. Shocked and thrilled and quivering for the next mad thrust.

Water striking, seeming to sizzle and spark against tile. Wet flesh slipping, sliding under her hands. And her own breathless gasps.

She felt weightless, wondrous, clinging to him as he whipped them both higher. Clung still as they tumbled into the blissful dark.

“Hold on,” he managed, and groped to turn off the water. “Just hold on.”

“Mmmm. I feel like I might slide right down the drain.”

She sensed movement, stayed wrapped around him even when he dropped them both on the bed.

“I need a minute,” he told her.

“Take your time.”

“I meant to. But you were all wet and naked. I’ll get towels in a minute.”

“I bought a new dress.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, and I was going to put it on for dinner, then let you take it off me after. I didn’t take my time, either.”

The image brought on a small but definite surge of fresh energy. “Do you still have the dress?”

“Hanging in your laundry room.”

He trailed a finger down her side. “You could go with your plan, and we’ll both take our time.”

“I like that idea. What I didn’t think to bring was a hair dryer. I don’t suppose you have one.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Well, between the shower and the humidity and no hair tools, my hair’s going to be as big as the moon. I must have bands and clips in my purse.”

“I like your hair.”

She curled into him. “I like yours. I like how the sun’s starting to streak it. You’d pay good money for highlights like that at my granny’s.”

“Men who eat meat loaf don’t have highlights.”

She kissed his shoulder. “You do, and I’m getting those towels, and turning dinner back up.”

“You turned it down?”

She gave him the slow, flirtatious, under-the-lashes smile Callie often did. “I wanted you in the shower, so dinner’s going to take just a little longer than I’d planned.”

“I like that you turned it down. I’ll get the towels.”

He rose, walked back into the bathroom. “What were you researching—or was that a ploy to get me wet and naked?”

“It wasn’t a ploy, just a bonus.” She smiled, took the towel he offered. “Griffin, my hair’s like another person, and that other person also needs a towel.”

“Right.” He went in for another, and the beer she’d taken and set on the counter.

“So what were you researching?”

“Oh.” She’d wrapped the first towel around her body, and now bent from the waist to gather her hair in the second. “You don’t want to talk about that. It’s all the other things. The Richard things.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I do.” She straightened, somehow tucking parts of the towel into the whole in a way that fascinated him. “I want to talk to somebody about it who’d have some perspective on it. I thought I’d run all of it by Forrest, maybe tomorrow, even though he’s probably thought of half of what I just thought of already, but . . .”