Page 44 of Sundown Somewhere

Now my pulse is really racing. How does she know about that?

She giggles, shaking her head. “It was in your text.”

“Oh.” Right. Errrr…how do I answer that? “Hayes business.”

“That all I’m gonna get?”

“For now.”

“Since when is paper and lumber so mysterious?”

Narrowing her eyes, Dolly shifts, studying me. I let her, enjoying being the object of her gaze.

“Who said it had anything to do with paper and lumber?”

I waggle my eyebrows, knowing that my cryptic answer will drive her crazy. She gasps, the sound much louder than intended, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“Huxley Hayes, are you up to no good without me?”

Never…

If she only knew that all this was for her. That my secret project—which was originally intended to be a wedding gift—is more about making her smile than anything else. Because that smile is what fuels my entire world.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hayes?”

I freeze. My initial reaction is to be a smart-ass and tell this nice human being in the salmon-colored scrubs that my parents are back in Hickory Hills, but then I think better of it. Good thing too, because Dolly is quick on the draw.

“Why not!”

Why not indeed…

She pops up off the couch like a bottle rocket in a back field on a hot summer’s night, the still way too big robe slipping off her shoulder, showing off some skin. My dick twitches, and fuck, it’s a good thing I kept my skivvies on because the tent pole I’m currently sporting would be splitting this robe right open. Talk about indecent exposure.

A moment later, we’re in the room, the two massage tables set just far enough apart for the therapists to fit in between, leaving maybe enough room for a couple to hold hands during treatment. Which wouldn’t make much sense anyway. More importantly, the tables are dressed so that the heads face in opposite directions.

“Today’s rubdown is brought to you by the number sixty-nine,” I joke, slipping out of my robe and hanging it up on the wall. “If they think that’s discouraging couples from⁠—”

I spin around and am stopped dead in my tracks. Absolutely, one hundred percent dead.

Dolly McLain is naked.

All the air has been sucked from the room, my lungs burning as they try to keep up. I don’t know where to look, because all of it is stunning. Magnificent. Forget the Venus de Milo or whatever that statue is in the Louvre—because the most incredible woman is standing right here in front of me in a spa in Georgia.

Fuuuuuck…

“You’re wearing undies!” Dolly whispers, the soft words both accusatory and hurt at the same time.

“They’re boxer briefs,” I correct her. Men don’t wear undies. “And I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do and didn’t want to cause a scene with my wang just hanging out.”

If there was ever a time to not free ball it…

“Instead you just let me put on the show? Embarrass myself even more?”

Embarrass herself? Is that what she thinks this is? Oh, fuck no.

“Dolly.”

My voice comes out like I just chain smoked an entire pack. She shifts, her annoyance on display as she crosses her arms, pushing up her breasts, front and center. If I thought I didn’t know where to look before, she just answered my question. Lust surges through me, and there’s no hiding it, my cock going rock-hard and creating a bulge that I’m sure she can’t ignore.