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And snowing. “Thirty is T-shirt weather for you?”
He gives me a low laugh and a smile that’s possibly more distracting than that snug-fitting T-shirt. “Not as a rule, but playing hockey on the lake behind my house as a kid, there was a time or two, at least. Besides, Diesel’s got my luggage. So, nothing to change into if this stuff gets wet or dirty.”
Do notthink about what it would be like to getwetanddirtywith this man.
He points to the tree. “You want a turn?”
“Not unless you need a break.”
He laughs and starts to saw, biceps flexing hard enough I’m concerned for the wellbeing of the T-shirt stretched taut around them.
No. Crushy. Feelings.
The tree falls and, victorious, Noel springs to his feet, pumping his fist… and that poor T-shirt is soaked through from the snow and plastered to his sculpted chest and abdomen.
Damn.
Noel turns, and I am so busted.
But I don’t want to make this weird. How do Inotmake this weird?
I gulp. His brow lifts.
It’ssoweird.
Damage control time. “That’swhat your stomach looks like?” I say with all the bravado I can muster. Going for bold and brash, I wave a hand toward him, twirling my finger in the air. “You’vegottalet me see for real. Shirt up, pretty please!”
I want to die, but I keep that too-bright smile on my face.
He looks down at himself and then to me, eyes narrowing. Suspicious. And rightly so, but no way am I owning up to my crushy fluster. So, I double down. “Wait, can I touch it?”
Okay, he clearly has no idea what to make of this. Finally, he looks around and, seeing we’re alone on this part of the farm, gives a shrug.
“Sure, why not?”
Um, because I’m a creeper?Just say no, Noel!
But he doesn’t, and now I feel guilty. I’m pretty sure I want to do the right thing here, but maybe it would be worse to change my mind. And I don’t want to bruise his ego.
Snow crunching beneath my boots, I walk the few feet to where he’s bunched his shirt, and holy shiznit, what lies beneath is even more impressive.
My hand is reaching before I even realize it’s taken on a mind of its own, and startled, I pull it back. “Ack, I feel like a perv.”
Stupid conscience.
Noel just laughs and takes my hand, using it to pull me in a step. Definitely inside the bubble here, and I’m looking up at him again, getting caught in that same eye contact that’s been snaring me on and off throughout the day.
Slowly, he brings my hand to his mouth and, oh my, hebreatheswarmth over my fingers.
I shudder, my brain scrambling as his smile hitches higher, and he breathes again. Then, “Just warming them up first.”
I nod.
Watch the air fog the space where his hand holds mine. His thumb brushes the length of my finger, and my heart stops. And then he’s pressing my palm to the hard ridges of his stomach, letting my fingers tuck into the valleys alongside.
“Whoa.”
He laughs again, and the landscape beneath my touch shifts and bunches. “I do a lot of core work to protect myself from injuries.” His hand covers mine. “You good, or you need another minute?”
