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“Ooops?” I give him an innocent shrug. “Let’s remember, anything that happens out here is your fault.”
“Are we back on possible murder again? Because it’s less cute out here with no witnesses and a large body of water.”
I grin, even though he can’t see it. “I guess you better be nice to me, then.”
There’s an echoey thud, and the canoe sways as he shifts behind me, and before I can glance back at what he’s doing, his warmth presses to my back. “I’m an incredibly nice person.” His voice by my ear makes all the little hairs on the back of my neck react. Orson’s arms wrap around me, and his hands cover mine. They’re steady and large and warm. Softer than mine, but when I look down at his light skin against mine, the sun glints off his scars.
“Like this.” His grip tightens, and he steers my paddle through the water in smooth strokes, expertly propelling us forward with little effort.
“You’re good at handling a stick,” I say.
He chuckles, still so close. “Guess I’m a natural.”
“You’re not going to feed me bullshit about doing this for years?”
“Only once before. I’m averygood student.”
“A very goodteasetoo.”
“I think you like it,” he responds.
“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the bastard releases one of my hands and tweaks my nipple. “Iknewit.”
I flinch at his loud words. “Knew what?”
“You have your nipple pierced. I thought I spotted it through your T-shirt.”
“Yeah, yeah. We both know you only wanted to cop a feel.”
“Am I that transparent?” Orson playfully snaps at my ear before releasing me and dropping back into his seat.
Even the sun hasn’t warmed my skin as much as his arms did. “Careful, smart-ass, or I’ll drown you again.”
“Hey, unlike me, you’ve had plenty of years’ experience with a stick, and I expect you to use them.”
I smile as I set the paddle in the water and go through the motions the way Orson guided me. I hear him do the same. “Well, Iaman expert in stroking sticks. Plenty of experience getting men all wet too.”
“I can tell.”
“Many a-men have complimented my skill.”
He sniggers. “You’ve got the patience down pat. Not rushing it.”
“No point rushing through the enjoyable things in life.”
“Ah, so you agree this is enjoyable?”
Fuck, he’s got me there. “There are better ways to stroke a stick, but this isn’t bad.”
We leave the sheltered side bank and hit the river, where the current helps us drift along lazily.
“Put the paddle up and turn around.”
“Paddle is doable. The moving, not so much.”
He clicks his in beside me, and I try to do the same on the other side, but Orson ends up having to help. When I feel steady enough to turn around, I find him sitting across his seat with his shoes kicked off. His feet hang over one side of the canoe while his elbows lean on the other.
