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Already tanned from the mountainside sunshine, I’m shocked when an added warmth rises in Caleb’s cheeks.
“You’re embarrassed!” I laugh.
“No.” Caleb unfolds his arms as if realizing he’s being defensive. He moves towards me, like he’s looking for something to do, then turns toward the oven where he takes a long inhale of the food. “I don’t get embarrassed.”
Well, apparently not when it comes to his body, he doesn’t.
I try not to ogle him but my self-control has been worn down by the sound of his laugh and his appreciation of my cooking. His interest in the pots gives me the chance to peek a glance at him.
As he leans in to inspect the tenderness of the carrots, my eyes fall to the long tendon stretching from his ear to his throat. That arrow of sinew flows out into sweeping collarbones and the heavy pads of a finely-built chest. He moves a fork to poke at the vegetables and the small gesture shifts the lines of his arm and back. There’s no fat on him. His muscles are there for all to see working in efficient harmony beneath the skin. As his forearm flexes, the bones rise under tan skin and soft, blond hair. The same hair dusts his belly, dancing over shallow ridges that carve grooves over his abdomen. A deep, slanting V disappears swiftly under the towel around his hips. The hair follows, forming a thin and silky line beneath his navel. Out the bottom of the towel are thick, powerful legs with feet designed to hold a man of his size; long and boldly ridged.
Caleb isn’t a man who goes to the gym. I’m certain of that. I’ve seen my share of weightlifters and cardio freaks. Auto work is so dominated by alpha males that it’s impossible to avoid regular discussions on the benefits of straight protein vs. whey, and if it’s the reps or sets that really make the difference. I’ve seen the men who bulk up their figures until they’re Clark Kent in overalls.
Caleb’s physique is entirely different and has to have been earned another way—through hard labor. I know he’s the handyman around town, so I can only assume that Caleb has worked his ass off, shedding away fat and inefficient bulges along the way, in favor of lean tendons and roping muscle. The gym-goers back in NYC were all about bulldozer size. Caleb was simply raw power. Long and delicious lines of it.
To make it worse, his hair is starting to dry. Locks of dark blond are lightening to sandy blond and slowly springing into the air, reborn and curled while wet.
There is something horrendously unfair about a shredded, powerful male with sweet, boyish curls. Where is the justice exactly?
“Lizzie? You okay?”
Panicking for a moment that I’ve been caught drooling over his rather lovely body, I’m relieved when I blink and find Caleb watching me with a look of concern.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Hopefully, I’d just looked as if I were staring into space. “I’ll er… I’ll just dart into the shower and then food will be ready.”
“You sure?” he asks, testing the carrots again. They bob up and down in the bubbling water as he pokes them. But the only bobbing I seem able to focus on is the one in the thick column of his neck when he swallows. It creates a nice shadow that I almost want to touch. “These look nearly done.”
“Er, yeah,” I clear my own throat. “Probably only ten minutes tops.”
“You’re going to shower in ten minutes?”
I’m not sure if this is a comment on how truly disgusting I look post workout routine or if it’s based on his impression of how long women take in the bathroom. Either way, I decide to ignore it.
“I’ll be back down in ten,” I promise.
More than enough time for you to put on a shirt, I silently add, hurrying upstairs. Otherwise I’ll probably be drooling into my food, wasting all my efforts on dinner.
