Baddest Bad Boys(51)

“It’s steep in places, so best you stay behind me. It isn’t far.”

“What’s not far?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

Tommi was happy to wait, because in seconds it was all she could do to keep up with him as he strode, sure-footed, along the winding path. She let him do battle with the malicious slapping branches while she watched her white sneakers morph into mud-caked combat boots.

Fifteen minutes in, she smelled the sulfur, saw the steam. Another five and she saw a pool several feet below them. There were cedar-plank steps leading down to it, but Mac didn’t take them, just stood at the top.

“A hot spring!” She stepped up beside him, looked down.

“One spring, three pools.”

The enticing waters, bubbling up from the earth’s depths, shivered at its surface to catch shadow and daylight with equal ease.

She breathed in the stew of sulfur, cedar, and sea air. The mix was sharp and heady, like some ancient spice wafting ahead to herald a rare and sumptuous meal. “It smells so”—she searched for the word—“exotic.”

“There”—he pointed to the upper of three pools—“is the source. About 115 degrees. Too hot to use. The water cools as it meets the air and flows over the rocks. The third pool is formed by a waterfall from the second.” He shifted his hand to the last of the three pools. “It’s about 85 or 90.”

“Amazing.”

They started down the cedar-plank steps toward the ocean. “Watch your step,” Mac warned. “The stairs get slippery.”

The bottom pool, carved deeply into ancient rock and worn smooth by ever-flowing waters, was large enough to take four people with ease. Here, so close to the beach, the pungent sulfur odor gave way to the scent of ocean winds.

It was magical. Every tense and tired muscle in Tommi’s body tingled, drawn to the ease and relaxation the waters promised.

Mac started to take off his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“Going in.” He peeled off his shirt to reveal a broad chest, lightly sprinkled with hair, and amply muscled. His hand went to his zipper.

“You’re not going to—”

“Take it all off?” He didn’t smile, but he did raise a brow. “Only if you want me to.” He took off his shoes and socks, then shucked out of his jeans, draping them carelessly over the walkway’s two-by-four railing.

What a body! Tommi didn’t know whether to be thrilled or alarmed. An image of the young Mac Fleming popped into her head, that skinny, too-tall kid with the glower from hell. Whoever that boy was, he was gone, kidnapped by life and passing years and replaced by a man as physically perfect as she’d ever seen; his body was hard-muscled and tight, his smooth skin taut over angular, strong features, as unambiguously male as…the thickness in his briefs.

She watched him ease into the pool, held her breath when the quivering waters reached his muscular thighs and higher, molding those briefs to his heavy sex before he sank into the steaming waters waist-high. He stretched his arms along the rock shelf behind him, put his head back, and closed his eyes.

They were still closed when he said, “Take it off, Smith, and get in here. I won’t bite. And I won’t touch.” He opened his eyes. “But I will look.”

Tommi didn’t move. Couldn’t. Mac was lying. He would touch. If he didn’t, she would. Her fingers ached to explore him. She studied the man stretched out in the pool, her throat tight, her heart seeming afloat in her chest, its beat loud and unsteady. It made no sense. Mac didn’t like her but he wanted her. He was a stranger to her, a mistake waiting to happen…and she wanted him.

Risk. It had been a long time, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Still she hesitated. And the first pellets of rain hit her cheeks.

Mac gave her a speculative look. “You’re going to get wet either way.”

“I’m not wearing a bra.”

“Good. From that preview I had last night, I’d say I’m a lucky man.” He shifted over, nodded at the stone bench seating nature had provided. “Unless they don’t stand scrutiny in the cold light of day. Or you think I can’t keep my promise not to touch.” He did one of those almost-smiles of his, the challenge implicit.

“Most men wouldn’t.”

“I’ll bet you know the comeback to that one.”

“You’re not most men.”

He didn’t answer but kept his gaze on her, fixed, unwavering.

“You’re daring me, aren’t you?” She shook her head.

He smiled, patted the rock beside him.

As overconfident males went, Mac was top percentile.

“And you won’t touch me,” she echoed, warming to the challenge.

“Not an eyelash.” He crossed his heart.

Suddenly the waters with a half-naked Mac showcased to full effect became a tantalizing playpen. And considering she hadn’t played for a long time, much too tempting to pass up.

She had to stop herself from smiling.

It would be fun to see the man suffer. And distracting.

She stroked the tab on her jacket zipper, pulled it down slowly, maybe eight inches. “Okay then, Fleming—ready or not, here I come.”

5
Tommi undressed in a cold, misty rain—and Mac watched her every move, as she knew he would. Ignoring the fact she was damn near freezing, she forced herself to make a show of it. First the outer jacket, then the fleece. When she was down to her sweater, she took off her shoes and started undoing the fly buttons on her jeans, flicking them open slowly, one by one. Finally she shimmied out of what was fast becoming skin-sticking denim.