Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(43)

But our mouths met, and everything went sideways. It wasn’t the sounds of summer in Bootleg that I heard now. It was his breath, ragged and harsh. The sun disappeared from my skin, and instead I felt the heat and pressure of his hands. The erection stirring in his shorts. The hammer-like thud of my heart in my chest.

I was the aggressor here, opening my mouth and sinking my teeth into that perfect lower lip of his.

“Shelby,” he growled.

And then our tongues were tangling, hands roaming, teeth biting. He slipped his hands under my t-shirt, thumbs resting under the band of my sports bra. His broad palms spanning my rib cage.

I went for the gold. I removed my arms from around his neck and shoved my hands into the back of his shorts, squeezing the world’s most perfect ass.

His erection was at full attention now, throbbing against my stomach.

Biology was so damn sexy.

The kiss was wildly unpredictable, both of us fighting to deepen it. Both of us fighting to hold back. And I realized too late that this would do nothing to relieve his concerns. I decided to worry about that later.

At least until what sounded like an ear-splitting shriek cracked the cone of sexy that surrounded us.

We pulled back and stared at each other. “I’m very stimulated,” I whispered. My lips felt swollen. Jonah’s eyes had gone to green glass. His grip on me was deliciously possessive.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, finally breaking through the sexual haze.

One hell of a kiss.

The shriek sounded again. High-pitched and frantic.

“That’s a pig! Come on!”





23





Jonah





“That is not a baby pig,” I said, eyeing the hefty black form that trotted down the path to us.

“Potbellied pigs can weigh up to 120 pounds,” Shelby recited. “I’m not sure how I know that.”

No Name had to be at least fifty pounds and had black bristly hair and a curly tail that was wagging like a delighted dog. “There’s a halter but no leash,” I said, the realization sinking in. “How are we going to get her back to the house?”

Shelby gnawed on the lower lip that I’d just kissed. I was still fully hard, the aftereffects of a second world-tilting kiss still occupying most of my brain power and blood supply. I was definitely going to worry about the outcome of our experiment later. For now, I had to figure out how to get a pig home.

“Maybe she’ll just follow us?” she said hopefully.

The pig pranced up to us stopping about six feet out. It squealed and danced on dainty hooves.

Adjusting my hard-on, I squatted down and held out my hand. “This works for dogs, but I’m not sure about pigs.” If I could get a hand on her, I could pick her up… and then carry her the mile back to the house.

She pranced away and then back again, squealing insistently.

“Am I stupid for saying that it looks like she wants us to follow her?” I asked.

“I’m so glad you said it. I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. What’s the matter, piggy? Is someone stuck in a well?” Shelby asked, head cocked.

The pig bowed on its front feet like a dog and then jogged up the path in front of us. She stopped a few yards out and hurried back.

I shrugged and stood. “Looks like a ‘yes’ to me. Let’s see where she’s going.”

The pig seemed delighted that we were following her. She scurried a few yards in front of us over the crest of the trail before veering off into the meadow. Tall grass tangled around rock outcroppings and trunks of trees.

“Is now a good time to mention I really don’t want to step on one of those poisonous snakes that reside in rural West Virginia?” she confessed.

“At least we’ll be able to see the bears coming.”

“You’re so silver lining-y,” she said.

We picked up the pace. The pig was on a mission. I just hoped she wasn’t leading us to a giant pile of shit or a dead body. If a Bodine was found in the vicinity of a dead body, law enforcement would have a shit fit.

The pig came to a stop in front of a few jagged rocks under a huge hickory tree. The shade was a welcome respite. I swiped the sweat out of my eyes with the hem of my t-shirt. The breeze stirred the leaves over our heads.

The pig squealed and then lay down.

“What’s that?” Shelby asked, venturing closer. “Oh my god, Jonah.”

It was a puppy. At least I thought it was a puppy. The poor thing’s fur was matted with mud and probably shit. It had a dirty rope around its neck. The end of which was tangled in loose branches and rocks.

It whimpered.

“Oh, you poor baby!” Shelby eased in, carefully not to startle the pig or the pup.

The pig nudged her hand, and Shelby gave her a stroke. “You’re a hero, little pig. You just saved this baby’s life.”

I edged in and grimly went to work on the rope. It was filthy, and the dog’s neck was rubbed raw beneath it. “Whoever had this dog is not getting him back.”

“Oh, he is a he!” Shelby said with delight as she lifted him carefully into her lap. Listlessly, he lapped at her hand. It was impossible to tell what color he was through the layers of dirt and mud and God knows what else. But he had the floppy-eared look of the beagle my neighbors had in Jetty Beach.