Arrogant Devil(50)

She turns to look up the creek, and I berate myself for once again putting my foot in my mouth. We were having a surprisingly good time, and I bet it could continue if I swallow my pride a little bit.

“Forget I said that, okay? Here, look, I’m in my underwear now too, so we’re even.”

She turns back and I catch the subtle way her eyes widen when she sees me standing on the shore in my boxers. She does the quickest scan from head to toe I’ve ever seen and then her gaze flips to the sky. She looks like she’s praying.

“I thought it was implied that the whole ‘not getting weird’ thing goes both ways.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her voice is high and squeaky, but she recovers fast. “Wait, so you really know how to do a backflip?”

She sounds thoroughly impressed, and I can’t help but think, Move over, Carrie Suthers. Looks like my rope swing skills are still paying dividends.

It takes her a few tries to toss the rope up to me on the shore, but then I grab hold of it and climb up to the highest part of the bank.

“Shall I count down?” she asks.

Alfred barks from a few yards down, anxious about what I’m about to do. He’s seen me swing plenty of times, but it still makes him nervous.

“Sure.”

“Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three—”

“Meredith.”

“Okay, threetwoone GO!”

I jump off the ledge and arc out over the water. When the rope extends to the farthest point, right over the deepest part of the creek, I let go and allow muscle memory to take over. Warm wind rushes around me as I flip then plunge into the icy water with a splash. I kick up to the surface and shake off the feeling of tiny needles stabbing into my skin. I always forget just how intensely cold it is in the spring-fed creek. The water bubbles straight up from an underground aquifer, so it’s never warm, not even in the heat of summer.

Meredith claps as I break the surface. “Bravo! I totally thought you were bluffing.”

“It wasn’t bad for my first of the season. I’ll get more air next time.”

“More air!? You were practically flying there for a second. How’d you do that?”

“You’re just trying to talk your way out of your turn.”

She feigns shock. “What? Me? No! I just want to hear all about how you learned to do a backflip. Tell me in excruciating detail. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Meredith.”

She throws up her hands and they splash back into the water. “All right! Okay. I’m going…”

With a sigh, she starts swimming for the shore while I hold the end of the rope. For the record, I don’t try to leer at her as she walks out of the water. I have every intention of keeping my promise about not letting things get weird, but then the water starts to slip away inch by inch and I’m a man at a complete loss. The sun shines on the water in just the right way to create a shimmering reflection, and the effect is two Merediths, different but the same. One is an illusion, the other all too real.

Holy hell.

Her tan, toned back gives way to a small waist and long legs. Her bra is lacy and pale cream, sexier than I was expecting. Her underwear are full-coverage cotton panties, yet somehow I find them cute as hell, especially while they’re clinging to her ass.

I knew she had a good body, but not a killer body—not a body that makes me abundantly grateful that the water concealing the lower half of my body is ice cold.

Get a fuckin’ grip, I scold myself.

Once she’s on the shore, she wraps her arms around her chest, as if she’s embarrassed, and then makes a mad dash to the rope swing.

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” She turns to me and probably sees that my brain has lost all control of motor function. “I said don’t look!”

I slap my hand over my eyes comically. “There? Better?”

“Yes. For the record, these aren’t thrift store tighty-whities. They’re designer tighty-whities.”

“Really? I’m pretty sure they’re the same ones Edith wears. Cute that you guys match.”

“Why do you know so much about your grandma’s unmentionables?”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors about us in the Deep South?

“Wow, is that a genuine joke from Jack McNight? Color me shocked. Now just throw me the rope, will you?”

I drop the hand covering my eyes so I know where to aim. She’s forced to uncross her arms so she can catch it, and I really fucking wish she was wearing a different bra, something that matched her underwear, because the tiny lacy thing covering her chest is sopping wet and I doubt she realizes just how translucent it is. I’m pretty sure I can see the tips of her breasts, and for some reason, I miss the mark on my first few throws.

“Jeez, you suck at this.”

I don’t even respond because I know my voice would come out hoarse and crackly, like a twelve-year-old in his first week of puberty. I’ve never seen a sexier sight. A naked woman is one thing, but a woman barely concealed, covering just enough to make you wonder if you’re seeing something or if your eyes are just playing tricks on you? It is without comparison.

I try my damnedest to keep my attention on her face.

I toss the rope and she misses it.

I think this is what they refer to as cruel and unusual punishment.