Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(105)

After all, she’d learned on a basic level that big men were powerful men.

Pausing to stare, she pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nervous butterflies taking flight at the sight of him.

The sunrise gilded his messy sandy-brown hair. As he reeled in his line, then cast it out again, muscles flexed beneath a dark pullover with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing taut forearms and thick wrists dusted with hair. Worn denim hugged his long legs.

He seemed to stand nearly a half-foot taller than her five foot four. God, how she’d prayed he’d be a smaller, less...imposing man.

Finding information on the resort had been easy. Finding information on Cooper Cochran...not so much.

She stood frozen to the spot, trying to convince her feet to move, doing her best to conquer her irrational reservations, but she was suddenly, painfully aware that they were all alone on the shore. Logically, she knew it wasn’t a problem. Plenty of people were around, in their RVs or cabins, so there was no reason to be afraid.

Not here, not now.

Lately, though, fear had been a fickle thing, often re-emerging out of nowhere.

As if he’d known she was there all along, he glanced over his shoulder at her. Reflective sunglasses hid his eyes, and yet she felt his scrutiny and a touch of surprise. She knew his gaze was burning over her and it caused her to shift in nervous awareness.

She guessed him to be in his midthirties, maybe nine or ten years older than her. No one would call him a classically handsome man. His features were as bold as his body, including a strong jaw, masculine nose and harshly carved cheekbones.

Not classic good looks, but he certainly wouldn’t be ignored.

She could see that he hadn’t yet shaved this morning, and she wasn’t sure if he’d combed his hair. The breeze and fog off the lake might have played with it, leaving it a little wavier than usual.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink.

His scrutiny kept her pinned in place with a strange stirring of her senses.

Turning back to the lake, he said, “Ms. Rose?”

The words seemed to carry on the quiet, cool air.

Phoenix swallowed. “Yes.” She watched as he cast out yet again. It almost seemed that he gave her time to get herself together. Of course, he couldn’t know why she was so reserved. Still, his patience, his apparent lack of interest, finally helped her to move forward.

She watched the way his large hands deftly, slowly, reeled in the line.

Her feet sank in the soft, damp sand. “Mr. Cochran?”

“You can call me Coop.”

He had a deep, mellow voice that should have put her at ease but instead sharpened her awareness of him.

“I like to fish in the morning before everyone else crowds the lake. Are you an early bird, Ms. Rose?”

“Actually, yes.” A white gull swooped down, skimmed the water and took flight again. Ripples fanned out across the surface. By the minute, the mist evaporated, giving way to the warmth of the sun. “You know I had my own landscaping business.” She’d told him that much in their email correspondence concerning her application. “In the summer especially, it was more comfortable to start as early as possible. I’ve gotten in the habit of being up and about by six.”

“You won’t need to be that early here.”

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. “The lake is beautiful.”

“And peaceful.” This time when he reeled in the line, he had a small bass attached. “Do you fish?”

He hadn’t faced her again and that made it easier to converse. “When I was younger, my sister and I would visit our grandparents for the weekend and we’d fish in their pond. That was years ago, though.” This was the strangest interview she’d ever had. It was also less stressful than she’d anticipated.

Had Cooper Cochran planned it that way—or did he just love to fish?

“You don’t fish with them anymore?”

“They passed away several years ago. Granddad first, and my Grandma not long after.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like you made good memories with them, though.”

“Yes.” Fascinated, she watched as he worked the hook easily from the fish’s mouth, then he bent and placed it gently back in the water before rinsing his hands. “Too small to keep?”

“I rarely keep what I catch.” He gestured toward a picnic table. “Let’s talk.”

Until then, she hadn’t noticed the tackle box and towel on the summer-bleached wooden table.

She followed Cochran, then out of habit waited until he’d chosen a spot so she could take the side opposite him—a habit she’d gotten into with men. These days she preferred as much distance as she could manage.

He stepped over the bench, dropped the towel, pushed up his sunglasses and seated himself.

Golden-brown eyes took her by surprise. They were a stark contrast to his heavy brows and the blunt angles of his face.

She realized she was staring, that he merely stared back with one brow lifted, and she quickly looked away. Thankfully, she still wore the clip-on sunglasses over her regular glasses, giving her a hint of concealment.

She retreated behind idle chitchat. “I studied the map online and feel like I know my way around. The lake is more impressive than I’d realized. The photos don’t do it justice.”