She peeled off her shorts and draped them over the log.
Will blinked away the sight. The same muscle tone he’d noticed on her stomach was apparent on her butt and thighs. Hell, that wasn’t a butt. That was a booty. A vision of his hands gripping her firm backside as she pulsed up and down above him fogged his brain. And her thighs, he could almost feel the strength of them wrapped around his waist as he…
“You thinking about it?” Patsy brushed water off the thighs in question with an impatient flick of her wrist.
He blinked at her, then down at his shorts. Was he that obvious?
“Your left from your right? You trying to figure it out?” She held up first her left hand, then her right. “Maybe you could get a tattoo or something, you know, a little l and r.”
Oh, that. He tried to focus on her smart-ass question, but the pressure in his shorts was a bit distracting. Maybe he should try another dip in the frigid river. He jerked his soaked T-shirt off and pretended to wring it out. Never show attraction or fear—they feed on it. “Just felt like a swim,” he replied.
“Really? You usually take the cooler with you?” She held out her leg, removing a stray piece of flotsam with two fingers.
Swallowing hard, he focused on the tiny piece of debris pinched between her fingers. Don’t look at her legs. “Keeps the beer cold.” Good, nice and casual. He was under control.
“Well, that’s important.” She dropped his lifeline into the river and combed through her hair with her now unoccupied fingers.
He couldn’t help but think of other things to occupy those skillful digits.
Unaware of his ongoing battle with his libido, she continued, “Next time, warn me though, so I can pull a can out. You caught me empty-handed.” He couldn’t help but smile at her joke.
“I think the next keg’s on you.” She picked up her shorts and climbed into the canoe. Her bikini rode up, revealing a pale V of untanned skin where her butt cheeks peeked out of her swimming suit. He stood watching her, wondering if it was safer to stay behind on the deserted riverbank.
“What you waiting for? Let’s go, but keep the trick steering to a minimum this time. Don’t want to show up the natives.”
What do you know, the siren-shrew had a sense of humor. And from this angle—okay any angle—a very fine backside. “No, we can’t have that. They might get restless.” Grinning, he placed his cold beer can next to his groin and slipped his oar into the water.
With her eyes on the river, she replied, “You have no idea.”
No, he thought, adjusting the can, you have no idea.