Happily Ever After: A Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Piper Rayne

She gives me a grateful smile, but it fades, and her face is once again drawn and pale.

  “Here,” I say, fighting my rising panic. “Let me help, okay? We need to get you warm.”

  A hint of color rises up her neck, but she nods eagerly. I pull off her wet t-shirt to reveal a black bikini top.

  I battle the awkward pause by turning my back. “Let me know if you, uh…”

  “Just, can you…” she huffs between shivery breaths. “…loosen…”

  I spin around to see she’s turned her back to me while clutching her front. I get the feeling that she’s terrified of revealing herself. A sudden sense of protectiveness floods through me. Damn. I don’t even know this girl. Why am I feeling this way?

  “How about this,” I say. “Let’s put the shirt on, and then you can do one of those presto-change-o moves you girls are so good at. Then I’ll loosen the knots and you can slip your suit off.”

  She gives a little laugh. “Okay.”

  We get the shirt on and I pull it down her sides. She tugs out her long, wet hair and drapes it over her shoulder.

  I struggle with the tight knot at her neck, then finally get it loose. I realize I have to go up the back of her shirt to loosen the tie around her middle.

  I groan inwardly. I should have asked Annika to come up here.

  But I’m trained in river rescue and wilderness first aid. I’m just doing my job. Lori needs to get warm, and fast.

  However, I realize the power difference in this situation and how intimidating this could be for her. I vow to maintain my professional demeanor and not creep her out.

  Easier said than done because even though Lori’s been drenched by river water, standing this close to her as I reach up the back of the fleece shirt, I catch a hint of what must be her scent. Maybe it’s her shampoo or maybe her skin just naturally smells like peaches. Either way, it smells really fucking good.

  My fingers fumble with the knots. Why the hell did she tie these so tight? She’s now shivering so bad she’s braced against the door, her fingers practically blue.

  I get the knot loose and withdraw my hands, trying not to notice how soft her skin feels, then turn my back so she can finish undressing. Please don’t ask me to help with your shorts.

  “You good?” I ask, banishing the image of sliding those same shorts down her supple thighs.

  “Yeah,” she says in a shaky voice.

  I step around to the side of the rig to wait, relieved. When was the last time I stood next to a woman and hope I didn’t have to undress her?

  I’ve had two weeks to kick off my summer slutting spell as a guide, but so far, it hasn’t happened. Grady’s been giving me shit about it. I just need to pick a girl and get on with it and my old mojo will thunder to life, but something feels different this year. It could be because of the accident, or finally freeing myself from Delaney, aka the biggest mistake of my life.

  I shake my head to clear the confusing emotions piling up in there. The best solution is to drown myself in pussy. Someone fun and looking for a good time, who I can pleasure until dawn, and then slip from her bed without a backwards glance.

  “Okay,” Lori says, walking around the rig’s back doors.

  “Feel better?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the way her tits fill out the shirt. I definitely don’t notice the way her erect nipples make little peaks.

  The pants are another story. She swims in them, but it only makes her look more adorable.

  “Yeah, thanks.” She’s still shivering, but at least now that she’s out of her wet things, her body heat will produce warmth instead of wasting it on drying out a damp suit.

  A thin column of smoke rises from down on the gravel bar. “Now we’ll stoke your engine with some of Annika’s cookies. And Grady’s building a fire.”

  Her eyes cloud. “You don’t have to do all of that for me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I scoff. “I want to make sure you have a good time.”

  “I am,” she says quickly. That toughness flashes in her eyes again, like she’s determined, though to experience what, I don’t know.

  “Even though I got you wet?” I ask, then have to hold in a curse. Fuck! Why did I say that?

  But the comment sails over her head, which of course makes me curious. I get she’s shy, but she’s definitely attractive, and as far as I can tell, a sweet kid.

  But maybe nobody’s ever talked to her like that.

  Fuck.

  “Okay, Adventure Girl, to the bonfire with you,” I joke to cover the sudden tightness in my shorts.

  3

  Lori

  Annika and Jules swarm me when I return to the river. A growing fire cracks and pops in a ring made of pale gray cobbles, tended by Grady, his cheeks red from blowing on the flames. The river sounds blend with the soft swish of the trees stirring in the breeze and the call of what I’m fairly sure is a wren, though I’ll have to reference my bird book later to be sure.

  “I should have made you bring more clothes,” Annika says, wincing. “My fault. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Have a cookie,” Jules says, passing me one. “Soo good.”

  “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?” Annika says warily.

  I shake my head and take a bite. It’s heaven. Buttery and dense and packed with yummy peanut flavor.

  “Beer?” Jules asks, raising her eyebrow. “Or I have a thermos of tea, if you’d rather.”

  “Tea, please,” I’m not much of a drinker. Most of my “nerd herd” friends back home are the same way. I’ve been drunk exactly once, on prom night, with my two best friends, which was totally justified given what happened.

  Though it numbed the pain, the next day my broken heart felt like it had been run over by a bus and my head alternately sloshed and pounded. But I dusted myself off, adjusted my summer plans, and now I’m here, ready to embrace Project Ditch the V-Card.

  The heat from the fire warms my legs and bare feet.

  The guys buzz around, gathering wood, building up the fire.

  Jules helps them carry the boat up to the trailer.

  Annika sneaks a glance at them as they disappear up the bank. “Are you really okay?” she asks with a concerned gaze.

  “Absolutely,” I reply as a sudden shiver breaks loose.

  “I could kill Caleb,” she says in a huff. “Though I should have known better too. I should have scouted.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Really. I liked it.”

  She sneaks another glance to where the others are up on the bank loading the boat onto the trailer. “It could have gotten ugly.”

  “I’m just glad your brother had these extra clothes,” I say.

  She raises an eyebrow. “He didn’t ask you to strip naked, did he?”

  “No,” I say as a hot blush sears my cheeks.

  I think she’s about to say something more when the crew returns, joking and laughing. Caleb has a guitar slung around his shoulder.

  It takes a while for me to fully stop shivering. I catch Caleb watching me, as if he’s worried about me, but I’m fine. It’s not like I haven’t been cold before. And I wouldn’t want the group to cut this night short because of me.

  Caleb and Grady unpack hot dogs and potatoes wrapped in foil that they tuck into the coals. Soon we’re roasting hot dogs on sticks over the fire, with conversation and laughter and Caleb’s guitar playing mixing between us.

  Above, the stars start to emerge, sparkling out from the darkening sky that’s completely unpolluted by city lights. On my first evening at Camp Osprey, I stopped to stare, completely mesmerized. In downtown Berkley, I’m lucky if I get to see the Big Dipper. But here, I can see at least a dozen constellations—Cassiopeia, Orien, even Ursa minor. I’m eager for August and the Perseid meteor shower. Here, it’ll be spectacular.

  I’m nibbling my second hot dog right off the stick when Caleb returns from gathering driftwood. He squats next to me and adds several medium-sized logs to the fire.
>
  “Is it hard to find dry wood this early in the season?” I ask.

  He glances to me, his strong features lit by the firelight. “Nah. You just have to know where to look.”

  “How long have you been rafting?”

  He whips out a bandana from his pocket and wads it up like a hot pad, then flips each of the potatoes baking in the coals. “Since I was three years old.”

  I watch him curiously.

  “My parents started White Cloud Rafting twenty-five years ago.” He eases back to join me on the large driftwood log I’m using as a chair. “It’s what we do every summer.”

  I swallow my bite of charred hot dog, which for some reason tastes incredible. “What do you do when it’s not summer?”

  “Now? College.”

  I get the feeling he’s being evasive, though I don’t know why. I don’t know even him.

  “It must get cold here in the winter,” I say, trying to lure him back to my original question. Not only is Penny Creek at five thousand feet, it’s surrounded by mountains—the granite spires and glacier-carved valleys of the Sawtooths to the east and the bulky, formidable White Cloud Mountains to the west. To the northeast is the remote Selway-Bitterroot Range.

  “Last January it got down to fifty below.”

  “Whoa!” I gasp. “Do you even go outside?”

  “Hell yeah,” he says with a grin. “You just have to bundle up.”

  I picture him dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. To cover my giggle, I take another bite of my hot dog. Even though I’m no longer cold, another shiver jolts through me.

  Caleb sees it. “Here,” he says, unzipping his down jacket and handing it over.

  I wave him off. “I’m okay.”

  But his look is firm, unwavering. “Nope. You’re putting this on.”

  I give him a scowl, but I take the coat and slide it on. Not only is it warm inside, it’s imprinted with a scent uniquely his—river rock and sweet Ponderosa and something spicy, like sage.

  “Thank you,” I say. At least my fingers have warmed up enough to work the zipper. I swim in his coat made for a broad-chested, muscular guy, but it’s like I’ve just donned my own personal heater because my torso heats up in seconds. Though maybe it’s not the coat.

  Since our conversation at the teacup last night, I’ve been replaying the way his teasing eyes watched me and how his fit, taut body moved so easily, confidently. Another shiver races over my skin, but thankfully Caleb doesn’t notice.

  I cannot develop a case of the hots for Annika’s brother. That’s just wrong.

  “What about you?” he asks, stirring the coals with the blunt end of a length of driftwood before picking up his guitar again. “When summer’s over, I mean.”

  “College.” For some reason, I withhold the details about my acceptance into Stanford. Maybe I don’t want to kill the buzz of attention this river God is bestowing on me. After all, I’m New Experiences Girl, not Nerd Girl, this summer.

  His fingers stroke a series of chords I recognize. “What are you going to study?” he asks.

  “Not sure yet,” I reply, then cringe at the lie. I absolutely know what I’m going to study—biology. Though whether I’m going with genetics or more of an ecology path I’m not yet certain. Definitely not microbiology. I don’t want to spend my life looking into a microscope, no matter how fascinating viruses are.

  “How about you?”

  His eyes tighten, but it’s gone before I can fully register it, replaced by a sly grin. “Not sure yet.”

  I wonder what year he is—sophomore, junior? He should know his path of study by now. “Music?” I ask because he’s good.

  He laughs. “No, I just play for fun.”

  “Are you at Boise State, like Annika?” Annika already shared her plan to study business.

  “Yep,” he says. “I can’t wait to haze her this fall,” he adds with a wild gleam in his eye.

  “You have older brothers, too, right? Where are they?” Maybe I’m curious about his family because I only have half-siblings, both of them much younger than me, so I pretty much grew up as an only child. As a kid, I always wished for a sister. It might have made some of what I endured more bearable.

  “My oldest brother, Peter, will start his second year of medical school this fall, at the University of Washington.” The fire pops, sending out a shower of tiny sparks that make both of us jump backward, but the embers die on the cobbles. “Wyatt’s at Oregon State. He’s in training, so won’t be here this summer.”

  “Training for what?” I ask.

  He studies his fingers on the strings for a moment. “The Olympics,” he replies, then plays several chords. “He’s a swimmer. Distance.”

  “Wow, is he going to make the team?”

  “Looks like it.”

  I sit back, impressed. A doctor and an Olympic swimmer.

  A burst of laughter sounds from across the campfire. My gaze finds Annika’s, who is looking at both of us curiously, but then she’s back to debating something with Grady. Both of them are smiling like they’re enjoying the exchange.

  “Is there something going on between them?” I blurt before I can stop myself.

  “Grady and Nika?” Caleb frowns at his fingers as he switches chords. “Besides the fact that Grady’s my best friend…” He strums softly. “We have a rule guides can’t date each other.”

  I shoot Annika the same curious look she gave me earlier but she’s quick to turn away. “Annika isn’t a raft guide.”

  His eyes go dead serious. “Might as well be.” He strums another series of chords.

  My curiosity is pegged, but I don’t push. Maybe Annika will tell me more about it later.

  Caleb sets his guitar down and uses his bandana again to roll the potatoes out of the fire, then peels one open and squeezes the ends together. It splits open in a burst of white steam.

  My mouth starts watering.

  Caleb repeats the potato-splitting maneuver then sets both on his bandana between us.

  “Does the same rule go for your clients?” I ask. This might be the boldest thing I’ve ever said to a guy. Maybe it’s the promise of sharing fire-roasted potatoes on a wilderness river twenty miles from the nearest town, or the feel of his coat wrapped around me, like a shield.

  He gives a wry chuckle. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

  I shove the tip of my empty stick into the base of the fire, where the coals glow red-hot. I chicken out from the snarky comment perched on my tongue. “How so?”

  He pauses from playing, as if sizing me up. “You got spunk, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

  I try to read if this is a compliment or a carefully disguised put down. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” I say.

  “Uh, your stick’s on fire,” he says.

  “What?” I yelp, then yank on my stick.

  “Whoa!” Caleb shouts as a flaming torch flies at our faces.

  He gently returns my stick to the fire. “Just leave it there,” he coaxes, suppressing a laugh. The rest of it catches fire in a burst of yellow flame.

  “You got a lot to learn, don’t you, city girl?” he teases, his brow knitting with amusement.

  My face flushes with heat. If you only knew. “Maybe…you could teach me,” I reply as my heart lodges into my throat.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Game on.” Then his eyes narrow slightly. “Where should we start?

  4

  Caleb

  Whoa, I didn’t expect that from her, holy fuck.

  Is she blushing? I’m used to girls in my boat fawning over me, flirting shamelessly. I’ve even had two of them fight over me.

  This feels different. Lori’s sweet, and tougher than she looks, and seems genuinely interested in talking with me. But watching her nibble on that hot dog made it impossible not to imagine other things I’d like her to do with her mouth.

  Thankfully, she takes the conversation in a direction that brings me back from these fantasies.


  “How did you know how to get us past that logjam?” she asks.

  From across the bonfire, I sense the weight of someone’s gaze. I glance into Annika’s watchful eyes and give her a “What?” expression in return. Lori and I are just talking.

  However, she’s right—as my sister’s friend, Lori is off limits.

  I play a few chords to recalibrate my brain.

  “Experience,” I say. “I’ve been running rivers my whole life.” I pause my playing to create a demonstration with my hands, showing her how the current works against obstacles. To my surprise, she nods along, asking pointed questions about flow dynamics, like she’s some kind of physics genius.

  “So why would the raft get sucked under?”

  I shake my head. It’s hard to convey how powerful water can be. “Think of the kind of pressure at the bottom of the sea that crumples submarines. That’s what we’re dealing with.”

  Her eyes have widened. “Have you ever gone under a logjam?”

  My gut lurches. Why did we end up at this story, of all the possible stories? “No, but I’ve lost a raft before.”

  “Did you end up swimming?”

  I suppress a shiver. That fateful spring day my dad and two older brothers got into serious trouble, but like usual, my dad laughed it off. “If you hit a strainer, you never, ever want to end up swimming.” I shuffle my feet. “The only way to survive it is to climb on top of the logs, either hope for rescue or try to get onto the bank.”

  She cringes. “What did you do?”

  “We got onto the strainer and it ate the raft for lunch.”

  “Did that happen here?” she asks.

  I nod. “Different spot though.”

  “Were you scared today?” she asks.

  “No,” I scoff, though this isn’t entirely true. But I don’t tell her that the edge of fear is what makes this game so fun. For all the many falling outs with my dad, at least he understood this one.

  Too bad it was this same game of risk that got him killed.

  “Good,” she says, her features relaxing.

  “Were you?” I ask.