Naked Love

by Ann, Jewel

“I’m not eating.” She nearly stumbles over the curb, trying to reel Swarley back in on his leash with her good hand. “You’re killing me, dog. What did I ever do to you?”

  Swarley glances back at her, cocking his head. I think his expression says, “Are you talking to me, Princess?”

  “Then I’ll get my food to go so we can get to the campsite quicker.”

  The fake smile on her fake face pleases me. Why do I find such pleasure in bringing out the jilted-woman side of her?

  “Perfect.” Her lack of sincerity doubles. “There’s nothing I love more than watching you re-live your failed childhood. How old were you when they kicked you out of Boy Scouts for being the only kid roasting a piece of tofu on the campfire?”

  And … that’s why I felt content letting her bathe in the creek this morning.

  “Careful, Princess, snarky comments lower your metabolism. If you don’t watch what you say, you won’t be able to fasten your fancy Penelope shorts tomorrow.”

  “Paige shorts, you stupid grass grazer. And if you don’t stop calling me princess, I’m going to bludgeon you in your sleep.”

  It’s really hard to take all one hundred and twenty (at most) pounds of Avery Montgomery seriously when I know she would never lift a finger to hurt me because she might break a nail. But damn! I sure do find her feistiness oddly addictive. So of course, I can’t resist …

  “Paige, Penelope, Princess. I can’t keep them straight. Sorry.” I wink, rolling my lips between my teeth.

  “Sleep with one eye open.” Her eyes narrow as she stabs me in the chest with her finger.

  I chuckle. “Hang tight while I grab my lunch.” Sidestepping her, I laugh some more. “Don’t lose anything or step in anything … and for the love of God … don’t stick your head into anything.”

  * * *

  Avery bestows another round of the silent treatment upon me while we drive to the campground. It’s not my usual stop, but after adjusting my travel dates to accommodate the princess and her steed, I had to scrounge for a new place to camp.

  “I’m going for a hike.” I hop onto my tailgate and change my shoes.

  Avery remains silent, still sitting in the passenger’s seat of the truck, flipping pages of her fashion magazine while Swarley overdoses on all the smells around our tent—the tent I put up by myself.

  “I’d invite you, but the trails are not paved in gold or lined with red carpet.”

  The door to my truck clicks open.

  I grin.

  “For your information …”

  Give me all the information, Ave.

  I inwardly smirk, shutting the tailgate.

  She slams the door and arches her back, moving it from side to side. “I’m in excellent physical condition—except for my hand.” She frowns, holding it to her chest. “I do Pilates, yoga, cardio, strength training—”

  “Great.” I nod toward the direction of the trailhead. “Grab your dog. Let’s get in a few miles before we settle down for the pre-bludgeoning campfire.”

  My new favorite game is called Make Avery Smile because I find her tolerable—just—when she fights back a grin or laughter. Life is too short to take yourself so seriously.

  “Come on, Swarley.” She whistles.

  “Shoes?” I stare at her rhinestone flip-flops.

  “How long is the hike?” She tips her chin up.

  “More than ten yards. Change your shoes. I’m not carrying you.”

  “Pfft … I’m good. In spite of what you might think from the past two days, I’m not a damsel in distress. I can walk for miles in these. They are actually more comfortable than they look.”

  I have a long list of thoughts and lingering first impressions of this woman, but something tells me taking her for a hike in flip-flops will not change a single one of them.

  “I’m not carrying you.”

  “I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time. I won’t need you to carry me. Sheesh …” She attaches Swarley’s leash, flipping and flopping her way to the start of the trail.

  “This won’t end well …” I mumble, spending a little too much time staring at her sashaying ass. My dick gives me a stern warning.

  * * *

  “Jaaake?”

  “Wait, buddy.” I whistle and Swarley stops. After pouring him some water in the lid of my canteen, I retreat in the direction of the whiney voice calling my name.

  Avery cringes, easing onto an old tree stump.

  “What is it?” Planting my hands on my hips, I glare down at her, daring her to say one fucking word about her feet.

  “We’ve been walking for miles. How much farther do we have to go?”

  “Another mile or so. Why?” My eyebrows lift.

  Say it, Princess. I dare you.

  “I’m …” Her lips curl between her teeth.

  “You’re what?”

  “Hungry and thirsty. I didn’t bring water with me.”

  Her feet are streaked in red marks from rocks and brush scratching them, and I’m certain the area between her first and second toes has to be raw. But … she’s hungry and thirsty.

  I nod, pulling a granola bar from the side pocket of my shorts.

  She turns her nose up. “Why is it wrapped like that?”

  I stare at the bar wrapped in parchment paper inside a plastic bag. “Like what?”

  “Like you didn’t buy it from a store.”

  “Because I made it.”

  “Oh …” She takes it from me as if it contains a grenade missing its pin.

  “Come on. Eat while you walk so we can get back to the tent before it gets dark.”

  Giving me a tight grin, she stands. I don’t miss the flash of a grimace as her step falters.

  “You good?”

  “Fine.” Her shoulders pull backward. “Water?” She stares at the canteen in my right hand.

  “Sure.” I hand it to her.

  Avery twists it in one direction then the other. “What side did you drink out of?”

  “Really? You’ve probably eaten pig assholes in the form of a hot dog, yet you’re worried about my germs?”

  She glares at me.

  I smirk. “Fine. I’ll pour some in the lid.”

  Tiny, painful grunts sound behind me as I lead her down the hill toward Swarley.

  “Wait! No. Dude …” Her nose scrunches as I start to pour water into the canteen lid. “Did you let Swarley drink out of that?”

  “Yes. I gave water to your dog since you didn’t think to bring any. You’re welcome. So if you are truly thirsty, then you will have to make the tough decision.” I hold up the canteen in one hand and the water-filled lid in my other hand. “My germs or Swarley’s?”

  Her gaze flits between my two hands.

  “You know …” Extending out my hand with the lid, I withdraw one of her options. “I don’t want your pig-asshole germs, and he’s your dog, so if you want the water, you’ll have to drink it from the lid.” Tipping up the canteen, I take a long swig.

  “I do not have pig-asshole germs!” She tries to snag the canteen from my hand, practically hugging my arm in the process. “Give me a drink.”

  I turn in a circle, keeping the coveted prize above her head as she chases my hand like a dog after its tail.

  “Give me a drink! Stop being such a big jerk!”

  I stop.

  She stumbles over my feet.

  With my free arm, I catch her, holding her to my chest.

  She pants, eyes wild with adrenaline and maybe a little fear. “Don’t hurt me,” she whispers.

  I flinch. Has someone hurt her? Physically hurt her?

  Searching her eyes, I look for the answer. I don’t see it.

  “I might kill you, Avery. But I won’t hurt you.”

  Her unblinking eyes widen.

  I grin. “It will be quick and painless.” Releasing her from my chest, I hold up my three middle fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  After several long seconds, she blinks. I offer her the can
teen.

  Slowly shaking her head, she clears her throat. “Is it true you had opponents leave on stretchers after fighting you?”

  Do I want the upper hand? Do I need it?

  “Yes.” My toothy grin does nothing to bring color back to her face—except her lips. Whatever the hell she put on her lips still shimmers red.

  Keeping her gaze locked to mine, she wraps her hand around the canteen, just above mine, and pulls it to her mouth.

  Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

  After draining the rest of it, she steps back, breathless, with a drop of water running down her chin. “Did you feel bad?”

  “No. Well … maybe in the beginning. But I learned to let those emotions go.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t jump those men in an alley and beat the shit out of them. It’s a sport. There are winners and losers. One of us was going to end up facedown. That’s just how it works.”

  “Do you still do that?”

  I shake my head while rubbing my thumb along her wet chin. Avery pulls back, rolling her lips together and feathering her fingers over the spot where my thumb touched her face.

  “Can I be honest with you?” She bats her eyelashes.

  Bats her eyelashes. What the …

  “No. Swarley, let’s go.” Turning, I let Swarley lead the way down the hill.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” Avery chases after us.

  “I do.” I pick up my pace.

  “Jake!”

  “Nope.”

  “But Jake—”

  “Not happening.”

  “My feet hurt!”

  “Not happening.”

  Her shoes skid against the lose rock behind me.

  Flip flop flip flop.

  “I’ll pay you!”

  I stop, turning slowly. “How much?”

  She hops on one foot while rubbing the other, then changes feet. “Twenty dollars.”

  I grunt a laugh. “Twenty dollars? To carry you a mile? I bet you spent at least fifty dollars on those stupid shoes.”

  She murmurs a quick response. I don’t hear it clearly, but I’m fairly certain she said, “Two hundred.”

  “I’ll carry you half the way for one hundred dollars.”

  Avery traps the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, nose wrinkled. “Twenty is my limit.”

  “Your limit, huh? Don’t even get me started on my limits.” With a quick whistle, I bring Swarley back onto the trail.

  “At the end of the day, don’t you want to be able to say that you helped someone?”

  “Princess?” I keep walking. “Do you have a steering wheel stuck around your neck? No? Well, then I think I already did my helpful deed for the day. I will sleep just fine tonight.”

  “Until you wake up dead!”

  I chuckle. “Aw, yes … until that. There’s nothing worse than waking up dead.”

  By the time we make it to the campsite, she’s fuming. “You are not a gentleman!”

  I stack wood and paper into the pit and start a fire. She plops into one of the camping chairs and slips off her flip-flops. Then she rants.

  And rants.

  And rants.

  Squatting down in front of her, I rest my hands on her bare thighs. She jumps, holding her breath.

  Mission accomplished.

  “I need some peace and quiet now. Can you do that? Can you just not talk for a bit?”

  She frowns, her rage simmering into something resembling defeat. “Why didn’t you help me out? Why would my dad and Deedy let someone like you take me across the country?”

  I squeeze her legs until her muscles flex beneath my touch. There’s no denying she has spectacular legs, but flirting is not my intention. Still …

  Fucking spectacular legs.

  “I did help you. I suggested you wear sensible hiking shoes. Why should I be an enabler to your lack of common sense, stubbornness, excessive vanity, or whatever weird, self-destructive, female fucked-upness you seem to have?”

  Her chin dips, gaze focused on my hands. I expect to see her bottom lip start to quiver and tears fill her eyes.

  “I’m not happy,” she whispers.

  No tears.

  No quivering lip.

  There’s just this shell of a woman with emotionless words spoken in a numbing tone.

  After a few moments of welcomed silence, I move my hands from her legs to her wrists on the arms of the chair. Easing my body back to standing, I lean over her, letting my face linger over the top of her head. For a few moments, I contemplate pressing my lips to her hair—a friendly kiss that says, “Me neither.”

  But I don’t. Instead, I press my forehead to the top of her head and give her wrists a slight squeeze. Avery sucks in a shaky breath. I close my eyes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Avery

  Day Three

  “Psst …”

  I nudge Jake. He groans.

  “Psst!”

  He rolls away from me.

  “Jake! I need the truck keys,” I whisper-yell.

  Another groan.

  My eyes flit between his bared torso turned away from me and his partially unzipped duffel bag at his feet. Jake has nice feet. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought this about a guy before. But—I move my phone’s flashlight an inch closer—yes indeed, he has nice feet. Not a single nasty callous, and his toenails are perfect.

  Not fair. What the heck, God? Why would you give a guy such perfect feet? Jackass Jake must use an expensive foot cream.

  I roll my eyes at myself. What is this? The beginning of a foot fetish? Therapy of some sort might be in my future. After one last inspection of his flawless feet, and maybe a nanosecond glance back up his bare torso—because why the hell not?—I inspect the contents of his bag.

  It has five outer pockets, but I come up empty. No truck keys. Unzipping the main part feels a little too snoopy. Biting the corner of my lip, I sweep the beam of my phone’s light across his still body. If I’m completely honest, his feet are attached to some other really nice body parts, but why start being honest now?

  The light goes out. “Shit.” I frown at the dead screen. What happened to my final three percent?

  Key.

  I need the key. I need to charge my phone.

  “Jakey Jakey, wakey wakey,” I whisper, knowing he’s nothing more than a dead log on top of a sleeping bag. A dead log with sexy feet and a drool-worthy trunk I could climb—

  Gah!

  I must NEVER think of the Devil as sexy. Did I learn nothing about temptation from Eve and the complete debacle in Eden? A questionably flawed story if you ask me. Still—religion permanently haunts one’s conscience, and I’m no exception.

  Don’t snoop.

  Wait until he wakes up.

  It’s not like it’s an emergency.

  It’s just my phone—my connection to the rest of the world, a way to see in the dark, keeper of time, contact list, social media notifications, my savior in an emergency … MY LIFE!

  Muzzling my conscience, I dive into the main compartment of Jake’s duffle bag, the way a police officer would break open a door after a 9-1-1 call. It’s filled with clothes, but within ten seconds I have all aforementioned clothes strewn all around me.

  No keys.

  A jingle startles me, and my head whips back, but it’s just Swarley. “Don’t!” I warn in my sternest whisper as he abandons his spot in the corner and plops down on my sleeping bag. “Get. Off!”

  He shakes his head once. I realize how crazy that sounds, but it’s true. Swarley is not your average dog, he’s a demon—much like Jake—out to destroy me. He can do things like nod and shake his head as well as rip my poor hand apart when he sees something worth chasing, much like Anthony ripped my heart apart when he discovered that chocolate does in fact taste amazing.

  Fucker.

  Before my herbivorous travel buddy wakes up, I start shoving his clothes back into his bag, taking a deep inhale. What’s that
smell? It’s good. Really good.

  Herbaceous? Woodsy? Maybe piney, but we’re not amidst that many pine trees here. Bringing one of Jake’s shirts to my nose, I take a whiff.

  Oh … that’s nice. Son of a bitch! Sexy—uh—I mean, soft feet and amazing detergent.

  Eat the shiny red apple, Eve …

  I’m not going to eat his shirt, but I indulge in one more sniff before—

  “Why are you smelling my underwear?”

  “Shit!” I jump, tucking the shirt behind my back.

  Jake jackknifes to sitting so his face is inches from mine, those deep blue eyes alight from the shard of moonlight filtering in from the tent’s vent. They narrow a fraction as he inspects me kneeled next to his legs and his open duffle bag.

  “My phone is dead.” I breathe out past the booming of my racing heart.

  “Your phone is dead?”

  I nod slowly, staring at his mouth that’s pulled into a firm line fighting something that resembles a smirk.

  “And?”

  I gulp down an ocean of saliva. “And I need to charge it.”

  I can’t look away from his mouth. It’s nice too.

  For fuck’s sake …

  Therapy. Lots of therapy.

  “And?” He inches his head to the side a fraction.

  “I was looking for the key to the truck.”

  “In my bag?”

  I nod, ripping my focus from his lips to meet his gaze.

  Jake surrenders to a cocky smile.

  Asshole.

  His gaze dips to my mouth, and it does very unwanted things to my body—specifically to parts of my body that are supposed to be on strike from giving a single shit about any man.

  “But it’s dark.”

  “Yes,” I say with a ridiculous raspiness to my voice.

  “So you’re sniffing them out … specifically in my underwear?”

  “What?” I jerk my head back.

  Playful eyes find mine, underscored by a gotcha grin.

  “No, you sicko.”

  “Then what’s behind your back.”

  “Nothing.” My spine grows an inch. He’s not going to make me squirm—anymore.

  “Avery,” he says my name a syllable at a time as he inches closer.

  He’s going to kiss me. Why is he going to kiss me? I hate him. And men. And tattoos. And vegans with freakishly soft feet.