Page 25 of Hideaway Heart

My hand stopped mid-air, my knuckles an inch from the door. She thought I was hot? I grinned. So when she yanked the door open a moment later, that’s what she saw—me standing there smiling with a fist raised.

She yelped and clutched her chest. “Xander! Stop lurking!”

“Sorry.” Playing it cool, I dropped my hand like I hadn’t heard anything. “I just came in to see when you wanted to take that run.”

“Now.” She was already dressed in shorts and a sports bra. “Are you ready to go?”

“I just need a minute to change.”

“Well, hurry up,” she said tersely, shouldering past me toward the living room without so much as brushing against my shirt.

I watched her drop to the floor between the couch and the fireplace and start some kind of stretching routine. An apology for what I’d said earlier was on the tip of my tongue, but I got distracted when she bent forward over her straight, outstretched legs. Damn, she was flexible. Her nose was between her shins. Her breasts were resting just above her knees.

She spoke without looking at me. “You said a minute. You’re down to thirty seconds.”

Springing into action, I strode over to my bag, grabbed some workout clothes, and went into the bathroom. After I’d swapped my jeans for sweats and boots for running shoes, I couldn’t resist peeking into the shower.

Immediately, I spied the vibrator.

It was dark pink, tall and thick, and it had what looked like a long-necked rabbit curving from the base of the shaft. What the fuck was that? And how was a regular dick supposed to compete?

I glanced down at my crotch. I felt pretty good about my size and stamina, and I definitely knew my way around a woman’s body, but that contraption was giving me a bit of a complex.

And how did she use it? Standing up? Lying down? Kneeling above it? My eyes closed and images swam in the darkness, my cock surging to life.

Fuck you for being hot too.

I knew exactly how she felt.

From the front of the house, the door slammed. My eyes flew open, and I yanked the shower curtain back into place and hurried outside, tossing my jeans and boots on top of my bag on the way.

She was standing on the porch, twisting her torso from right to left.

More twitching in my pants. Uncomfortable tightness.

“You shouldn’t be outside alone,” I told her in my bossiest voice, to remind myself what I was—and wasn’t—supposed to be doing here. “Paparazzi know you’re in town. There’s already a photo of us from the parking lot this morning online.”

She stopped moving.

“And that picture you posted to Instagram yesterday while you were standing out here? The house address was visible right above your head.”

Her shoulders drooped. “Sorry.”

“If you’re going to post to social media—which, for the record, I don’t think you should do—I need to see the picture first.”

“Fine,” she said quietly. Stepping off the porch, she started out at an easy jog toward the woods.

I had to adjust myself before following.

She stuck to the dirt path and maintained her pace, never once stopping to catch her breath or massage an aching muscle. She was agile and light on her feet, gracefully sidestepping any rocks or sticks or fallen tree limbs on the ground in front of her. She ran all the way to what looked like a small river or large creek, where she finally stopped and did a few stretches. Then she immediately turned around and headed back into the woods at the same steady clip without speaking to me—or even looking at me.

It was starting to drive me crazy.

I fucking wanted her attention.

So I ran a little faster, like a middle school boy who likes a girl but doesn’t know how to tell her. When she sensed me gaining on her,sheran faster. Smiling, I increased my pace again, so that we were running side by side.

She sent me an aggravated glance, pursed her lips, and shot forward with a burst of speed that seriously impressed me. Laughing a little, I let her take the lead and keep it once more, until I noticed her energy start to lag. Just barely winded, I lengthened my stride and caught up to her again.