Page 172

She risked a glance. He was smiling. She bit her lip and pushed a little harder.

Not enough to pass him, just enough to keep the margin slim.

Her muscles strained, but not to the breaking point.

She could still take it. Two strong strokes and she’d pull ahead.

The old her would’ve done it without blinking.

She would have crushed Jim, rubbed it in his stupid face.

Now all she could think about was kissing that stupid face.

Without her shirt on. They closed in on the buoy.

Five strokes. Four. She could feel the finish in her fingertips.

It would be so easy to claim the lead, win their wager…

delay confronting the burning attraction between them.

She slowed imperceptibly.

Jim’s rowboat edged past and crossed the buoy first. He crowed with triumph, lifting his oar into the air. Astrid sat back in her seat, chest rising and falling, cheeks flushed. She’d lost. On purpose. And now she had to face the consequences. A shiver wracked her from head to toe.

Jim drifted up beside her. He wasn’t gloating, only looking at her with that half grin, hazel eyes soft and dark, his breathing as ragged as hers. Looking at her like he knew exactly what she had done.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“I won’t,” he replied. “I certainly won’t make the astute observation that your form was off, or that your stroke rate was lower than that of the freshmen you’re training. Or that you might be as interested in this wager as I am.”

She let her head fall back with a groan. “You are insufferable.”

“And you owe me a shirt.”

Astrid looked at him then, her pulse still drumming in her throat. “Are you going to collect right here in front of the boathouse?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a gentleman. Like your Gilbert Blythe.”

“Gilbert would never ask Anne to remove her clothing.”

“I assure you, he would. There’s no reason he’d take White Sands over Avonlea unless he had it bad.” He lifted a shoulder. “But that’s a different sort of novel, I suppose.”

She couldn’t help it. She giggled.

“Let’s go inside, Goddess. Time to pay the piper.”

Astrid was taking no chances.

She performed a methodical search of the boathouse.

Every nook and cranny would be scoured for stragglers before she set one foot inside a closed office with Jim Harper.

She peered under the four-oared and eight-oared shells and barges, around the stationary sets, and behind Old Nero, the tub-like training barge that could shelter any number of oarsmen waiting to pop out and catch her topless. Finally, she was content.

“Everyone’s gone.”

Jim looked up from inspecting his nails by the coach’s office door. “The first three turns about the boathouse didn’t convince you?”

She circled close. “You could check the men’s changing room one last time.”

“It’s empty,” he said at once.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I stepped inside and said ‘Hear ye, hear ye. Astrid Anderson is going to?—'”

She clapped a hand over his mouth. “You didn’t.”

His hazel eyes danced with mirth. “I didn’t,” he mumbled, and her palm tingled where his lips touched it.

She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You make it sound like a chore.”

“You make it feel like a chore.”

“All right, I’ll stop. Only my support from here on out.”

He entered the office door and gestured her forward.

She crossed into the small room, the strong scent of varnish and cedar quickly replaced by stale coffee grounds and the sweet, slightly citrus scent of the geranium potted by the window.

The door rumbled shut, followed by the snick of a lock, and she turned to face him.

They were alone.

Her heartbeat thumped wildly in her ears, and suddenly, inexplicably, she was overtaken by shyness.

She had always carried herself with confidence, untroubled by her muscular limbs and calloused hands earned from years on the water.

In the changing rooms with the other girls, or wading into Green Lake in her modest bathing costume, she had never once felt the need to hide.

Now, however, standing before the man who professed to have feelings for her, the intimacy carried meaning.

She swallowed over the lump in her throat and worked free the knot in her striped neckerchief.

Warm air hit the dip in her clavicle, and she shivered.

“The stakes suddenly feel a lot higher, don’t they?” Jim asked softly.

Her lips curled briefly. “Glad to hear it isn’t just me.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No. I just need a minute.”

“How can I make it easier?”

She huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. Short of taking off your own shirt—oh!”

No sooner had the words left her lips than Jim grasped the hem of his shirt with both hands and lifted it over his head.

Her eyes bulged even as her brain raced to catch up: Jim was bare-chested.

Two feet in front of her. In a locked room.

Where there was no one to interrupt them. Well, then. She might as well look.

Scrumptious.

There was no other word for it. Rowing had carved his body into a marble statue, complete with broad, sculpted shoulders, a long, ridged torso, and taut stomach.

A thin scar ran across his rib cage, most likely from that sledding accident a few years past. A fine sweat glistened on his skin, and his nipples—good grief, his nipples —were a surprising salmon pink.

She dragged her gaze away, only to hook on the trail of dark hair winding its way down his navel into his high-waisted shorts. She licked her parched lips.

“Better?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Better. My turn? My turn.”

She palmed her loose-fitting cotton blouse and prepared to lift it over her head. She hesitated. What corset had she worn today? Oh please, let it be her new athletic waist and not the old one gone gray with use. And had she worn a fresh corset cover, or would she smell offensive?

“What’s wrong?”

“I was trying to remember if I had laundered my clothes,” she confessed.

“I don’t care,” he said quickly. So quickly it made her laugh and her hesitations fade. She peeled off her blouse and tossed it aside.

“What next? Do I admit defeat?”

He didn’t answer. He appeared rather preoccupied with examining every last inch of her.

That was fair. She’d just done the same to him.

She straightened her bunched corset cover to give him her best angles.

He tracked her every move. Interesting. Would he…

? She crossed one arm over her chest to adjust the wide shoulder strap, knowing quite well her bosom pressed forward with the movement.

Oh yes. His hot stare burned into her chest. A delightful burn, it was.

Throwing caution aside, she unbuttoned the corset cover and slipped it off.

Now, all that impeded his gaze was her corset and the thin muslin chemise underneath.

She propped one hand on her hip and thrust her bosom forward.

The muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hands clenched at his sides.

The bulge in the front of his shorts was unmistakable. She smiled. She knew what that meant.

“Who’s flirting now?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“It is rather fun,” she teased. “Now what do we do? You’re the expert.”

“I tell you how beautiful you are. I already knew, of course. This is merely confirmation.”

Her cheeks heated. “Then I’ve satisfied the terms of our wager?”

“Yes and no. I’m afraid there’s a natural consequence we didn’t discuss.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve made me want to kiss you. So badly that I physically ache.”

Her mouth went dry. “What if you only want to kiss me because we’re all alone in a boathouse? Because of our wager? The indecency is rather potent?—”

“It’s because of you, Astrid. Only you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew a shuddering breath. She wanted to believe him, wanted to kiss him so badly , but she couldn’t quite dismiss the niggling fear that he had used this line before?—

“That’s not all, Astrid.” He reached across and took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing a slow, gentle circle on her palm.

“I want to kiss you. And then I want you to be my girl. My only girl. I want to get dressed, join the others at the Pay Streak, and let everyone know that we’re together.

That I like you and you like me. Then I want to go to your house on Sunday and let our families know.

Make it official. I want to be with you all senior year.

And even longer, after we graduate. I want to be with you, for as long as you’ll have me. ”

Astrid was elated, dumbstruck…and slightly embarrassed.

She’d had no idea his feelings ran so deep.

He meant every word—she could see it in his eyes, hear it in the unshakable certainty of his voice.

This wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t the heat of the moment.

He’d thought about this, about her, about them.

While she’d been chasing vengeance and misreading signals, he’d been quietly, steadfastly hoping.

She interlocked her fingers with his. It was time to let go of the past, admit that this was real, and snatch at her chance for love.

“I want that, too,” she said, and the flash of jubilance in his eyes, so bright and immediate, made her heart stumble.

Somehow, they’d drifted even closer together, pulled by some inexorable force that demanded action.

“You should probably kiss me now. But make it good. I’d hate to have immediate regrets?—”

“Oh, for God’s sake?—”

His hand tightened on hers, gave a quick tug, and then she was falling toward him.

His mouth lowered, or hers rose, who could tell, what did it even matter except that their lips finally met?

Her first kiss! She didn’t know what to think, or even how to think.

There was nothing but soft lips and grazing noses.

She dove into the raging waters of desire, confident in his ability to keep them afloat.

His tongue swept inside her mouth and she gasped.

So strange, so wonderful. Their tongues played, caressed, explored.

Short pants filled the air between them.

His arms went around her back, one hand splaying across her spine, the other streaking across the bare skin of her shoulder blades, her collar, and up her neck.

She shuddered with need, her nipples aching, her core throbbing. Dear God, what a kiss!

“You’re magic,” he whispered against her cheek.

“You are,” she whimpered back. “Don’t stop.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, pressing feverish kisses across her jawline. “Touch me back.”

Her eyes widened. Of course . She tentatively touched his waist, felt his abdomen contract.

Fascinating. She swept her palm over his skin, winding around to stroke his lower back.

His skin blazed, and he rocked forward before pulling himself back, keeping an inch between their bodies.

That simply wouldn’t do. She wound her other hand around his back and tugged.

Their hips and stomachs and chests collided, and she groaned at the pleasure of it.

At the wonder of his hardness pressed against her.

“We should stop,” he said through clenched teeth, though he made no move to pull away.

“Why should we?” she countered. “That was my first kiss, you know. I expect you to make my second even more memorable.”

He was smiling when she pulled his lips to hers again.

And their second kiss was even better. She’d already become more adept at drawing rumbles and purrs from Jim’s chest as she mimicked his moves and made up her own.

She snaked her fingers through his chestnut locks, inhaled the salt and musk of his skin.

A laugh bubbled up from her chest, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh or keep kissing him—but whatever that feeling was, it was everything.

At long, long last, he eased back and rested his forehead against hers.

“Please tell me you haven’t any more doubts.”

“None whatsoever.” She hugged him tight. “You’re very skilled at kissing.”

“Well, I haven’t not been to Fusser’s Point…”

She pulled back with an exaggerated gasp. “You ass.”

He laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “I was only practicing. Wanted to make sure I got it right before our first kiss.”

“Don’t think I believe that for a minute.”

“Don’t worry, Anderson,” he said with a smirk. “From now on, my kisses are all yours.”

He might be a flirt, he might be a tease, but he was hers. With all the affection in her heart, she said, “You’re the worst, Jim Harper.”