Page 3 of Summer with the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer #16)

Chapter Three

Riley

There is a scaly lizard the size of an iguana lying on the railing of the Whitmores’ front porch when I finally find their home.

It doesn’t move when I get out of the car—sorry, the ute —and climb the porch stairs. Instead, it regards me with aloof disdain as I inch slowly past it. The last thing I want is for it to run away. Or worse, run at me.

It’s still there baking in the blazing afternoon sun after I explore the expansive, modern house. Whoever the Whitmores are, they’re wealthy. Or up to the eyeballs in debt. It’s still there when I go to bed, lazing in the evening heat.

Maybe it’s a pet? Although it wasn’t mentioned in the instructions.

I toss and turn for most of the night, stretched out under the bedroom ceiling fan, the thermostat set to cool. My stupid mind returns not to Jerkwad Hugh, but to the tall man with the amazing shoulders I’d seen yesterday.

Is it possible to fall in lust at first glimpse?

At daybreak, I give up trying to sleep. My body clock is completely confused.

I pour a tall glass of apple juice from the Whitmores’ well-stocked fridge and wander out onto the front porch.

Sure, I’m only wearing panties and a tank top, but the weather is too hot for clothes.

Besides, the house has no neighbors. It’s surrounded only by trees and bushes.

There’s a slight scent of smoke in the air, but maybe that’s what summer mornings in Australia smell like? The view is breathtaking. Three weeks staying here? I’m not going to complain. Maybe my trip Down Under is taking a turn for the bet?—

The lizard scurries across the porch behind me, claws scratching on the wood, long spiky tail whipping side to side, lashing my bare ankle.

I scream. Jump. Juice splashes everywhere.

I lock my stare on the reptile, heart pounding as it freezes at the end of the porch, eyeing me with its front legs pressed to the wall.

Its belly is a rusty red, like dried blood, and my stomach drops.

Oh no, is it injured? Shit. What if I was meant to do something with it last night, and I didn’t?

“Just…stay there, Mr. Lizard,” I whisper, creeping back into the house. If I can catch it with a towel and put it in a box, I can take it to the vet clinic I saw beside the fire station.

And maybe see Mr. Oh-So-Fine while you’re there?

I grab a fluffy towel from the linen cupboard, find a large cardboard box in the laundry full of old newspapers, dump the papers out, and hurry back to the front porch.

I open the door like there’s the chance a bomb will detonate if I do it too loudly, creep out, deposit the box on the floor, and tiptoe toward the lizard, holding the towel like a net.

It watches me. Motionless.

Yeah, that definitely looks like dry blood on its belly.

A foot away from it, I cast the towel.

It bolts halfway up the wall, down again, straight at me, over my feet, down the steps, onto the path.

I snatch up the towel and follow. “Stop,” I shout, bare feet slapping on the hot path, stare tracking the lizard’s frantic flee. “Let me help you!”

It runs across the grass onto the driveway just as a large, red Landcruiser drives up.

I scream, waving my arms, thrashing the towel above my head, leaping in the air. Anything to get the driver’s attention and make sure they don’t run over the injured lizard.

The 4x4 skids to a halt, and the driver’s door is flung open—there’s some kind of emblem on it—just as the lizard executes a sharp ninety degree turn and heads for the front porch again.

I stumble to a halt, lungs burning, chest heaving, and stare at it as it scales the railing and flattens itself in the sun.

“Err…” a deep male voice rumbles to my right, and I whip my head around. My stare locks with the man standing beside the 4x4. He’s studying me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Everything okay?”

Mr. Oh-So-Fine.

Up close, he’s the stuff of every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. At least six foot three, a body built for power and strength, with sculpted muscles and broad shoulders and lean hips and… Oh my God, am I staring?

The morning’s sun discovers us, heating my bare limbs. How much boob am I showing right now? I was jumping up and down a lot, and this tank top wasn’t designed for aerobic activity.

He runs eyes the color of the ocean over me, and my nipples bead even as shame crashes through me. I’m almost naked and far from skinny, and I was staring at him like he’s the dessert menu.

“The lizard!” I blurt out, heat pooling in my cheeks as I turn and point at the lizard on the porch.

The lizard looks back at us.

“What about it?” he asks. The deep timbre of his voice licks through my body like a caress. “It’s a water dragon. They’re everywhere up here. Especially with Moonstone Lake being just behind the Whitmores’ back fence.”

I blink. There’s a lake?

An image of Mr. Oh-So-Fine emerging from cool water, dripping wet and wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, flashes through my head.

“It’s injured,” I say, trying to ignore the flush of raw lust the image awakens in me. “There’s blood all over its belly. I was going to catch it and take it to the vet, but now you’re…”

I trail off as he crosses to the front porch, his attention fixed on the lizard. The lizard cocks its head at him. “Do you mean this red patch?” he asks, one foot resting on the bottom step, elbow resting on his knee as he points at the lizard.

I slowly approach. The lizard didn’t run when he approached, but maybe it doesn’t like non Australians? I draw to a halt beside Mr. Oh-So-Fine—damn, he smells good, like clean soap and leather and nature—and frown at the lizard. “Yes. It’s blood, right?”

A low chuckle rumbles from him, relaxed and far too sexy for my state of mind. “Those are markings. All adult water dragons have them.” He turns his blue eyes on me, the edges crinkling with mirth. “It’s normal. Not injured at all.”

I stare at him and then bury my face in the towel. “I am such an idiot.”

“Gorgeous one, though,” he murmurs so softly I’m not sure I heard him correctly.