Page 9 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch

‘Aaaaaaaah!’

Rosie’s hands flew to her mouth, trying to cover her own scream. It wasn’t the first time she’d shrieked at a naked body that day, and perhaps she should have been covering her eyes instead. But somehow, she couldn’t pull her gaze away...

‘Who the hell are you?’ the gruff voice belonging to the well-sculpted, muscular body responded, as he turned towards her.

And perhaps he should have been covering his private parts.

But as rivulets of lingering shower water cascaded down his tanned skin, weaving through his twisting black tattoos and prickling his flesh into goosebumps, he made no attempt to hide his nakedness.

He simply wrung out the water from his long dark hair, pulled an elastic from his wrist and wound his locks into a knotted bun.

Rosie was vaguely aware she was scrutinising the streams of water that were snaking from his shoulders and making their way down his rippled chest towards his fairly substantial. ..

She gasped and turned away. Why had it taken her so long?

‘It’s cold,’ the voice huffed again, as though trying to make excuses for the size of things.

From what Rosie had inadvertently seen, no excuses were needed. So this was what Zain Kay looked like close up. She hadn’t meant for her novel research to have been quite so thorough.

‘And you’ve had a good stare at everything now. Bit late to look away.’

‘I was not staring.’ Although she probably had been. It didn’t seem like the time to explain she might put him in a book.

Anyway, it was surely impossible not to fully appraise your surroundings. It was basic human nature. You never knew when alpha-male nudity might pop up and pose a threat.

Though the only thing in crisis right then was her wildly beating heart and her red-hot cheeks. Not to mention the sudden influx of cave-woman hormones that seemed to be screeching take him to your hut. Which was, of course, ridiculous. She’d only ventured out to find a loo.

In her peripheral view she saw Zain reaching for a towel, and she heard the swoosh of it wrapping around his toned body.

It seemed she’d stumbled upon him using an open-air shower behind some bushes, which was quite a lot more than she’d bargained for.

She certainly hadn’t set out to judge the best sculpted bottom competition. Although if she had...

‘Find what you were looking for?’ His voice interrupted her thoughts, which was probably just as well. ‘You can at least turn and show your face, now you’ve witnessed every inch of me.’

She’d been trying her best not to count the inches. She straightened herself, took a deep breath, and dared to turn around, her boots skidding about in the mud. ‘I was just looking for something. I got lost.’

‘Thought you’d find it inside a running shower?’

‘Well, what kind of person takes a shower in the middle of the day?’ she replied, even though she knew that was none of her business. She had to say something to make herself seem like less of a nosy-eyed voyeur.

‘Someone who has a job that gets them dirty.’

There was a spark of rebellion in his eyes, which were even more deep, dark wood on closer inspection.

They sank into his square, determined face, and she found herself wanting to wander into them, even though nobody got that intrigued about eyes outside the pages of a love story.

He could have been a model in some sort of burly farmers’ magazine, all gruff-looking and at one with the land.

Despite him now being tightly towelled from the waist down, Rosie decided his face was the safest place to look.

‘We don’t all keep office hours,’ he added wryly.

His visual sweep of her work clothes sent a pang of annoyance through her. Her heels, that were sinking into the earthy ground beneath her feet, weren’t doing her any favours. Why hadn’t she grabbed those spare wellies?

‘I don’t work in an office.’

He grunted, like he didn’t believe her. ‘Then where do you work?’ There was a tinge of suspicion in his voice. ‘Are you trespassing? Because if you are...’

‘No, I am not!’ She jutted out her chin.

‘I work... here.’ Even he noticed the small gasp she let out after the last word.

Why on earth had she said that? She did not work here.

Was this her stupid compulsion to try and fit in rearing its annoying head?

She’d be bringing him fancy cupcakes next.

Though he looked more like he’d eat squash stew around a campfire.

‘You saw me with Agnes earlier.’ She waved her arm in the vague direction of where she’d seen him hulking a pumpkin.

‘Work here doing what?’ His eyes narrowed a touch, although he was still playing it cool.

In fact, Rosie wondered why he wasn’t freezing his nipples off, seeing as he was dripping wet and only half covered.

Perhaps he was like a Bear Grylls superhuman.

Or more likely too stubborn to back down and find a jumper.

‘Swimming things. And retreat stuff.’ Oh gossshhh , what was she even saying?

Rosie rubbed her forehead, wondering if it was too late to take that back.

She was digging herself an idiot-sized hole.

Retreat stuff ? What did that even mean?

At least she hadn’t accidentally mentioned getting her hands on his pumpkins.

‘Right. So you’re Krista’s replacement.’ He exhaled sharply. ‘She was a thorn in my arse too.’

Rosie blinked a few times, trying her best not to recall the sight of his particularly nice rear end, or to get even more flustered at the thought. This semi-bare man was doing all sorts of strange things to her, and even though it was all in the name of novel research , it really needed to stop.

Falling for mysterious men was Off. The. Table. She got herself in enough mess with the ones she thought were an open book, let alone a slammed-shut one.

Though somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. And it wasn’t the muddy floor that was gluing her.

Zain shook his head, clearly deciding to be the bigger person .

He gave the shower tap a final crank to halt the last drops, stepped into some nearby work boots and moved towards her, like he was readying himself to pass.

If she thought her heart was beating quickly before, his approaching semi-nudeness was setting off at least twelve drummers drumming in her ribcage – and it wasn’t even Christmas.

‘If you came for a shower, it’s all yours. If you work here , we share it. Next time, you’d better yell if you don’t want to see me naked.’ He quirked an eyebrow, like the final bit might have been a question. ‘Or listen out for the water, like any normal person.’

‘I am normal!’

Zain stopped when he got level with her, turning his body towards her, his face tantalisingly close in the confined space.

He smelt of cedar and spice and raging male nakedness, and she hadn’t realised the last one had a smell, until that moment.

It beat the hell out of Cassius, who in hindsight had always had a faint air of talcum powder and polos.

Maybe this was what fresh pheromones smelt like.

Intoxication by way of human chemicals. That could be the only explanation for her legs feeling a touch wobbly and her skin tingling like a kaleidoscope of butterflies was on the loose.

She felt her mouth opening as if it wanted to do who knew what, even though she had not given her brain permission.

His breath felt warm against her face, and his eyes were almost reading her.

Or perhaps that was her strange imagination again.

She shook her head to break free from her trance. It really was rude to stare.

‘You’re normal,’ he repeated, as though mulling it over.

She knew that her cheeks must still be streaked with mascara, and her hair was only half tied in its ponytail, the rest having given up entirely. She probably looked like she was auditioning for a part in a ghost train, not here to do retreat stuff.

But he simply shrugged. ‘Glad somebody is.’ He turned and began to walk away.

‘Toilet!’ she yelled after him, instantly wishing she hadn’t. ‘I was actually out here looking for the... I need to... you know.’ Smooth, Rosie. Very smooth.

‘Over there.’ He pointed, without turning back towards her. ‘The sawdust is in a bucket outside.’

‘Sawdust?’ It had been mentioned in the tatty guidebook, but what was it for?

He sighed. ‘Use the sawdust if you’re... doing anything more than a pee. It’s bad enough that I have to share the damned shower with you.’

‘I see,’ she said quietly, although he was off towards his hut, his discarded clothes now over his arm. Well, at least he hadn’t been too descriptive over the toilet situation. Perhaps she was right that there was more to him than a grumpy guy in the wilderness.

And suddenly, her fingers were twitching.

Not to touch him, of course. He was too far away now, and poking strangers was wholly inappropriate.

She was a woman who should be nursing a wounded heart, with no time for wayward digits.

No – her hands were trembling to type. A story was emerging in her mind, and she needed to get her thoughts on paper.

Sometimes, it was the only way to stop them getting completely carried away.