Free Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1) by Nina Strych Page A

along and sitting in the sun to sweat every ten steps be worse?
    “Are you sure you can carry me?” she asked. “I’m not exactly tiny.”
    His eyebrows rose and his eyes shifted downward, then slid right back up from her chest to her face, as if he knew he shouldn’t be looking in that direction. “I have no comment on that,” he said, then winked. Yeah, he totally knew she saw that. It was hard not to smile. He was so blatant!
    “I’m being serious,” she said, wiping the back of her neck where the heat was already making drops of moisture track down into her shirt.
    He spun a little on the ground so that he could face her and made as if to reach for her hand before pulling away. Amy could tell when he finally got it, that she was nervous and embarrassed. The smile fell away and his eyes grew darker as he looked at her. “You’re perfect as you are. And yes, I can carry you.”
    The intensity in his eyes, his voice, that little low growling hum underneath his words…it was all too much. Combined with the heat, she felt dizzy for a moment and gripped the rough stone of her make-shift seat to center herself. I’m okay and I will not faint like some girl in an historical novel with a too-tight corset.
    “Should I take my shoes off?” she asked, flexing her feet and feeling hints of that pain return.
    Mike shook his head, very serious again. “No, feet swell once you take them off if something is wrong, and you don’t want to walk back to your cottage in bare feet. Then again.”
    “What?”
    “If you want to give me your key when we get there, I can bring your sandals.”
    If she hadn’t been so hot and in so much pain, the idea of him having unfettered access to her room and the drawer full of her Marion-selected underthings would be too much. Instead, all she could think of was getting these boots off. And then burning them at the first opportunity.
    In a really, really big fire.
    Reaching down, she started unlacing her boots and said, “Best just to get it over with.”
    Mike laughed and unzipped his pack, holding out a hand for her boot. “I’m not complaining.”
    When she finally stood on the trail in her socks, she felt physically better, but when he held her hand so that she could stand on the rock, she was sure that death from mortification was imminent.
    Getting a piggy-back ride from a hot guy wasn’t something she’d done since college days playing drunk volleyball on the beach. And she’d been a tiny thing then. She slid her arms over his shoulders and then wrapped her legs around his back. His strong hands gripped each of her thighs and he said, “Perfect. I could get used to this.”
    He set off down the long sloping trail, eyes ahead of them and his steps steady and strong, their pack hanging off his chest so that he was double-burdened. The feel of him was exactly what she dreamt it would be. His shoulders were hard and with each step, she felt the flex and give of his muscles beneath her arms. It was hard to keep her hands still where they rested on his chest. The swell of his chest muscles and the shallow valley between them begged to be explored. Her thighs wanted to clench together of their own accord, his hands around her legs a point of heat that shot missiles of desire up her spine.
    If only she could turn him around and then—
    “How are you doing up there? You’re awfully quiet,” he said, breaking the vision apart. Which was a good thing. A very good thing.
    “Just enjoying the scenery,” she said, because that was true in a way. He was just the only scenery she happened to be looking at. “How are you doing down there? Do you need to rest and put me down?”
    He snorted at that and said, “We’re perfectly balanced like this. I’m good.”
    They were quiet for a while, and she sensed him tensing beneath her, his fingers spreading a little further apart on her legs as if he needed a better grip. She was too heavy for this. As they rounded the final curve and saw