Free Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel by Laura Trentham Page B

script of Norman monks and decipher the spindly, small letters in ancient books, but reading women, especially this one, seemed like it would take a lifetime of study.
    Spending his formative years as a comic-book nerd and with musty books as his most recent companions, he would never qualify as “suave.” He discarded any cheesy opening line, and went with the truth. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. About re-creating my youth.”
    “Yeah?” She continued to wipe and not meet his eyes.
    “I’m game if you are.”
    She straightened, her gaze finally rising to meet his. “Are you serious?”
    “I’m serious about everything. What would you like to do first? Wade the river? Paint the water tower?” He lowered his voice, hoping he sounded flirty. “Maybe you’d prefer skinny-dipping?”
    She chuffed, but a flush pinked her cheeks. “Wading the river isn’t risky. Didn’t they have rivers in Scotland? What’s so special about ours?”
    “That’s like asking what’s special about the sunset over the pines. Or the smell after a storm rolls through. Our river belongs to us, right?”
    Staring into his eyes, she took a step toward him. The bench caught her knees and her hand shot out for balance. It landed over one of his pecs. The muscle jumped.
    “Sorry,” she whispered, but her hand stayed where it was. He stood as still as possible, not wanting to spook her. Her green eyes swallowed him, made his stomach churn. Or maybe the gut-wrenching reaction was because of her hand.
    She spread her fingers, rasping over his nipple. He hadn’t considered that part of his body particularly sensitive—until now. Even the movement of his chest hair under her palm sent sparks through his body. He was dangerously close to embarrassing himself again. Obviously, he needed ironclad underwear or a codpiece like knights wore in the Middle Ages.
    His breathing fractured. It could have been from the aftermath of his hard workout, but he had a feeling it had something to do with her light touch on his bare chest. He might require hospitalization if she touched him more intimately.
    She sucked in a quick breath and jerked her hand away, tucking her fist under her chin as if she’d been burned. “You had a piece of dirt or lint or something.”
    The bands around his chest eased now she wasn’t touching him and inciting lurid fantasies about her hand in his shorts and oxygen masks. A shot of something—satisfaction, happiness—coursed through him. If he wouldn’t look like an idiot, he’d go find the first person he could and ask for a high-five. The confusing currents weren’t one-sided.
    She grabbed up the cleaner and the rag and moved to the next piece of equipment, presenting her back to him. He followed her even though it was obvious she was doing her best to ignore him. “When do you want to do this? Tonight?”
    She wiped and sprayed and wiped again, not looking over at him. “You really are serious.”
    “All college professors are serious.”
    “Do all college professors have stacks of comic books in their bedrooms?” Her bland demeanor was in contrast to the tease in her voice.
    “Good point.”
    She faced him, popped a hip, and checked around them. Her expression grew animated as the air seemed to vibrate around them. “All right, here’s how it’s going to go down if we’re painting a water tower. I’ll get the supplies. Uncle Delmar and his crew are playing Saturday night by the river for the Fourth of July. We’ll make an appearance, but slip out early. Wayne and his boys should be mostly occupied with the crowd and teenagers being stupid with fireworks. Less chance of getting busted.”
    For a second, he wondered what getting arrested would do to his chances of tenure. He was a rule-follower by nature. The smile on her face banished the worries. “You seem awfully excited about our walk on the wild side.”
    A smile that held secrets flashed. “I’ll admit it’s been awhile