Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 Read Online Free Page B
Author: Barbara Raffin
set-up?" he asked.
She didn't need to join him at the window to know what he'd spotted out by the wood shed.
"Yeah. It's pretty basic," she said. "Just a cistern to collect rainwater and four slab-wood walls."
His long legs took him across the room and out the door before she'd taken two steps after him. By the time she cleared the door, he had disappeared around the corner. She caught up to him out back examining the rustic enclosure.
"I'd love to shower off all this sweat and bug juice," he nodded and peered up at the cistern. "Think there's enough water in there for a shower?"
"Probably, but it'll be cold."
"Wouldn't be the first cold shower I've taken," he said, giving her a wink.
What was that supposed to mean?
He climbed onto the frame of the wall and tapped his way up the cistern. "There's plenty of water in there."
"It has rained a lot lately," she said.
He hopped down.
"If you're seriously considering showering," she said, taking hold of a rope draped over a nail on one wall, "you pull this to open the spout. I suggest you use just enough water to wet yourself down, soap up, and save the rest for rinsing."
"Got it," he said, looking at her through eyes that suggested he already knew how to take a field shower. Who was this man?
"Soap's on the back of the kitchen sink and towels are on the shelf opposite the bunks."
He nodded. She headed back into the cabin. He followed and, snagging the soap and a towel, headed back out to the cistern.
What possessed her to peek out the back window she hadn't a clue.
Wrong . She knew exactly why she did it. Dane St. John peeling his t-shirt up his trim six-pack abs and off over his broad shoulders was a sight any woman would enjoy. She wanted another look at that manly back she'd seen as she'd applied sting stop to his body. And such a fine back it was. Then, in one fluid movement, he pushed his jeans and shorts down his long legs.
Her jaw dropped and she stepped away from the window. Spying on people was normal for a CO, but this was not CO business. Better she survey the cupboards for supplies.
But, even as she declared the non-perishables adequately stocked, she couldn't erase the image of Dane St. John's naked body from her mind.
A yowl from the back of the cabin told her he'd doused himself in cistern water and was safely hidden from view by the shower's slab walls. She took quick note of the contents of the gas powered refrigerator. A few condiments, some cheese, and a questionable carton of eggs. She wrote up a grocery list in record time and exited the cabin.
As she stepped around the back corner of the cabin, a second yowl warned her he was rinsing.
"Warned you it would be cold," she said as she neared the makeshift shower.
"Bracing," he called back as though he'd enjoyed the shock of cold water against his heated skin. At least she assumed all that tan, muscle-stretched skin she glimpsed between the ill-fitting wood slabs of the shower stall was hot. Wouldn't she just love to step around those boards and find out? Wouldn't she just love to check out where the tan lines ended on Dane St. John's fine body?
But he was no doubt the add-another-notch-to-his-belt Joe Hollywood type; and she called, "I'm heading into to town to get you some groceries. Be back in a couple hours."
#
So, here she was, three hours later, bouncing along the two rut road through the woods to the cabin, the back of her personal SUV loaded with grocery bags and still thinking about Dane St. John's bare butt. Worse, his, not everything I did today was a mistake comment still nagged her, mostly because she knew what she wanted it to mean—still wanting there to be more to that whisper of a kiss he'd given her behind her DNR truck.
But she was a plain-Jane, boondock living, Conservation Officer, who'd taken the time to shuck her company gear, shower every hint of insect repellent from her body and brush out her hair…which had looked like a frizzed out bird's nest so she'd
She didn't need to join him at the window to know what he'd spotted out by the wood shed.
"Yeah. It's pretty basic," she said. "Just a cistern to collect rainwater and four slab-wood walls."
His long legs took him across the room and out the door before she'd taken two steps after him. By the time she cleared the door, he had disappeared around the corner. She caught up to him out back examining the rustic enclosure.
"I'd love to shower off all this sweat and bug juice," he nodded and peered up at the cistern. "Think there's enough water in there for a shower?"
"Probably, but it'll be cold."
"Wouldn't be the first cold shower I've taken," he said, giving her a wink.
What was that supposed to mean?
He climbed onto the frame of the wall and tapped his way up the cistern. "There's plenty of water in there."
"It has rained a lot lately," she said.
He hopped down.
"If you're seriously considering showering," she said, taking hold of a rope draped over a nail on one wall, "you pull this to open the spout. I suggest you use just enough water to wet yourself down, soap up, and save the rest for rinsing."
"Got it," he said, looking at her through eyes that suggested he already knew how to take a field shower. Who was this man?
"Soap's on the back of the kitchen sink and towels are on the shelf opposite the bunks."
He nodded. She headed back into the cabin. He followed and, snagging the soap and a towel, headed back out to the cistern.
What possessed her to peek out the back window she hadn't a clue.
Wrong . She knew exactly why she did it. Dane St. John peeling his t-shirt up his trim six-pack abs and off over his broad shoulders was a sight any woman would enjoy. She wanted another look at that manly back she'd seen as she'd applied sting stop to his body. And such a fine back it was. Then, in one fluid movement, he pushed his jeans and shorts down his long legs.
Her jaw dropped and she stepped away from the window. Spying on people was normal for a CO, but this was not CO business. Better she survey the cupboards for supplies.
But, even as she declared the non-perishables adequately stocked, she couldn't erase the image of Dane St. John's naked body from her mind.
A yowl from the back of the cabin told her he'd doused himself in cistern water and was safely hidden from view by the shower's slab walls. She took quick note of the contents of the gas powered refrigerator. A few condiments, some cheese, and a questionable carton of eggs. She wrote up a grocery list in record time and exited the cabin.
As she stepped around the back corner of the cabin, a second yowl warned her he was rinsing.
"Warned you it would be cold," she said as she neared the makeshift shower.
"Bracing," he called back as though he'd enjoyed the shock of cold water against his heated skin. At least she assumed all that tan, muscle-stretched skin she glimpsed between the ill-fitting wood slabs of the shower stall was hot. Wouldn't she just love to step around those boards and find out? Wouldn't she just love to check out where the tan lines ended on Dane St. John's fine body?
But he was no doubt the add-another-notch-to-his-belt Joe Hollywood type; and she called, "I'm heading into to town to get you some groceries. Be back in a couple hours."
#
So, here she was, three hours later, bouncing along the two rut road through the woods to the cabin, the back of her personal SUV loaded with grocery bags and still thinking about Dane St. John's bare butt. Worse, his, not everything I did today was a mistake comment still nagged her, mostly because she knew what she wanted it to mean—still wanting there to be more to that whisper of a kiss he'd given her behind her DNR truck.
But she was a plain-Jane, boondock living, Conservation Officer, who'd taken the time to shuck her company gear, shower every hint of insect repellent from her body and brush out her hair…which had looked like a frizzed out bird's nest so she'd
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