“Those impressive arms came in handy,” she says, and I laugh, because it seems like something she would say. No sweet nothings or pillow talk with her.
She releases her ankles, and I slowly slide her down until her feet touch the ground. I have some paper towels and wet wipes in my bag, so I remove the condom and wrap it in a towel, then stuff it into a plastic bag along with the foil wrapper.
I hand Molly a towel, then finish cleaning myself up before I pull up my pants. I find Molly’s panties on the ground a couple of feet away, so I pick them up, then squat in front of her, holding them open so she can step into them. She looks down at me with a mischievous look.
“I feel just like Cinderella.”
“You can help me with mine next time,” I say before I realize what I’m saying.
“So you think there’s going to be a next time, huh?” she says with a grin.
I’m enough of a fool to want there to be one.
This hasn’t changed anything between us—she still wants to dissect my involvement in the club, and I still won’t tell her anything. It hasn’t flushed her out my system either. If anything, I want her more.
“You wish,” I tease. “Sorry, it was a one-time deal.”
I find my shirt several feet to the other side of the tree, along with Molly’s T-shirt and shorts. I can’t find her sports bra, but I may have been so excited to get it off that I put more effort into tossing it aside than was strictly necessary.
“Seriously?” she asks in disbelief. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t some of the hottest sex of your life.”
“I suppose it was the ultimate communing with nature,” I say, tugging my shirt over my head.
Molly has put on her shorts and is zipping them up with one hand as she holds her shirt with the other, and she looks so damn sexy like that, bare-chested, with her strawberry-blond hair dancing over her breasts, that I nearly rip the T-shirt out of her hand and strip off her shorts again.
She walks around the tree, searching the ground, then shrieks when she’s about ten feet behind it.
My heart kick-starts, and I hurry over to save her from whatever danger has scared her, but she’s holding up her bra, now covered in something brown, and wrinkling her nose.
“I think you threw it in dog poop!”
And nasty poop at that, although I’d be surprised if it came from a dog all the way down here. Probably from a bear. I don’t think Molly needs to know that though.
I can smell it as I get closer.
“You owe me a new bra,” she gripes.
I find myself thinking about buying her a bra, but it’s nothing like the one she was wearing. It’s more like those lacy panties.
I walk over and grab my backpack, pull out another plastic bag from it, and gingerly hold it open so she can drop the bra inside. “It can be washed, you know.”
“Then you wash it and wear it,” she says with a shudder as I close the bag and reluctantly drop it into my backpack. “I’m never wearing it again.” She pulls on her shirt, and the thin fabric clings to her breasts, hiding nothing.
To avoid ogling her, I go back over to “our” tree and pick up her bag, slinging it over my shoulder.
“Are you being gentlemanly or stealing my things?”
I laugh and offer her my hand. “I’m trying to get you back up that hillside, and I figure the less you’re carrying, the more likely you’ll make it.”
She peers up the slope, and a worried look fills her eyes.
“Of course,” I say, holding out my free hand, palm side up, “if you can’t make it, I’ll come by every few days to toss some food down.”
“Very funny.” She doesn’t sound amused, but because she’s Molly, her next comment is a quip. “I guess I don’t have to worry until you start tossing down lotion so you can watch me put it on.”
An image of my hand gliding over her naked body, covering her with lotion, pops into my head.
I’ve got serious issues.
“Let’s try to get you up, because I’ll be honest. I can probably only make it down here once a week. Twice at most. Just sayin’.” But as I take in the steep slope, I am slightly worried. I can probably make it with my boots, but her shoes have absolutely no traction, and she’s likely to fall down again. Last time, we got lucky. Molly could have snapped her neck, but she got off with only a few scrapes and bruises. I’m not exactly a lucky guy, and I don’t dare risk it happening again. I nearly died of a heart attack, watching her tumble down this slope.
I realize I’m still holding her hand, so I maneuver her in front of me. “My job is to climb up behind you and make sure you don’t fall again. Yours is to climb up, grabbing hold of the trees along the way for support.”
“You just want to stare at my ass.”
That wasn’t the reason for the plan, but there’s no denying it’s a nice side benefit. “You wish.”
It’s slow going up, but after about five to ten minutes we’re back on the path.
I glance at my watch and grimace. “Come on. We can’t make it to the gazebo. We’ve got to go back the way we came. I’m going to be late.”
“For that meeting?”
“Yep.” We start walking side by side, me on the side of the drop-off. I want to reach out and take her hand, but she doesn’t seem like the hand-holding type, and it would be stupid to push this thing between us any further when nothing can come of it…even if deep down I want to try.
“So what’s your big meeting about?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“Boring house renovation stuff.”
“Tell me about it. Maybe I won’t find it boring.”
It seems like neutral territory, so I answer. “I’m meeting with a structural engineer about a house I’m flipping.”
“An engineer?” she says in surprise. “I thought they worked on bridges and commercial buildings.”
“Sure, they do that too, but they also look at residential properties and assess load-bearing walls and foundations. Some older houses weren’t built to the code we follow today, so I like to be extra sure the integrity of the house will hold up when we’re tearing apart walls.”
“I thought flipping was mostly going in and tearing out kitchens and putting in new floors and paint.” She shrugs. “I’ve seen a few episodes of Flip or Flop.”
“I don’t usually bring on an engineer. This is a rare case, but I think what I have planned will increase the value of the home.”
“And you’ll make more of a profit.”
“One only hopes,” I say with a laugh.
“When did you start flipping houses?”
“Is this on the record?”
“Oh.” She seems surprised. “Is your work history a big secret?”
“I was a woodworker,” I say, because she already knows that much from her internet sleuthing. “As you already know.”
“Did you switch to renovations and house flipping so you could go into business with your dad?”
“Partly, in the beginning.” I rake a hand through my hair, looking off. “We both needed a change. But he’s backed off a lot in the last year or so. He’s become an emergencies-only sort of partner.”