Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (best fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

of her hair was soft, and strands sifted through his fingers like sugar. He used his fingers to comb it back, then pulled the scarf around and knotted it.

“You want a bow?”

“Do I look like a bow girl?”

He smiled silently, made the bow. Her shapely body shivered, most likely out of control from his soft touch as he pulled the ends of the scarf. Then he grazed his career-scarred knuckles down the back of her bare neck.

Lingering, he fought the strongest urge to kiss her shoulder.

The bareness of her back aroused him, the thin band of her bikini top more sensual to him than if she’d stood there without it on. The idea of unhooking it teased far more.

So he stayed close, close enough that he could feel the heat off her body like a gym sauna, and feel their jumping heartbeats pulsing in the air around them.

“This Tuesday,” he said softly, leaning closer, “when you come over to cook…I want you to…”

He let the sentence trail, let her think what she wanted. And he hoped it was the same thing he wanted.

Long seconds played out. He inwardly smiled.

“What?” she finally said, the word a breathy sound.

“I want you to…cook for two. I’ve got a houseguest for the summer.”

Lucy’s shoulders relaxed, a soft snort left her lungs. “Sure. I can do that.”

She ducked away from him, stepped up onto the dock and did a quick pivot on her feet. A cool pink blush worked across her face, her cheeks.

He grinned.

Indignant sparks flew from her eyes, and he knew damn well he’d yanked her chain and gotten her pissed.

“You know what?” she declared in a tone edged with sass. “I never did like KISS. I always thought that group was for immature men who had tongue envy and complexes about their drumsticks.” Then she strode to the kids, her hips swaying hotly. The shape of her back was sexy as all hell.

Rather than being annoyed with her, he wanted to take that luscious body of hers and show her just how good his tongue would be in all the right places.

“Dude, there’s an ATV at Bomber’s that has snow tracks on it,” Ryan said. “You can spin donuts on it.”

Drew had driven them around the reservoir in his badass boat, and now they were back with everyone on the main dock. The group of boys congregated at the corner, talking about nothing and junk; but all of them were looking at Mackenzie when they were talking. She stayed on other side of the dock, laughing with some girls.

“I spun donuts in my mom’s car.” Brownie shoved a handful of pork rinds into his mouth, some getting stuck on his braces.

“Dude!” Ryan exclaimed. “I did that once on the ice, pulled the e-brake. I about lost it and took out our mailbox.”

The boys laughed.

“I was lifting weights in my garage,” Nutter stated, “and there was this time that I almost dropped a barbell on my dad’s Suburban. He would have freakin’ freaked out.”

“How much do you weigh, Nutter?” Jason asked, dipping into the conversation.

“A hundred and forty.”

“You’re a hundred and forty?” Ryan challenged, grabbing the bag of rinds. “I’m one-sixty. I can bench-press two hundred.”

“You’re full of shit.” Nutter grabbed the bag back.

Jason sat on his towel, the sun in his eyes, but he was just as interested in Mackenzie as the other boys. They’d all been horsing around, trying to get her attention at the dock by the dam.

Mackenzie had smiled at all of them, been friendly, but Jason thought she was looking at him the most. So he’d tried to play it cool.

Mackenzie was real pretty, and he liked how she sounded when she talked. He’d never heard anyone say “ya’ll” before unless it was in the movies. When she said “dinner” it sounded like “dinnah.” She told him his momma was making her supper. He didn’t know what supper was, and she said, “Ya’ll don’t call the evenin’ meal supper? Oh, then I’m meanin’ dinnah.”

Thinking about the quality of her voice gave Jason a flush on his warm, summer skin. He found himself extremely conscious of every move she made and every word out of her mouth. He could listen to her talk forever.

She was by Drew, sitting on a chair and talking to another girl on the dock. They were laughing about something, and Jason felt a little like toeing the rubber—showing off.

Effing A.

Jason never did anything stupid like this—have a head-banger over a girl. But Mackenzie wasn’t just any girl.

She was like one of those magnolia tree flowers that bloomed in the park by the Boise zoo. She was different. And all of the boys making jokes, talking big and staring at her—they all knew it, too.

Nineteen

“Clyde, you are just downright wrong.” Opal’s insistent voice carried loudly enough to give a brass band a run for its money. “It was Burt Gunderson who had the affair with Betty-Lay, that waitress at the Timberline Lodge.” Opal was adamant in her argument with the deputy. She remembered things like a womanizer, and Burt had been a real hands-all-over-you guy.

“Beverly wasn’t doing no two-step with Dirty Burty. You’ve got it all wrong. That was Blanche who worked at the ski lodge. Them broads both have names that start with the letter B.” Deputy Cooper gave a snort-laugh. “Though Beverly earned her nickname, I won’t argue that. I recall Roger almost calling her Betty-Lay to her face. I-gad, now that would have been something.”

Opal dragged a chip through the gooey nacho cheese sauce, ate it with a jalapeño and a green onion, then took a sip of her margarita. The coarse salt on the rim puckered her lips, but the tequila went down smooth. It was Wednesday—“Olé Night” at the High Country Lounge—and the drinks and appetizers had a Mexican theme.

“I’m telling you,” Opal insisted sharply. “It was Beverly.”

“I saw Betty-Lay suntanning at the dam last week. Holy God a’mighty, she’s got to be in her mid-seventies now.”