Rather than jump him right now like her body was begging her to—a damn cheering squad inside her chest was urging her to just do that—she chose a parallel path to her goal.
“I’m running to the river. I was thinking you might look good there for your photo shoot.”
He raised his eyebrows playfully, and the expression on his face led to a fluttering in her chest. He was so intense, but then there was that tease, that taunt, as if he wanted to reel her in. Becker had tall, dark, and brooding down pat, but then he chased it with a touch of smart-ass and a full dose of kindness. A potent combination she could get addicted to if she didn’t watch out. “You were thinking about me while you were running?”
“Yes. I was,” she said. “What do you think about when you’re running?”
“I run not to think.”
Of course. Of course he does. “Do you want to run the rest of the way with me or not?”
“I don’t know that I could keep up with you,” he said, and Megan was surprised. She’d expected him to say the obvious guy thing— I don’t know if you can keep up with me. But he’d turned it around into something of a compliment.
“Why don’t we see?”
She took off, leading the way up the final switchback, then maintaining a steady speed down the other side of the hill. Running faster than usual, but not so much that she’d overdo it, she could see the river coming into closer view, and she was sure she’d be the first to the finish line. Her heart was pounding, her lungs were firing on all cylinders, and her calves were working overtime, but surely she could do it.
In one swift motion, like the horse you didn’t see coming on the final turn, Becker flew past her, all six foot and then some of strong, broad, and muscled frame, beating her soundly as he tapped a big hand on the rock that marked the edge of the river.
She finished a few seconds behind him, collapsing onto the rock and laughing.
“Something funny?”
But he was laughing, too. She wasn’t even sure why either of them found this so amusing. Maybe it was the incredulity of bumping into him, or maybe it was that they’d gone from bedtime companions, to photographer and subject, to temporary running partners. They could segue easily, it seemed, almost too easily, into these different roles.
“Kind of random to run into you here,” she said.
“Is it though? Or did you happen to mention you ran by the river in the mornings?”
Tingles spread across her chest. “Did you come here looking for me?”
He shrugged playfully. “Let’s just say I’m not disappointed to have run into you.”
“It’s almost as if I dropped a hint in the hope that you might pick up on it.” she said, taking a step closer to him, wanting to close the distance even more.
“Is that so? You’re a fine hint-dropper then, Megan, and I hope you don’t mind bumping into me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mind it at all. Even though you beat me in our race. And you were letting me think the whole time that I might beat you, weren’t you?”
He nodded proudly. “That was my MO.”
“You are sneaky.” She smacked him on the chest. His very hard, very firm chest.
“Now you’re playing dirty. I can’t smack you on your chest.”
“I’m sure you could find ways to play dirty,” she said, and he tilted his head, watching her, waiting for her to make the next move even though they’d agreed on no moves. “But we’re not going to do that.”
He shook his head. “We’re not going to do that at all,” he said, as he looked down at her hand still on his chest. A spark shot through her and desire took over. She spread her palm open against his T-shirt.
A low rumble emanated from his throat. She quirked up the corner of her lips, her fingertips now dancing across his chest. Her hands had a mind of their own, as his chest became a playground. Her index finger traced the outline of his pecs, then darted down to those abs, sharply defined even through the T-shirt, like a ladder from his chest down to that terribly tempting waistband of his running shorts.
That was the problem. He was so tantalizing to her. He was all man, all raw speed and strength. He could sling her over his shoulder and carry her for miles without breaking a sweat. Not that she wanted or needed to be carried, yet she found herself craving—intensely craving, deep in her gut—the shape of him, the size of him, the way he could overpower her in seconds.
That combination of sheer power and utter control ratcheted up her hunger for him. She splayed her fingers across his abdomen, her pinkie inching close to his shorts, imagining what lay beneath. She wanted to feel him, to wrap her hand around him again, to take him all the way into her mouth.