I breathe out a sigh of relief from my room at the bed and breakfast. She has a date, but that’s the easy part. I listen to the rustle of the mic against Cynthia’s shirt as she walks back toward the street to her car, which she parked outside specifically to wait for him to leave and catch him ‘by surprise’ on his way out.

It took more convincing than I would’ve thought to keep her from just barging into the diner and taking a spot as his table.

“I’ve got to give it to you,” Cynthia says into her mic once she’s in the privacy of her car. “I’ve got a date. That’s more than I managed last time I tried.”

“In the future, try to look more natural when you’re listening to me.” I squeeze as much cheeriness into my voice as I can manage, even though I want to reach through the microphone and strangle her. “Judging by the way Lucas was responding to you, you must have been doing something suspicious.”

“Noted,” she says with a touch of annoyance. “How do I turn all this off? I have to go to the bathroom when I get home and don’t want you listening.”

“That makes two of us. Use the button on the back of your earring.”

I hear ruffling against the mic, then the background noise cuts off. I set my headphones down and lean back in my chair with a frustrated sigh. Normally I’d be thrilled right now, but something in Lucas’ voice bothered me. He sounded familiar, but it could’ve just been the low quality audio I was getting through Cynthia’s mic. That, and he didn’t sound excited about their date.

This is exactly why I don’t normally set women up with guys they already know. I have no idea how their history played into that conversation. It’s an unknown.

I think back to the folder Cynthia tossed by my bed last night. I’ve never believed in rooting through a man’s past to help make a match. As far as I see it, if I can’t make a relationship work without digging up a man’s secrets and using them to manipulate events, then it’s not a match worth making. I have to admit feeling a vague temptation now though. I don’t even know what this guy looks like for starters, and I’m starting to think his past with Cynthia could be full of landmines I’d rather not step on.

Still… It’s a line I’m not ready to cross. Yet. The folder is staying closed for now.

If I land Lucas for my client, I’ll have everything I ever wanted. I’ll have a booming business, and… And I’ll still be alone, still trying to convince myself that I can be happy even if I never find the right guy. I’ll just spend the rest of my youth helping other people find the men of their dreams.

I clear my throat and push away from my desk. Yeah, I’m not bitter at all.

Thankfully, the smell of sizzling beef distracts me from the mental downward spiral. Frank and Martha run a bed and breakfast, but I was informed this morning that it’s more of a bed, breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I want it to be. So my eyes light up when I spot the hamburgers sizzling on the little portable grill Frank has on the counter.

“Good timing!” he says cheerily.

“You say that like it’s a coincidence,” says Amy, who’s lounging on the couch in the living room and playing on her phone. “Mila could smell it if they were cooking hotdogs on a jumbo jet flying at altitude. From her bedroom,” she adds with a grin.

“Shut up,” I say, but there’s no anger in my tone.

Amy just shrugs. “Hard truths. That’s why you keep me around.”

“I actually keep you around because you can’t take a hint. I think I’ve already fired you four times.”

“Three,” says Amy. “And one of those hardly even counts. You were just being emotional.”

“About the fact that you forgot to tell me you were going out of town for four days, until you got back… Four days later? Yeah, I was a little emotional.”

“Sounds like nothing a good burger can’t fix,” Frank says, plating me up a burger with coleslaw and fries on the side. “Careful with these fries,” he warns when he hands me the plate. “I used to have a six pack before I found these at the store. Just a couple minutes in the oven and--” he kisses his fingers and splays them out. “Delicious.”

“The only six pack Frank ever had was in the fridge,” says Martha from the other room.

I lean back on a bench just outside a public park near the center of town. The sun is on my face and I close my eyes, drinking it all in. The small-town life really isn’t so bad. Somewhere in the distance I hear a group of three elderly men having an animated conversation that bounces between raucous laughter and intense arguments. Two young girls are playing a game of tag around the playground just in front of me, and their mothers are chatting up a storm on the bench to my side.

Everything feels perfect, or at least it would if I could get the image of the cowboy out of my mind. I can still see those piercing eyes digging into me, undressing me in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“You sure do close your eyes in public a lot, darlin’,” says a familiar, deep voice.

I open my eyes and see Country standing in front of me--fully clothed this time--but looking sinfully good in a white t-shirt that hugs his muscular frame in all the right places and blue jeans that grip his lean legs like they don’t want to let go. God. Why does he have to be so obnoxiously gorgeous?

“You sure do sneak up on people with their eyes closed a lot,” I say a little less testily than I planned.

“Just can’t help myself,” he says. There’s a pause, just long enough for me to know he means exactly what he says next. “Not around you, at least.”

My chest tightens. “Look. I don’t know what your game is. One minute you’re telling me to get out of your town and the next you’re flirting with me. Maybe I don’t want to waste my time with a man who can’t make up his mind.”

The smirk that spreads Country’s lips is deadly serious. He plants his strong hands on either side of where I still sit on the bench, leaning forward until his face is only inches from mine, until a breath is all that stands between us and kissing.

“Darlin’, I don’t flirt. I want and I don’t want. That’s it. Do I want you city girls to stop coming down here and gawking at us all like we’re some tourist attraction? You can bet that pretty little ass of yours I do. But would I mind tossing you down in the hay and teaching you how we do it out in the country? Who knows? Stick around and maybe you’ll find out.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” I say.

He mocks me by looking around with raised eyebrows, as if waiting for someone to stop him. “What? Don’t like dirty talk? Darlin’, if you’re going to survive out here, the first thing you need to learn is how to get dirty.”

“I really don’t see your point,” I say, feeling genuine annoyance now.

“Enough words then. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m definitely not. I have a job. I can’t just go running off with--hey! Put me down!”

Country sweeps me into his big arms as easily as if I was a child, carrying me toward the blue truck he used to splash me with dirt just yesterday. I struggle against him, but it’s useless. His arms might as well be an iron cage around me, and whether I like to admit it or not, my will to fight is quickly melting away from the heat of his touch and that cocky grin he’s wearing.

He sets me in his passenger seat and closes the door for me. With a deliberate and taunting slowness, he presses down the manual door lock, even though I could easily climb out the open window or just yank the stupid thing up myself.

“I’m going, alright? Just make it fast so I can get back in time for work.”

He hops in the driver’s seat and raises an eyebrow at me. “That easy? Damn. I took you for more of a fighter.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment,” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling a little as the spontaneity of the moment sinks in.

“So she does smile.”

“It might not shock you so much if you weren’t trying so hard to be an asshole.”

He chuckles as he shifts into gear and starts to drive. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Why does that sound so ominous?”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that you don’t seem to plan on leaving, so I thought maybe you oughta see what the country has to offer.”

“The country?” I ask. “Are you talking in third person here, or are you talking about the country.”

He flashes an amused smile. “I’m talking about the country. As in the hills and lakes.”

My cheeks redden a little bit. “How did you get such a stupid nickname, anyway?”

The late afternoon sun filters through the windshield, lighting the satisfying lines of his profile in a blazing orange. He squints toward the road with a small, reminiscent smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s stupid, really. But I lived with my mom until I was five. My brother lived out here with my dad. It was an ugly split. They had just found out my dad’s land had a shit load of oil on it around the time I was born. Mom wanted to sell the ranch and move to some fancy place in the city. Dad wanted to say fuck ‘em and keep living like they had.

“So,” he continues. “When my mom decided she didn’t even want to have me around anymore because I reminded her of dad, she shipped me back here.” He laughs a little sadly, not taking his eyes from the road. “She sent me back here on a bus. Didn’t even carve out the time to make the drive.”

I frown. “I’m sorry… That must have been so hard.”

He shrugs. “It’s the hard shit that matters. That’s the stuff that sticks. But I’m over it. I’m over her. Fuck, I don’t even know where she is now or if she’s still alive. Don’t even care.”

“Really? You’re not even a little curious?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head, pausing a moment before continuing. “So when I got here I had been living in the city my whole life. Dad said I showed up wearing sandals,” he chuckles. “So they called me Country as a joke at the time. But the irony is lost a little now, because working on the ranch since I was five has made me pretty damn country.”

I laugh. “Yeah, you’re very country.”

He turns his head to me, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrink back a little, suddenly unsure of what I even meant. “Well, there’s the hat. For starters,” I say quietly.

“Any idiot can wear a cowboy hat. Just look at my brother. Judging by his clothes he’s a real big time cowboy, but that little shit never cared about anything except money. Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve turned out if dad had kept me and sent my brother to live with my mom instead.”

“Why didn’t he--keep custody of you, I mean?”

“Guess I reminded him of her,” he says.

I watch him grip the wheel, muscles in his tanned forearms tensing and standing out proudly. I wouldn’t have imagined it from my first impression of him, but I can see something more fragile inside this man who seems like he’s made of steel. Beneath his hard exterior, there’s still a boy in there who was rejected by both his parents.

I put my hand on his thigh as an innocent gesture of comfort, but when I feel the hard muscle of his leg beneath his jeans it suddenly feels a lot less innocent. I snatch my hand back, holding it in my lap and not daring to look at him.

“Did you ever make amends with your dad?” I ask.

“In some ways, maybe,” he says. “Sounds stupid to say it out loud, but I think part of why I always busted my ass was to prove he was wrong. Wrong about me. Wrong about passing me off to my mom. Wrong about choosing my brother instead. But then he went and died. Guess I’ll never really get to settle things now.”

He shakes his head and laughs, suddenly his usual, confident self again. “Fuck me. You sure you’re a reporter and not a shrink or something? You got me telling my life story over here and I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

I lost track of time and even sense of where we were driving while I listened to him, but I see now he’s bringing the car to a stop at the top of a rocky cliffside speckled with trees.

“Did you bring a swimsuit?” he asks.

“What?”

Country steps out of the truck and strips off his shirt. A warm shiver runs through me. From where he stands, his head is above the window, giving me a perfect chance to stare at his bare torso without him knowing. Creepy? Maybe. But God, no woman with working eyes would blame me.

I bite my lip, taking in everything from the carved muscle of his broad shoulders, to the perfectly sculpted chest, all the way down his abs--which are probably the most sublime thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I press my thighs together and let out something between a whimper and a moan.

His head ducks into view, and judging by the grin he wears, he knows exactly what I was doing. “Well? Did you bring a suit?”

“Why would I have a swimsuit with me?” I ask, feeling a little flustered. “I was just sitting on a freaking park bench when you kidnapped me.”

“Come on now, I didn’t kidnap you. I just suggested you come with me for a good time. A little forcefully, maybe. But you could’ve said no.”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“Maybe,” he says, biting his lip. “Maybe not.”

“Well, no,” I say, feeling my lip twitch up in a small, mischievous grin of my own. “I didn’t bring a suit.”

He jogs around to my side of the truck and yanks the door open. “Come on then, let’s get you out of those clothes so I can show you what this little town has to offer.”

I give him a level look, trying my best to feel as icy as the expression on my face. But no matter how hard I try to fight the attraction I feel for him, my body is in constant revolt. “You really think I’m going to strip down to my underwear and jump off a cliff with you?”

He spreads his arms, which has the unfortunate effect of making his biceps twitch up and catch my eyes. “Why not?”

I rub a hand through my hair. “Let’s just say I’m considering this. Not that I am, mind you. But if I was considering it, how would I even know it’s safe to jump?”

“See for yourself,” he says, leading me toward the edge of the cliff.

I look down what must be at least a twenty foot drop into crystal blue water. The cliff face actually pulls away from sight as I peek over the edge, so there would be no risk of clipping the rocks if I didn’t jump far enough.

I fold my arms. “There could be sharks down there,” I suggest.

He laughs. “Sharks?”

“Don’t laugh. I watched a documentary once about freshwater sharks. They’re real. They can--hey! Wait!”

With a taunting waggle of his eyebrows, Country side steps toward the cliff and backflips over the edge. I watch him spin end over end for what seems like an impossibly long time before he splashes into the water below. His head pops up and he waves a tanned arm up at me. “Water’s great! No sharks!”

“I’m not jumping down there!” I shout back.

“Well, if you--” he flails his arms and his head pops below the surface.

“Country! That’s not funny!”

I watch as his arms slap at the water and bubbles rise up.

“Country!” I shout. Even though I’m still half-convinced he’s faking it, I know if I wait too much longer I might not be able to help him if he’s really in trouble. I strip off my shirt and pants, jumping without letting myself think about how high it is. I’m careful to push myself off so I land to the side of Country and not on top of him.

The water hits me harder than I expected as I land, slapping my skin and instantly numbing my legs and back with tingling prickles. When I get to the surface, I find Country wading water and watching me with an amused expression.

“Damn, that worked a lot faster than I thought it would. You must’ve really been worried about me.”

“Asshole!” I say, swimming toward him to slap him.

I take a wild swing in his direction. He catches my arm, pulling me in close so my breasts press into his bare chest. My nipples are already hard from the water, and a quick glance down reminds me I am wearing a white bra and panties. Perfect, I think mirthfully.

“Damn good thing you forgot your suit,” he says, face so close to mine I can feel the heat of his breath on my face.

“So what now? You tricked me into taking off my clothes and jumping off a cliff already. Was that as far as the plan went?” I should be pissed at him, but I can’t help letting this moment take me and drag me away.

“Well,” he says, putting his hands around my waist and kicking his legs until he’s backed up to the rocks and able to sit against an outcropping under the water. “I’d be lying if I said there was a plan. I thought you were gorgeous and I wanted to show you a good time. That’s about as far as it went.”

I chew on my lip, looking into his blue eyes framed by dark, wet eyelashes that sparkle in the sunlight. “You keep saying that. Keep it up and I might start believing you.”

“That you’re gorgeous? Darlin’, if you need me to tell you how good you look, I’m going to have to go have a talk with the mirrors where you’re staying, because they clearly aren’t doing their job.”

I laugh, sliding out of his grip and sitting beside him on the rock just a foot below the water. “Well, thank you. And, well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “That’s it? Damn. I’ve gotten better compliments from my grandma.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Let’s start with a compliment that tops my grandma’s.”

I screw up my lips, trying to think of something. “Okay. You have, um--your chest is nice.”

He rolls his eyes. “Still waiting for you to top grandma.”

“What kind of compliments does your grandma give you?” I ask, laughing with exasperation.

“I’m just fucking with you,” he laughs. “The closest thing to a compliment my grandma ever gave me was when she said I have sturdy feet.”

“Wow. That’s… That’s a really lame compliment.”

“Yeah, you two would’ve gotten along.”

I catch myself smiling and looking into his eyes, leaning closer. I stop, shaking my head and closing my eyes. “This is… What is this even?” I splash my hand through the cool water, looking up at the way sunlight winks through the canopy of trees overhead and the way the wind whipped water gurgles against the rocks. A few days ago, I would’ve thought moments like this were reserved for women in movies--just fantasy and fluff. Real people don’t just go off with strangers like that, I would say. Real men don’t look that good, they don’t smile so perfectly.

“Do you have to call it something?” he asks. “This is the country, darlin’. Get your feet wet, let the sun in your hair, and drink it in. It’s not going anywhere. At least, as long as you don’t leave,” he adds in a husky voice.

Somehow my face is close to his again, so close I can’t even make out the details of his face. He’s just a sun-kissed blur inches from me. I can smell the inviting scent of his skin and practically feel the electricity of our bodies mingling together. “You don’t want me to leave anymore?” I ask.

“I didn’t say that,” he says. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a grin.

“Maybe I’ll just leave then,” I whisper. “Right now.”

“Like hell you will,” he says, sliding his strong hand behind my neck and pulling me into his lips.

My mouth meets his and the warmth of his skin bites straight through the chilly air. It bites through my reservations and my doubts.

His lips against mine are like nothing I’ve ever felt. Every nerve in my body explodes into action, memorizing the way his smooth, hard body feels as my hands find him, relishing in the way his hands feel exploring me. His tongue flicks against mine and his hand cups my cheek, holding me in his embrace like he never plans to let me go.

For just a few perfect moments, everything else falls away. My career, my past, my reservations--they burst into meaningless dust when his hands are on me.

I don’t even know when it happened, but somehow I’ve climbed on him so that I’m straddling him with my knees digging into the wet rock below the water. His hips press up against me until I feel his hard cock against my pussy.

“I don’t--do--things like--this,” I gasp between kisses.

He pulls me back, stripping his underwear so I can see his cock standing proudly just beneath the water’s surface. “No one does,” he says with a cocky little smile. “Till the first time, at least.”

My mouth feels so dry I couldn’t swallow if I tried. I’m really doing this, aren’t I? And it has all been so easy, like getting swept out to sea by a riptide. Fighting it would be harder than letting the current carry me farther and farther away. But why should I fight it? Why shouldn’t I let this happen? I’ve spent my career making moments like this for my clients, and now it’s finally my chance to have one of my own.

With a heaving chest, I pull my soaked panties down my thighs. I try to make a sexy show of it, but the relatively small shelf of rock doesn’t give me enough room to work, and I nearly lose my balance when I lift a knee to hook the panties over my foot.

Country reaches out and yanks my panties off with a wet snap that makes me jump in surprise.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. “Patience was never one of my strengths. I’ll give you about five seconds to get your bra off before I go at it with my teeth.”

“Five… Four…” I say, shocking even myself with how bold I’m being right now. “Three… Two… One…”

He pulls me closer, making my thighs slide over his and my bare pussy press into his erect cock as he does. He leans down and grips my bra between his teeth, grips it with both fists, and pulls back with surprising strength. I expect the bra to rubberband back into me painfully, but the straps snap and he lets the bra drop to the water where it starts to drift slowly away.

“Wow,” I say. “You were serious. But you did cheat a little.”

“Deal with it,” he says, taking two handfuls of my ass and presses me into his cock, which slides perfectly into the groove of my slit as my body takes over and my hips grind into him. I thread my fingers behind his neck, using him as leverage to dig myself harder into him with every thrust of my hips, relishing in the friction of his cock against my pussy. I want more, so much more, and I don’t think I have the patience to wait for it.

“Shouldn’t we have a condom or something?” I ask, though I already know the answer doesn’t matter to me. Not right now. For better or worse, I’m all in. I’ve let myself go with the momentum and there’s no stopping it.

“I’ve got one in the truck. Do you want to climb back up the cliff and get it, or should I?” he asks.

“You’re such an asshole,” I say, leaning down to kiss him and slide my hips against him.

He grabs my breasts, circling my erect nipples with his thumbs. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.”

“Did your grandma teach you that compliment, too?” I ask with a wry smile.

He slaps my ass. “Watch it, darlin’. Keep giving me back talk like that and the only lip you’ll be giving me is around my cock.”

“You’re terrible,” I say, but there’s little conviction in my tone. Instead of feeling offended, my eyes drift down to the shape of his cock beneath the water, standing proudly erect against me, so close to my entrance I can imagine how it would feel stretching my walls.

The little voice in the back of my head that has been trying to talk reason into me this whole time keeps getting quieter and quieter, like someone is closing door after door on the sound until it’s nothing but a faint muffle. Wholesome girls don’t do things like this. Reasonable girls don’t let men sweep them away from responsibility and hook up in a lake. That may all be true, but maybe I’m tired of being reasonable and wholesome. I’ve spent long enough helping other women find perfect moments with the perfect men for them. It’s my turn.

I suck in a breath to steel my nerve and reach down to grip his cock. I press it against my entrance, gasping as I lower myself down on him and marveling at how well he fits me. I meet his gaze, relishing in the lusty way his eyes smolder back at me. His strong hands guide my hips down, urging me to take more and more of his cock inside.

“This is crazy,” I gasp, but I don’t stop the increasingly frantic pace of my body against his that’s making the water churn and ripple against the rocks of the cliff.

“If this is what crazy is,” he says, pressing his palm against my mound and using his thumb to work my clit as I grind into him, “then fucking sign me up.”

I throw my head back. “Oh God. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare take your fucking hand away. Oh God!”

I close my eyes against the torrent of pleasure and sensation--from the way his warm length feels inside me, stretching my walls perfectly to the way his thumb is making my body feel like it’s on fire with ecstasy.

“I’m going to cum,” I gasp.

“Not yet you don’t,” he says, pulling out of me and somehow managing to help me flip over so I’m sitting on the underwater ledge with my back to the cliff. He treads water in front of me with his hands on my knees and a wicked grin that gives me an idea of what he’s planning.

“I’m only going to come up for air once, darlin’. If you don’t want me to drown, you had better cum quickly for me.”

I start to laugh, but the look on his face tells me he’s completely serious. “Country, wait--” I start, but he’s already ducked his head underwater and pressing my legs apart.

I jolt backwards, gripping his shoulder and the rock behind me for support as his tongue and lips go to work on me. He attacks my pussy like he’s holding a grudge, using the tip of his tongue to swirl inside my entrance and trace the line of my slit and then the flat of it to give me the friction I desperately need.

I’m moaning uncontrollably in seconds, and soon I start to wonder when he’s going to come up for air.

It seems like a blissful eternity before he pops up, sucks in a big breath of air, and then immediately dives back underwater. He goes back to work, doubling his pace from before and using his fingers to help his tongue now.

I know he can’t seriously expect me to believe he wouldn’t come up for air until I cum, but I can’t help worrying a little, which is the only thing stopping me from having an orgasm so explosive it’d probably bring this whole cliff down on top of us.

He plunges two fingers inside me, pumping so quickly that currents of water buffet against me, adding to the cascade of pleasure created by his tongue, lips, and fingers. I feel my orgasm waiting to burst, but I’m getting more and more worried that he must be dying for air.

Just cum, Mila, I think desperately.

Thoughts about how crazy this all is skid across my consciousness, but nothing sinks in, nothing carries more weight than the sensation of his touch. They are problems for another time, another life, as far as I’m concerned. Right now there’s only the pleasure. There’s only him.

I can enjoy this. I can let myself go, even if it’s just for a few days or a week. I deserve this.

With that last thought, the orgasm that has been building since he first laid hands on me rips through me like an uncaged beast. My legs scissor around his head involuntarily and my entire body spasms. My fingers dig uselessly into the rock and my mouth snaps open in a silent “O” of total and utter bliss. I realize after a few seconds that I’m holding him underwater and quickly release my legs, but my body doesn’t stop shaking from the orgasm blasting through me.

He looks a little breathless, but amused when his head pops above the water. “Damn. You sure as hell took your time, didn’t you? I was starting to think they’d have to put drowned in pussy on my tombstone.”