Package Deal by Chris Chegri Read Free Book Online Page B

against the wall, and when I say jump, you jump. I’ll haul you over.”
      She wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, sure, and if I fall and break my neck, I’m never speaking to you again.”
    “Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
    Kelly wished he’d said anything but trust me . Trust was a four-letter word to Kelly—especially rolling off a man’s lips. Those old warning flags waved again in the back of her mind.
    “Come on,” he urged, hand extended.
    She evaluated the soles of her tennis shoes for tread. Nikes. Almost new. Lots of grip life left in them.
    “Okay.” Here goes. She pulled up the legs of her calf-length pants to allow better mobility.
    “Jump!”
    Steve grabbed her, scooping her up and over the barrier. She cleared it by a foot and landed in his arms. She clung to him, legs wrapped around his thighs for a second, then slid down his body, envisioning a fireman’s pole and fighting off a grin. He was hard in all the right places.
    The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and fanned out across her breast, tightening her nipples beneath her t-shirt. Oh, dear God. She had her sports bra on. She crossed her arms over her chest.
    To her relief, Steve’s reaction to their crash landing seemed casual, but he released her quickly, setting her on her feet beside him, and turning his back to her. She took a moment to gather herself while he bent to retrieve the fishing gear.
    Kelly smoothed her t-shirt and hoisted her purse back onto her shoulder, sensing she was safe with him but no longer trusting herself. Her limbs still tingled following the collision of flesh. She would need some time and space to forget the touch of his hard body pressed against the soft fullness of her own. The apprehension she’d suffered at the onset of the outing vanished, replaced by a fuzzy tension she hadn’t experienced in years.
    “Hurry up! You’ll miss the big one,” Steve called to her.
    Delighted by his enthusiasm and spontaneity, Kelly shook off her hang-ups and joined him at the rail. The only spontaneity Ken had ever exhibited was on his way out the door to meet his friends.
    With minimal assistance, Kelly popped her rod apart and assembled it, thinking back to the fishing trips she’d taken with her dad. Steve rigged her rod with weights, a float and a lure. Using his own rod to demonstrate, he showed her how to cast. Casting wasn’t a necessity here on top of the bridge. They only needed to release the line and drop it into the water far below. Steve, a self-proclaimed serious fisherman—must have decided, somewhere between the Jeep and the bridge railing that the art of casting would benefit her in the long run.
    Kelly’s first attempt would have stopped traffic had it been moving. Watching closely and copying his technique, she snapped the rod back, ready to whip it forward in a perfect arc, but she released the line prematurely. The hook and sinker whirred through the air, snagging on the lane divider behind her.
    A shower of line unraveled overhead then drifted down over them, resembling streamers on New Year’s Eve.
    Surprised and embarrassed, Kelly glanced over at Steve, who appeared as startled as she was. Kelly tensed, anticipating a critical response. During her years with Ken there hadn’t been much she could do without drawing his anger or cutting remarks, and now she expected the same from other men.
    Speechless, Steve stared back at her, and all of a sudden laughed. “Nice casting, Pearson.” He tugged at the mess covering everything within four feet.
    Relieved at his good humor, a smile crawled across Kelly’s lips. Her tension eased despite yards of fishing line strung all around them.
    The scrambled line covered Steve’s shoulders and hung from one ear. “This must be how it feels to get tee-peed.”
    Several strands draped across Kelly's head and face. “Tee-peed?” She tugged at the nylon line, giggling.
    “You know, in high school…at night… tossing toilet paper into trees. You