“This is certainly a good place for it.” She glances at the clock on the wall then, making a show of pushing up off the bed. “Oh, well, shit. I have to feed Reginald. He gets ornery when I don’t feed him on time.”

“Oh. Sure. Of course.”

“You just leave that mug out on the hall table. I’ll pick it up in the morning. Make sure you cover the hot tub when you’re done using it. Last time I left it uncovered I found a damn squirrel swimming in it like he owned it. Don’t know how that water didn’t boil him alive.”

I laugh at the mental image of that. “I’ll be sure to cover it.”

“I’d bring a robe too. It’s gonna be colder than Jack Frost’s balls when you get out of the tub. There should be one in the dresser over there.”

“Perfect,” I answer, still grinning. “Thanks.”

I take another long gulp of Jeannie’s hot chocolate when she leaves me, tipping it back to finish it off as it settles warmly in my belly. A hot tub sounds like the perfect thing after a day of hard labor.

Plus…maybe the hot water will make me forget all about the hot innkeeper.

The robe in the dresser that Jeannie mentioned isn’t the most stylish thing I’ve ever worn—faded flannel (honestly, flannel should be on the state flag) that looks like it’s seen better days—but it’s warm and long enough that it covers my ankles, which is much more important than style as far as I’m concerned. I pair it with my fuzzy boots and my pom-pom–topped toboggan as I make my way down the stairs to the back door leading to the deck, wrapping it tight as I take quick steps to avoid the creeping chill that the old ducts of the lodge can never seem to ward off completely. I obviously didn’t bring a swimsuit on this little adventure, but I figured my matching sports bra and boy shorts set would suffice. Even if I feel like I might be freezing to death.

Hot water, I remind myself. There’s hot water coming.

I meet one very cantankerous Maine coon on the way to the back deck, the black mass of fur stretched out on the checkered couch with his belly up as I pass. I pause near him as I consider the consequences of a sneak attack, reaching quietly until my fingers skim the soft fur of his underside—for exactly two seconds. He hisses at me as he instantly pounces away, and I curse under my breath as I clutch my robe, watching him go.

“Mean ass,” I mumble.

Whatever. It’s too cold to worry about the grumpy old cat.

I’m doing something reminiscent of tap dancing and hopscotch as I barrel out through the deck doors, the frozen air taking me by surprise as the robe I’m wearing seems thinner than it did before I stepped outside. I’m only concerned with getting into the hot tub as fast as humanly possible to let the hot water warm me up, which means it takes me a second longer than it should to realize that I’m not alone on the deck.

Listen. There have been many moments over the last couple of weeks in which Hunter’s flannel-clad shoulders have made themselves at home in my thoughts, there’s no denying that. However, seeing them now—naked and broad and wet—that’s a different kind of brain malfunction altogether, and seeing him naked isn’t even a new experience for me. He hasn’t noticed me yet—his eyes are closed as he lounges in the water with his head resting against the edge—and I don’t immediately make myself known, because my brain is still trying to catch up to wet, naked shoulders and, what’s worse, wet, naked chest.

Chopping wood has done wonders for Hunter, that much is obvious. His wide chest is defined in a way that some guys out in California kill themselves at the gym every day for. The dark dusting of hair smattered across his torso is a far cry from the waxed dudebros I encounter on a daily basis; it definitely completes the lumberjack vibe that Hunter’s dark curls and dark beard set the groundwork for. It makes him look…manly, as corny as that sounds. My brain can’t seem to form a more coherent thought than that.

I’m still openly gawking at him when I absentmindedly shut the sliding patio door, and the click it makes upon closing is what finally alerts Hunter to my presence. He looks surprised to see me when his head jerks up from the edge of the tub, obvious by the way his eyes widen enough for me to notice even by the dim glow of the old porch light a few feet away. I probably look ridiculous to him, standing there in the doorway in the freezing temperature while clutching my old flannel robe and clad in my fuzzy knit cap and fuzzier boots, and that thought shakes me out of my temporary stupor.

“S-sorry,” I manage after what is probably an awkward amount of time. “I didn’t know you were out here. Jeannie mentioned the hot tub, and I just thought—”

“Well, get in if you’re going to,” Hunter says with a lot more composure than I have. “It’s cold as shit out here.”

And then it hits me that I’m about to be alone with him in a hot tub, since my brothers went into town for the evening. I swallow thickly, eyeing his wet chest again and wondering how I’ll survive the experience.

Painfully, I’d wager. Very painfully.

I can tell she’s stalling; it’s clear by her expression that she didn’t expect me to be out here when she came. She clutches what looks to be one of Jeannie’s old robes to her chest, eyeing me warily. Which seems silly, really, considering I’ve already seen her naked. Still, I look away to give her some sense of privacy so she can undress.

I hear the rustle of fabric as she no doubt discards her boots and hat, hear her slight hiss that must mean the robe has come off and the cold air has hit her fully. Her soft footsteps pad across the deck until she’s just beside the tub, and only then do I glance her way again.

It shouldn’t affect me like it does, seeing her in her forest-green sports bra and matching boy shorts—no doubt she didn’t think to bring a suit when she came to this part of the country—but I can’t pretend that noticing the way it molds to her body to accentuate every supple curve doesn’t have my dick twitching in my swim shorts.

“Shit,” she hisses. “That’s hot.”

“Hot tub,” I remind her.

She sucks in air as she tries to settle in a little more naturally, sitting up a bit as she acclimates to the warm water. She sighs as she settles in front of one of the jets, a sound of contentment leaving her when she falls back against it.

“Oh God, that’s perfect,” she hums.

“Mm-hmm.”

She finally glances over at me, finding me watching her quietly. “So, uh, a hot tub is definitely something you should mention on your website. It’s a real perk.”

“I haven’t messed with that damn thing since it got up and running,” I say with a shrug. “It gets the job done.” I smile then. “Didn’t you know? We’re a real hot commodity. We got people coming in all the way from California, even.”

“I mean,” she says, laughing, “with the right marketing…this place could be booming.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really. Pretty spot like this? Seclusion factor? You spin it like some sort of secret getaway and people from LA and everywhere else would be all over it.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Honestly? You just need the right exposure. My social media channels will help a little, but I do know this guy at Travel Quarter who covers smaller locations like this all the time. He’d probably wet himself over this place. He’d have the rest of California tripping over themselves to stay here. They’d want to plaster it all over their Instagram.”

“Is that what the internet people call ‘influencing’?”

She laughs loudly at that, the sound of it warming my belly. “You say it like a curse word. I don’t think you have to worry about it anytime soon. You’d have to get Wi-Fi first, anyway, and apparently that goes against your moral code.”