Page 33 of River Wild

Carrie

My head snaps up to find my grumpy-ass neighbor standing at the pool edge, glaring down at me. Big, tattooed arms folded over his huge chest, a white T-shirt straining over his biceps, faded jeans on his legs.

“And, with a”—he squints at the wet bundle in my arms—“fucking dog. What the hell are you doing in my pool with a dog?”

“You mean, your dog,” I uncharacteristically snap as I start to swim, one-armed, toward him, keeping hold of the dog with my other arm. “That I just saved from drowning. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I don’t have a fucking dog,” he snarls, bringing me to a stop close to the edge of the pool.

Hellfire, he’s even bigger up close.

“Do you have to curse so much?” I say to him.

Those dark eyes glower down at me. “Yes, I fucking do.”

Okay then.

“So, this dog isn’t yours?”

“Nope.” He lets the P pop.

I look down at the little cutie in my arms. “Well, whose dog is it?” I ponder.

“How the hell should I know?”

Ignoring his grumpiness, I ask, “Do you think it’s a stray?”

“Why don’t you ask me the more pertinent question?” His voice is a dark rumble, making my arms break out in goose bumps.

I look up at him. “Which is?”

“If I care. Which I don’t, if you haven’t already figured that out, Red.”

Red?

Oh, my hair.

I roll my eyes. “How original,” I scoff. Then, I move close to the pool steps. I put the dog down on the poolside and haul myself out of the water. I’m dripping everywhere.

And the dog has already moved and is now sniffing around River’s feet, which are bare.

He has quite nice feet. Why I’m noticing that, I’ll never know.

My eyes lift to see him scowling down at the dog, which gives me a chance to properly look at him for the first time.

He towers over me. I’d say he’s about six-three at least. Way taller than me, and I stand at five-six. I still can’t pin an age on him, but if I had to guess, I’d say twenty-eight or twenty-nine. He’s better-looking closer up than I realized. I mean, I knew he was good-looking, but up close, he’s impossibly handsome.

The kind of handsome that everyone notices. I can’t imagine any woman or man not finding him attractive with his wavy dark copper hair, sharp jaw covered in stubble, dark eyes overhung by frowning eyebrows, long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, and perfectly straight nose.

He’s beautiful.

Shame he’s a total douche-canoe.

“Will you get this mutt the hell away from me?”

He gives the dog a shove with his foot. It’s not a hard shove, but I still feel annoyed at him for pushing the dog away like that.

“Hey! Don’t do that. You’ll hurt her.” I bend down, picking the dog up into my arms, holding it to my chest.