Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,45

eyes. But stubborn woman that she was, she shook her head instead. “It’s okay. I don’t have anything clean to change into.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Patience exhausted, Wade dug into his pack, pulled out a set of clean clothes for himself, and tossed a T-shirt to Hope. “It’s got holes from the buckshot, but it’s not too bad. You can wear it if you want to wash your shirt. Or don’t. Your choice. I don’t give a shit.” He looked to Austin as he stood. “I’m going in. Watch my six, will you?”

Hope watched as Wade walked away with his brother, torn over whether she should go with them to the waterfall.

The guys looked so clean, and she felt so disgusting. Not bathing for a week had a way of doing that to a woman. It would certainly feel good to scrub the built-up dirt and sweat off her body. She unfolded the shirt that Wade had given her. No surprise, the plain black T-shirt was huge, but she could wear it while she waited for her own shirt to dry.

Still, the thought of stripping down in the middle of nowhere with five men in close proximity made her feel vulnerable. They were all bigger, strong, and armed to the teeth. If they really wanted to hurt her, there wasn’t much she could do to stop them. But her instincts insisted they would never do anything like that. To the contrary, if push came to shove, they’d probably die to protect her.

As if sensing her internal debate, Jackson said, “You’ll feel better if you go.”

“And smell better,” Navarre added.

Jackson punched his upper arm. “What the hell’s wrong with you, boy?”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” Rubbing his arm, Navarre gave Hope a sheepish look. “No offense.”

“None taken.” That wasn’t completely true, but she didn’t see the point in making a fuss about it. She imagined she must smell pretty damn bad for him to come out and say it, which meant she needed to put on her big-girl panties—or, in this case, take them off—and address the situation.

Gripping Wade’s shirt, she pushed to her feet, wiped the dirt off the seat of her pants, and headed for the fall.

When she got there, Wade was already in the water. He stood at the far end, the water waist deep, his eyes closed and head tilted forward as the water from the fall cascaded over his broad shoulders and down his powerful body. No shirt, of course. No pants either, though she spotted the waistband of his underwear peeking above the waterline.

For a lingering moment, she simply stood there, eyes wide, mouth dry, unable to look away. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him without a shirt. But before, when she’d treated his wounds, she’d viewed him through the clinical lens of a doctor. He’d been her patient, nothing more.

Now she saw him as a man.

He was masculine perfection, his body solid and heavily muscled, with a ripped eight-pack and a smattering of dark hair covering his pecs. No tattoos in sight, a rarity these days, though there were a number of scars marring his otherwise perfect chest.

“You changed your mind.”

The sound of Austin’s voice nearly made her jump out of her shoes.

She spun to the right and found him standing less than ten feet away, watching her as though he were trying to solve some great mystery.

Still clutching Wade’s shirt, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Yeah, well, one of the guys was kind enough to let me know what I smell like.”

Anger knitted his brow. “Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s right.” The last thing she wanted was to get Navarre into trouble for telling her what she needed to know. “Is there enough time for me to bathe?”

“I don’t see why not. A few extra minutes before we move on won’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

The doctor in her wanted to argue semantics. In her experience, a few minutes—hell, a few seconds—could mean the difference between life and death. But she kept her big mouth shut, muttered a simple thanks, and headed for the water’s edge, where she toed off her shoes.

Hope paused, her hand on the snap of her pants, as a fresh round of insecurity assaulted her. Most bikinis covered less skin than the underwear she wore, but something deep-seated and puritanical made her feel weird about walking around in her bra and panties.

She peered over her shoulder to where Austin stood a