“Hey, I wash my face.” I did it every time I shaved, which was every damn day with the rate my beard grew out.

Emma scoffed and kept muttering. “And those pesky little things like skin cancer, premature wrinkles, and age spots mean nothing, I guess.”

“Well, no, I mean, I hadn’t thought . . .”

I trailed off. Because Emma began to slather lotion over her face and along the smooth golden skin of her bare arms and neck. She wore a tight white workout tank with dark-blue stretchy pants, highlighting every glorious dip and curve of her body.

Her body. It was insanely cute, though she probably wouldn’t want to hear that. The top of her head barely reached my shoulder. She wasn’t delicate, but compared to me, she damn well looked it. Nicely rounded arms, perky breasts that would perfectly fit in my palms, a short waist leading into a fantastic ass that bounced whenever she walked, and curvy thighs and legs.

I knew the shit standards Hollywood pushed on their actresses, keeping them this side of too thin. Emma was slim and fit, but nothing short of starvation was getting rid of that ass and those thighs, thank the Lord.

My hands itched to palm her sweet butt. But I did not want to get slapped and was a grown man who knew better. I dragged my eyes up. Concentrating on her face hardly helped. She had the kind of lips that always looked freshly kissed, rosy, and lush, the top lip slightly larger than her bottom lip. Anytime I looked at her mouth for too long, I wanted to kiss it. Hell, anytime I thought of her mouth, I wanted to kiss it.

Fuck. This was a bad idea.

I glanced away, squinting into the sunlight that Emma declared was slowly ruining my skin.

“Here.” She thrust the sunscreen under my nose, snapping my attention back to her. “Put some on.”

I wasn’t about to argue. I slathered on the lotion as best I could. It was cool, at least, and didn’t stink. There was that. All the stuff Cassandra used stank of dead flowers or fake fruits.

Emma made another noise of annoyance and stepped in front of me. Despite her obvious disgust in my apparently inadequate skin-care regimen, her eyes were fond as she peered up at me.

“You have streaks of it everywhere,” she admonished before frowning. “You’re too tall.”

You’re just right.

“You’ll have to blame my parents on that one, Em.”

The corners of her lips curled.

“Bend down, will you?” She was already reaching up for me.

Rendered a deer in headlights, I did as she asked, my face slack, my gaze stuck on hers. With gentle but deft movements, she ran the pads of her fingers over my skin, along the bridge of my nose, down the sides of my cheeks. Biting back a groan, I lowered my lids and breathed deeply. They were simple touches, nothing more than her smearing sunscreen on me. And it felt so good I wanted to purr or whimper. Something. Anything to get her to keep doing it.

But she stopped, done with her task. Leaving me to straighten and get my shit together.

“There.” She put on her sunglasses. “Now we’re ready.”

Yep, I wanted to kiss her. “Great. My skin feels safer already.”

“I am immune to your sarcasm, honey pie.”

I’d had nicknames foisted on me my entire life. Some were awful, some funny. What I hadn’t felt until now was pleasure from hearing one. Emma calling me honey pie sent a ping of pleasure straight into my chest every time. But it was tempered with disappointment today.

Because she’d stopped calling me Brick when she teased. I knew it was a result of my self-pitying rant yesterday that I was a washed-up athlete. Her consideration chafed. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I wanted her to feel free and easy with me. But I’d smashed the foundation of our budding . . . whatever it was. I could blame only myself. I would rebuild it, though. It had become imperative to me in ways I didn’t really want to examine.

Heading out, we set a steady pace. Emma was in good shape, and I had to slow my usual stride only by a little. The path moved upward through sweet-smelling grass and rustling trees. We didn’t speak but kept walking in easy silence. I liked that about Emma; sure, she would give me shit without hesitation, but it was never cruel, and she didn’t feel the need to fill silences when she didn’t have anything to say.

We reached a stream fed by water meandering down the mountain. The stream was a low trickle right now, but Emma slowed to admire it. With a sunny smile, she glanced my way. “Thank you for inviting me here. I needed this.”

I was beginning to realize I’d take her anywhere she wanted. Whatever she needed, I’d do my best to provide. It was unsettling as hell, but some things weren’t worth fighting against.