Kitabı oku: «Stop The Wedding!», sayfa 6

6

Wednesday, July 1, 9:00 p.m.

TARA BIT HIM.

Not hard, just a simple back-off-buster pinch of her teeth against the firm flesh of his bottom lip. It was a simple warning—as much for herself as for him—nothing more.

But instead of being warned off, a low laugh rolled from his throat, deep and masculine and delighted.

A flicker of panic ran through her. Not because she was scared or offended, but because the secret little fantasy she’d been indulging about her across-the-street neighbor was coming true.

He speared his good knee between her legs, pressed it against the U-Haul, effectively pinning her in place. She tried to rationalize that he was doing the maneuver to stabilize his weak leg, but still, she couldn’t help feeling captured by him. She couldn’t move with her legs on either side of his thigh. His hand held the back of her head, his fingers threaded through her hair. She couldn’t have run away if she’d wanted to do so.

It turned her on in ways she’d never dreamed possible. Instantly, her body was wanting and ready.

Boone stared into her eyes. Stared into her. No nonsense. Manly. Tough. Take-no-prisoners.

Instantly, they both reacted, attacking each other’s mouths like starving people let loose on an all-you-can-eat buffet, nothing subtle or timid about the approach. They kissed with gusto and verve.

Tara found herself clinging to him, pushing against him, getting as close as she could get without being joined to him. Pure sensation overpowered her. Hard, driving desire overwhelmed her. Every rational thought Tara possessed flew right out of her head. Bowled over by his raw animal magnetism, by the fiery tingling of her nerve endings and the intensity of his body heat, she wanted nothing more than to sink down on the hard-packed roadbed, make love to him and damn the consequences.

He was experiencing the same thing she was. She could feel it in his body, in his hot, fierce kisses.

Until this road trip, she’d thought her feelings for Boone were one-sided. She liked him, but he wasn’t crazy about her. But now, the desperately hungry way he explored her mouth told her that he was just as lost as she. Marooned. They were marooned together on this tidal wave of stark, relentless need.

His tongue slid against hers, demanding and yet at the same time strangely gentle. She could feel the pressure of his swollen sex pressing against her belly as he leaned into her, the hard metal of the trailer cool against her back.

He nuzzled her neck at the same time his hands coasted down her body. His palms found her breasts. Her nipples peaked and his thumbs strummed over them, stirring the treacherous feelings churning inside her.

Desperate, wondrous yearning unfurled in the pit of her stomach, spiraling low and heavy, making her body quiver and her knees weaken. If his legs were as unsteady as hers, she had no idea how he remained standing. If he wasn’t holding her up, she’d collapse. How was it that he was strong and stable in light of his injury?

The next thing she knew, his hand had slipped up under the hem of her dress, slid up her thigh. His warm, nimble lips still had control of her mouth as his bold hand caressed her heated skin.

His kisses alternated between bold and tender, sweet and salty. Kissing him was like eating a gourmet meal at a five-star restaurant. With the tip of his tongue, he explored—outlining the contours of her mouth, touching the sensitive area right below her ear that made her shiver uncontrollably.

It felt so good. This runaway lust was tempting and exquisitely dangerous, but she knew she had to stop it and stop it now, before she made a foolish mistake. She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but then he cupped her face between his palms and coaxed her tongue to come out and duel with his.

And for another long, blissful moment she was lost again.

A mournful howl echoed over the cornfields, followed by yipping noises that raised the hairs on Tara’s arms.

Coyotes.

Reality shattered the moment. Common sense returned. They weren’t near a bed. Boone had a bum leg. She was moving to Miami. He lived in Bozeman. There was no way this could ever mean anything other than sex.

What’s wrong with just sex?

Nothing. Nothing at all. Except…

Tara feared that one time with Boone would never, ever be enough. Better never to eat the tempting cheesecake than take a small bite that led to gobbling the entire thing. With him, it was all or nothing.

He must have come to the same conclusion, because they broke apart simultaneously, Boone swearing softly under his breath, Tara inhaling sharply. He almost lost his balance as he stepped away from her, but he managed to right himself without toppling over. Legs trembling, she wasn’t in much better shape. She stood there with her back pressed against the door, afraid to move in case she did fall and nervous as hell about the feeling blooming inside her.

His eyes hooked on her face, his expression impassive. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. She had an urge to pull her shirt up over her face to hide from him. She was afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

She drew air into her lungs as deeply as she could against the tight band of emotion constricting her chest. He’d knocked her off kilter, both emotionally and physically, doing things to her with his wicked tongue that left her senseless. She’d kissed other guys before, but no kiss had ever made her feel like this.

“This…” She paused, exhaled.

“I know.”

“It’s—”

“No need to explain.”

“I don’t want you to—”

“Shh.” He placed an index finger over her lips. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay! “Boone, I want you, I want this but—”

“No,” he said brusquely. Then, without another word, Boone turned and limped back toward their camp.

AN HOUR LATER, Boone lay under the stars, the back of his head resting in his upturned palms, his fingers interlaced, elbows extended. His knee ached, but he barely noticed because another body part ached even more.

From the makeshift tent beside him, he could hear Tara’s soft, feminine snores. He smiled up at the sky. If he told her she snored, he knew she’d deny it six ways to Sunday.

He thought about the rough, demanding way he’d kissed her, driven by pure primal instinct. It scared him how easily he’d lost control. The mysterious, beguiling power Tara held over him bamboozled Boone. Why Tara?

What was it about her that so enthralled him? She was gorgeous, granted, but the attraction was more than that. Whenever Tara looked at him in that perky way of hers, he felt completely naked. As if she could see right through his defenses, understood him and liked him anyway. This was why he’d avoided her for so long. Deep down, he’d known she had the power to crack his foundation, and Boone was nothing if not dug in.

And then there was that kiss they’d shared.

Well, he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to label their relationship or read anything into the kiss. But he could still taste her salty-sweet flavor and he wanted more. So much more. That’s what he’d been trying so hard to avoid—this disturbing fever-pitch level of intense longing.

Absent-mindedly, he licked his lips. He’d married Shaina and she’d never kissed him the way Tara did, full of reckless, determined intent. Once upon a time, he’d been infatuated with this ex-wife, but she’d never dominated his thoughts the way Tara did. A whole lot less passion than he felt for Tara had led him to a Vegas wedding chapel. That was the problem. He had no real internal barometer when it came to women.

Tonight had shown him just how explosive he and Tara were together. They had been fully into each other and the more they’d tasted, the more they wanted. He thought of how the cheek of her sweet ass had felt cupped in his palm, only the flimsy material of her underwear between his hand and her bare skin, and Boone groaned out loud.

How far would they have taken it if the sound of coyotes hadn’t pulled them apart? Would he have had the presence of mind to stop on his own? He liked to think so, but Tara had a way of turning him inside out and upside down. Whenever he was around her, he found himself wanting…well, what did he want from her?

Sex, obviously, but it was more than that. She had qualities that, even though he might moan about them, secretly appealed to Boone. He liked her quirkiness and how she kept him off guard. For instance, he didn’t know any other woman who would have taken that U-Haul off-road. Impulsive yes, but brave. Plus, she was a problem solver. Granted, things had not turned out the way she’d planned, but he had to admire a woman who took action.

He closed his eyes, struggled to sleep. He kept smelling her scent, seeing her smile, tasting her lips, hearing her breathing and feeling her supple skin beneath his fingertips. He wished…hell…he wasn’t even going to try to articulate what he wished.

Dumb.

This was dumb and useless. There was no point longing for things that weren’t good for him. The military had taught him to control his urges, to face temptation head-on and plow his way through things. But the army never bargained on a force of nature like Tara Duvall. That seductive sway of hers could coax a saint into sinning.

The night breeze blew over him. Even though it was early July, it was still cool in the dampness of the fallow field. He sat up and poked at the fire, stirring the embers for warmth.

Remember why you’re here. You’re on the road to stop your sister from marrying the wrong man.

That did the trick. Thinking about Jackie got his mind off Tara. At least for a few minutes, but the trouble was that thinking about Jackie made him realize that he might not get to Key West in time. Not with this detour. What if no one came along in the morning?

To keep from fretting, he did mental math. Tomorrow was Thursday. They were sixteen hundred miles from Miami. If they drove an average of sixty miles per hour then it would take about twenty-six hours. He had to factor in at least four stops. If by some miracle someone came by, they got the car repaired and were back on the road by noon tomorrow, he could reasonably expect to get to Key West by late Friday night or early Saturday morning. Still plenty of time to stop Jackie’s late-afternoon wedding. But that was assuming everything went well.

Boone never assumed anything, and he always prepared for the worst, but what he’d never factored in was getting in the path of Hurricane Tara.

THE SOUND OF a tractor woke Tara at dawn.

She came out of the tent blinking, yawning and stretching. Boone was sitting on the blanket, strapping the metal brace to his leg. He stopped in midmotion, his gaze fixed on her.

She realized then that the oversized T-shirt she slept in had risen up along with her stretch, revealing the edge of her pink panties. Struggling against the heat that flooded her cheeks, she ducked her head and immediately lowered her arms.

“Pink?” One quizzical eyebrow arched on his forehead.

Tara pretended she hadn’t heard him. Somehow, the knowledge that Boone had seen her underwear bothered her more than the kiss they’d shared the night before. There was something just too intimate about it. Quickly, she found her blue jeans and tugged them on, almost tripping herself in her haste.

The sound of the tractor grew louder.

“Someone’s coming,” she said.

“I was trying to get my brace on and get out into the road to wave them down,” Boone explained.

“I’ll do it,” Tara offered.

He gave a fake cough, glanced at her chest.

She straightened, glanced down and saw that her erect nipples were poking through the thin cotton material of her T-shirt. Good grief!

Boone’s mouth pulled up in a smirk, even though she could see him fighting against it. “You might want to put on a bra.”

Sexual tension vibrated between them and her breath slipped rapidly between her teeth as she imagined exactly what he must have been thinking. She nibbled a thumbnail, glanced around on the pretense of finding her bra, but honestly, she was just trying to look anywhere but into his eyes.

Then she remembered she’d left it inside the tent. She crawled back inside, found her bra, wrestled it on and then stepped back outside.

In the meantime, Boone had made it to his feet. He wore the same cargo shorts he’d had on the day before, and he had his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze grazed over her, moving from the top of her tousled hair, to the slope of her breasts (now safely harnessed), to the thighs of her snug-fitting jeans on down to her bare feet.

“Have you seen my flip-flops?” she asked, feeling flustered, her pulse pounding erratically.

He pulled them out from behind his back. “You’re a bit scattered. I found them in the field last night and thought about hiding them from you just to teach you to pay attention.”

“So, why did you take pity on me?”

“I realized it’s not my place to change you. And, you need them to flag down the tractor. You can get out there before I can.”

“It kills you, doesn’t it?” she asked, and from the glint in his eyes she knew it was true.

“I hate being helpless,” he said. “H-A-T-E, hate it.”

She leaned forward to put on her flip-flops, teetering on one foot and then the other. Boone put out a hand to steady her. An immediate heat flamed through Tara. His touch had always revved her up, but after last night, she seemed extra sensitive toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sure, fine, terrific, great,” she chattered. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve got goose bumps.” Gently, he moved his hands up and down her forearms as if to warm her.

It only made the goose bumps worse and kicked her heart rate into a gallop. For a long, agonizing second, she couldn’t speak. All she could do was absorb the warmth of his skin.

The sound of the tractor chugging into an idle snapped her from the spell Boone had woven over her. “Tractor’s here,” she said, yanking her hand away to wave at the green vehicle that had come to a stop behind the U-Haul.

Then, she turned and raced toward the farmer, feeling both unsettled and relieved.

THE FARMER’S NAME was Paul Brown and it was his field they’d spent the night in. Paul graciously volunteered to give them a ride to Fairville, the closest town. Paul went back to his house and returned with a pickup truck. Hopefully, they could find a place to shower and change their clothes in town. Boone took his knapsack from the Honda and Tara retrieved her overnight bag.

For the entire twenty-minute trip, Boone kept glancing at his watch. Tara knew he was nervous about making it to Key West, but they had plenty of time. It was only Thursday morning and his sister’s wedding wasn’t until late Saturday afternoon. Boone was a fretter. She could reassure him all day long and he would still worry, so she didn’t even bother.

She sat in the cab of the pickup, sandwiched between Paul and Boone. The truck smelled like hay, motor oil and Nebraska loam. Reaching over, she laid a hand on Boone’s good knee, just to let him know that she understood, but the second her fingers settled on his bare skin, she knew that touching him had been a mistake.

His muscles were so firm and masculine. With every pump of blood that pushed through her veins she was aware of everything about him—the sound of his breathing, the tension in his body, the smell of his scent, unique and utterly male. Her own body tightened and it felt as if—

Knock it off!

She slipped her hand off his knee, shifted her attention to Paul and started bombarding him with questions about farming, anything to get her mind off Boone.

Paul, she learned, had been born and raised in Fairville and he thought Nebraska was heaven on earth. His wife’s name was Peggy and they had three kids, all of whom were grown and living elsewhere. That saddened him quite a bit.

“Young people today.” Paul shook his head. “You’re always in such a blasted hurry. Always on your computers and whatever else is the new-fangled thing of the day. Do they ever pick up the phone and just make a call?”

“But you know,” Tara pointed out, “because of social media, people are actually more connected. My mom texts me every day.”

“It’s not the same as hearing their voices,” Paul complained. “Hell, for all I know someone stole their phones and is sending those text messages.”

“Paul’s got a point,” Boone pointed out. “A lot has been lost in our technological world.”

“And that cyber-bullying,” Paul put in. “It’s ten times worse than when I was kid. Back in those days, if you wanted to stand up to a bully, you took boxing lessons. Nowadays, those poor kids have no recourse. Some even end up taking their lives over it. Such a damn shame.”

“Look at all the advantages technology provides,” Tara said. “We can go online and pay our bills—”

“Leaving us wide open to identity theft.”

“We can send messages instantly. No need to wait for letters.”

“It’s killing the post office.” Paul readjusted his green John Deere cap on his head.

“But saving trees.”

Paul laughed and glanced over at Boone. “Your wife’s a feisty one. She could argue the hind leg off a donkey. I bet you never win a disagreement with her.”

“We’re not married,” Boone rushed to say.

Paul looked surprised. “Really? You two look so good together, I just assumed.”

“She’s just giving me a ride to Miami.”

Wow, Boone couldn’t wait to set Paul straight, as if being married to her was such a terrible notion. Tara felt as if she’d swallowed a walnut whole and it had gotten stuck in her throat.

Paul’s smile turned sly. “Well, you never know. Road trips have a way of breeding romance. That’s how I fell in love with Peggy. Senior class trip to Padre Island. Before that, we couldn’t stand each other. Her family had money and she was a cheerleader and I thought she was stuck-up. She thought I was a know-it-all, but by the time we got to the Gulf of Mexico we were madly in love. Been happily married thirty-seven years and countin’.”

“That’s such a sweet story,” Tara said.

“You never know when love is gonna sneak up on you,” Paul waxed philosophical. “Just remember, there’s a reason they say opposites attract. If you’re both the same, where’s the spark? Where’s the sizzle? Where’s the mystery?”

“But you have to have some common ground in order to stay married for so long. I bet you and Peggy have more in common than you think,” Tara argued.

“You’re right there. We both value family, tradition and the American farm.”

“See, there. Not so opposite after all.”

“You’re a pistol, Tara. Smart and pretty.” Paul leaned forward, to get a better look at Boone. “You’re dumber than you look, son, if you let this one get away. She’s a treasure.”

Tara’s cheeks heated and she cast a quick glance over at Boone to see how he was taking Paul’s advice. His face was impassive.

“She is special,” Boone said.

Hmm. Special. What did that mean? The word had so many connotations. Not all of them good.