if he was an ax murderer over chips, but she could ask a few more questions.
Falling into step beside him, she said, “So what do you do in the army?”
“Honestly—” he looked down at her with an apologetic half smile “—I can’t tell you much.”
“Top secret missions?”
“Something like that.” He led her up to a red-and-white stand with signs for hot dogs, nachos and cotton candy. “I’m a Ranger, part of the Special Forces, and our missions are classified. My teammates can’t even tell their wives and girlfriends, not that many of the guys are married, about what we do and where we go.”
A Ranger. Like her father. Like the men in Tennessee she planned to interview for her book. Maggie froze, every muscle in her body tensing. The tingling feeling in her breasts? It vanished.
She took a step back and then stopped. The part of her that craved an orgasm from a toned man with big hands and bedroom eyes told her to stay. For the first time in as long as she could recall, the need for an orgasm, the desire to shove her responsibility aside for twelve blissful hours trumped the warning bells.
“What can I get you?” the man behind the counter asked.
Hunter stepped up and Maggie followed. This wasn’t about forever. She could pretend he was an ordinary foot soldier if she wanted. The fact he was a Ranger wouldn’t matter in the morning and it certainly wouldn’t change anything once they took off their clothes.
“Nachos,” Hunter replied. “Extra cheese.”
“So you came for the food?” she asked lightly, turning the conversation away from his military career.
Hunter accepted a to-go container piled high with cheese-covered chips, paid the vendor and led her to an empty picnic table. “Nope, the food is a bonus. My buddy needed to pick up a few parts for his wife’s pickup.”
“Not into trading car parts?” She slid onto the bench.
“My truck could use a tune-up, but I’m not the man for the job. What I said before about changing a tire? That’s about the extent of my mechanic skills.”
“Well, you’re a step ahead of me. Every time I get a flat, I have to call for help.” She reached for a chip to keep her nervous hands busy.
“Is that why you were looking for a mechanic tonight?” he asked. “Need someone to call next time you have a blowout on the highway?”
Underneath the table, his leg brushed up against hers. He moved away, suggesting the touch had been an accident, but Maggie felt a rush of heat just the same, running up her calf past her thigh to her core. If he left her this turned on with an accidental touch, what would happen when he ran his palms over her bare skin? Her gaze fell to his large, capable hands, moving up his forearms to where his biceps disappeared beneath his shirt. In her imagination, his shirt vanished, allowing her to feast on his chest, over his sculpted abs and lower...
Her nipples peaked harder at the mental picture.
“Nope. You’re just what I was looking for,” she said. Was it her imagination or did her voice sound sultry? Maybe even a little seductive? All from one brush of his leg.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes now. He’d been staring at her breasts and they both knew it. Was he mentally undressing her? Picturing what lay beneath her green shirt? Maggie shifted on the bench, her body desperate to move, to touch and be touched. Across the table, Hunter held her gaze the way a soon-to-be lover would—with intent.
Maggie stared back, noting the golden flecks in the rich brown of his eyes. Her lips parted as if they had an inkling of what he wanted to do. Would he kiss her? Tear off her clothes and take her right here, right now, bending her over the picnic table?
She blinked and looked away, the image too hot to handle over nachos. Was she ready to move beyond chitchat and accidental touches? The new Maggie cried yes, but not here. Not yet. One kiss from this man would lead somewhere, and she didn’t want their first round to be in the backseat of a Toyota at the fairgrounds. Definitely not part of her fantasy.
“So you’re Special Forces and all you can do is change a tire?” she asked, trying to shift the mood before she reconsidered her position on backseat sex.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but over the years I might have learned how to hot-wire a car.” He used one chip to scoop up a pile of loose cheese. She followed the movement of his hand to his mouth. How would those lips feel against her skin, trailing kisses up her inner thighs, lingering over the place that was pushing her closer and closer to saying forget the chips and take me to bed, right now?
Not yet, she reminded herself. Forcing aside the image of hot kisses, Maggie pointed to a table full of knobs and pipes. “But you couldn’t tell me what those are?”
He finished chewing and raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to talk about car parts?”
His leg pressed up against hers, and this time it stayed there. Definitely not an accident. It was as if he couldn’t sit across from her and not touch her. It should have made her nervous, the clear, physical signal that this man wanted her. But it didn’t. Instead, excitement and anticipation flooded her body to the point where she could barely remember what they’d been talking about.
Car parts. He’d asked if she wanted to discuss car parts. The answer was no. But—
“What do you suggest?” she asked.
“Now that we’ve eaten, I’m ready to start thinking about those orgasms you asked for. Unless you need more time. We can take a walk around and peruse the merchandise. But I had to say something. It was starting to feel like the elephant at the table. I keep trying for small talk, but the O word is front and center in my mind.”
“That’s my fault.” She clasped her hands together on the table. “I’m bad at this, and I should never have been so direct.”
“Hey, I liked your approach.” Hunter reached out and rested one of his large hands on top of hers. It was an intimate gesture, but it felt right. More than right, it felt good. Reassuring. “It was a first for me, but a welcome break from most boring getting-to-know-you conversations.”
“So you’ve had a lot of experience with this? With one-night stands?”
“A time or two.” He shrugged. “I’m one of those guys who run away from romantic commitment. But orgasms? Those I can deliver. But first...”
His voice trailed off as he rose slightly, reaching across the table with his free hand.
“What?” she asked.
“You have some cheese on your cheek.”
Cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand, he swept his thumb over her face, gently brushing the corner of her lips. Maggie hadn’t learned much about men growing up, but she recognized the soft stroke against her skin for what it was. It had nothing to do with fake cheese. This man wanted to claim her.
He returned for a second sweep, this time running over the full width of her lips. She leaned into his touch, relishing the warm sensation between her legs. She parted her lips
