pulse raced. Her heart thundered.
Get out of his way, you silly twit.
She stepped aside, held her breath as he passed within touching distance.
Just before he stepped into the bathroom, he reached behind her, and gently tweaked her braid. “Love the hair,” he said and shut the door.
Lightning-quick, in case he popped unexpectedly from the shower and caught her naked, she changed into a pair of white shorts and a red-and-white-striped V-neck T-shirt with three-quarter sleeves and exchanged her flip-flops for sneakers. She wore white “no show” socks with jaunty red pom-poms at the heels. She glanced at the clock. It was barely past nine. They had hours to kill before the car would be ready.
The shower came on.
Unbidden, instant images of Boone’s naked body underneath the spray of water shot into her mind. She traced two fingers over her bottom lip, remembered the kiss they’d shared the night before. The kiss of the year? C’mon, it was more like the kiss of the decade. Decade? Right. Be honest.
It was the kiss of a lifetime.
She’d had the kiss of her lifetime. No sense trying to repeat it. Any further kissing was bound to be a letdown, nothing to do but seal that pristine kiss in her memory and move on.
Sure, and she had the willpower for that. Ha! If she stayed in this room alone with him, she would kiss him again, and if he kissed her like he kissed last night she wouldn’t be able to stop. There was a reason she didn’t eat potato chips. She couldn’t stop with just one.
Boone was a potato chip.
She had to find something else to occupy their time. Determined, she bound downstairs to find Mrs. Hubbard watching Good Morning America on a tablet computer.
“Hi!” Tara greeted her breathlessly. “What do people do around here for fun?”
Mrs. Hubbard glanced up. “Usually guests come here from Lincoln or Omaha for a quiet romantic getaway.” She winked. “Most never leave their bedrooms except to come out for food.”
“Isn’t there anything to do around here?” she asked, desperate to fill the time until her car was ready. If she and Boone were caged up in the bedroom, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. Being in close quarters with him was just too intoxicating. Cheap wine didn’t go to her head as quickly as he did. Keeping her distance was the only way to play it safe and how did she keep her distance when she was stuck in a car or a room with the guy?
“There’s Pine Lake. It’s about three miles north of town.”
“Anything within walking distance?”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Hubbard stroked her chin. “On the weekends we have cooking and gardening classes, but this is Thursday.”
“Golf course? Exercise class?” Tara was grasping at straws, knowing he couldn’t do either of those things, but she and Boone both needed something to release the tension.
“Well…” The old woman paused.
“What, what?”
“There is the shooting range,” Mrs. Hubbard suggested. “It’s two blocks over.”
“Perfect!” Tara said. This was exactly what she needed to keep Boone occupied.
Thursday, July 2, 9:23 a.m.
WAS THERE ANYTHING sexier than a good-looking woman who knew how to handle herself? Until this minute, Boone had not realized exactly how erotic that scenario could be.
Tara stood at the firing line gripping the rented 9mm Smith & Wesson Sigma in both hands. A pair of protective safety glasses perched on her pert little nose. Her hair was still damp and pulled back in that fancy-looking braid that showed off her profile. White denim shorts hugged her shapely ass and he couldn’t stop his gaze from tracking down her long, lean legs. Oh, those legs.
Instantly, his body tightened.
Boone wasn’t even sure why he was here, except it beat sitting around Ross’s greasy garage and watching him ogle Tara. Or hanging out at the B&B, getting lathered up over Tara prancing out of the bathroom in a towel.
The air smelled of gunpowder and gun oil. Downrange was a life-sized paper target of a human male. Tara gazed coolly along the sight of her gun. Her biceps tensed, showing off nicely toned arms. With steady precision, she fired off three rounds. Boom. Boom. Boom. She absorbed the recoil of the gun without flinching. The echo rang around the concrete bunker as each shot struck the target in the torso.
Tara turned to grin at him.
“Not bad.” Boone shrugged, trying to pretend that he wasn’t duly impressed. Who knew she possessed such skills?
“Would it kill you to say ‘well done’?”
“Might.”
“You’d rather saw off your arm than pay someone a compliment, huh?”
“You did all right.” Why couldn’t he praise her?
“Okay? Oh, my, your generosity is making me dizzy.” She set her gun on the firing bench and stepped back as was protocol at a firing range, demonstrating that she clearly knew the rules. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I’m gonna swoon.”
To Boone’s alarm she tipped backward and for one split second he thought she really was fainting and then he realized she meant for him to catch her. Instinctively, he took a sideways step, arms wide.
She fell limply into his open embrace.
Boone stared down at her, his heart knocking crazily. How could she be so completely trusting? If he hadn’t caught her, she would have busted her butt on the cement floor. She’d gone down easy as mashed potatoes, as if she’d been utterly certain he’d be there for her.
And he had been.
She gazed up at him, winked wickedly. “Nice catch.”
He made a noise of irritation and set her on her feet.
“See how that works? You do something good, I compliment you.”
Boone just growled.
“You don’t fool me, Boone Toliver. Not one little bit. I know why you growl. You’re scared to death someone’s going to figure out what a softy you really are inside.” She reached over and patted his flat belly.
Boone froze against the onslaught of sensation her touch stirred. Ah, man. He’d fought hard against it, but somehow she’d burrowed under his skin and had gotten to him.
She grinned and damn his hide, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Staying irritated with her was on par with kicking a puppy.
