ly?” She sounded pleased. “I’ve had a fantasy or two about you, too.”
Boone felt as uncomfortable as a woolly sheep in a Swedish sauna. His body tightened in all the wrong places. Or all the right places. Depending on how you looked at it.
He moistened his lips. Traffic was slowing. Up ahead he could see a flashing roadside sign with an arrow indicating they should merge left.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Well,” Tara said breezily, “I think we’re admitting to a mutual attraction.”
“Not that. The road.”
“Oh.” She shifted her attention to the road and then glanced into the rearview mirror. She flicked on the turn signal and started edging over to the far lane. “Looks like we’ve run into some roadwork.”
“Dammit,” Boone swore under his breath, secretly grateful to have an excuse to get out of their conversation.
Traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether.
Boone shifted in his seat. His knee was achy—when wasn’t it?—and every muscle in his body was wound tense. He’d known that the drive to Florida with Tara would be a challenge. What he hadn’t expected was to turn into a damn chatterbox, confessing stuff he had no business confessing to her. His plan had been to keep his trap shut and simply endure. He’d shot that all to hell.
Tara hummed tunelessly, drumming her fingers on the dashboard. Long, slender fingers with nails painted the color of Pacific salmon. Bright and eye-catching, just like the woman wearing it.
Boone slid a melted-butter gaze over her, slippery and hot. He couldn’t believe how much she rattled him with that beguiling smile of hers and that chirpy go-getter attitude. She had the body of a professional dancer and she smelled like a strawberry patch—all ripe and juicy. Why did she have to be so damn appealing?
Stop thinking about her. It’s not like you can act on the attraction. No bedroom activities for you. Not with that bum leg. While you’re at it, stop staring at her.
He shifted his gaze out the side window, saw rows and rows of cornfields. Nothing in the scenery to distract him.
Think about Jackie. She’s the reason you’re here. You’ve got to make it to Key West before she marries that coastie.
It had been a while since he’d tried to call his little sister. Maybe she’d relented and turned on her voice mail. Maybe she’d come to her senses and realized getting married to someone she barely knew was a huge mistake. Resolutely ignoring Tara, who was stretching the kinks from her neck muscles, Boone took his cell phone from his front pocket and punched in Jackie’s number.
It rang and rang and rang. No voice mail picked up. Finally, after the twentieth ring, he hung up. His sister must still be royally ticked off at him. With a growl, he switched off the phone and stuck it back into his pocket.
They hadn’t moved an inch in the traffic jam. They were behind a white Chevy pickup truck loaded down with a small cement mixer. Tara had her left elbow propped on the door frame, the left side of her head resting in the open palm of her hand. She was still humming.
“Snow on a shingle,” Boone grumbled. “This is ridiculous. How long have we been sitting here?”
“Chill, dude. It’s only been five minutes.”
“Of not moving one inch. What are they doing up there? Rebuilding the entire freeway?”
“There’s nothing we can do about it. Might as well make the most of a bad situation. Wanna play a game? I spy with my little eye—”
“No, I don’t want to play a game. I want to drive. I want to get the hell to Key West. I want to sit down with my sister, face-to-face, and convince her to call off this crazy wedding.”
“Something red.”
“Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not a lark. It’s a commitment. You shouldn’t go into it thinking it’s going to be all pancakes and morning sex, because it’s not.”
“I spy something red and very close.”
“Divorce is painful and
Boone felt as uncomfortable as a woolly sheep in a Swedish sauna. His body tightened in all the wrong places. Or all the right places. Depending on how you looked at it.
He moistened his lips. Traffic was slowing. Up ahead he could see a flashing roadside sign with an arrow indicating they should merge left.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Well,” Tara said breezily, “I think we’re admitting to a mutual attraction.”
“Not that. The road.”
“Oh.” She shifted her attention to the road and then glanced into the rearview mirror. She flicked on the turn signal and started edging over to the far lane. “Looks like we’ve run into some roadwork.”
“Dammit,” Boone swore under his breath, secretly grateful to have an excuse to get out of their conversation.
Traffic slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether.
Boone shifted in his seat. His knee was achy—when wasn’t it?—and every muscle in his body was wound tense. He’d known that the drive to Florida with Tara would be a challenge. What he hadn’t expected was to turn into a damn chatterbox, confessing stuff he had no business confessing to her. His plan had been to keep his trap shut and simply endure. He’d shot that all to hell.
Tara hummed tunelessly, drumming her fingers on the dashboard. Long, slender fingers with nails painted the color of Pacific salmon. Bright and eye-catching, just like the woman wearing it.
Boone slid a melted-butter gaze over her, slippery and hot. He couldn’t believe how much she rattled him with that beguiling smile of hers and that chirpy go-getter attitude. She had the body of a professional dancer and she smelled like a strawberry patch—all ripe and juicy. Why did she have to be so damn appealing?
Stop thinking about her. It’s not like you can act on the attraction. No bedroom activities for you. Not with that bum leg. While you’re at it, stop staring at her.
He shifted his gaze out the side window, saw rows and rows of cornfields. Nothing in the scenery to distract him.
Think about Jackie. She’s the reason you’re here. You’ve got to make it to Key West before she marries that coastie.
It had been a while since he’d tried to call his little sister. Maybe she’d relented and turned on her voice mail. Maybe she’d come to her senses and realized getting married to someone she barely knew was a huge mistake. Resolutely ignoring Tara, who was stretching the kinks from her neck muscles, Boone took his cell phone from his front pocket and punched in Jackie’s number.
It rang and rang and rang. No voice mail picked up. Finally, after the twentieth ring, he hung up. His sister must still be royally ticked off at him. With a growl, he switched off the phone and stuck it back into his pocket.
They hadn’t moved an inch in the traffic jam. They were behind a white Chevy pickup truck loaded down with a small cement mixer. Tara had her left elbow propped on the door frame, the left side of her head resting in the open palm of her hand. She was still humming.
“Snow on a shingle,” Boone grumbled. “This is ridiculous. How long have we been sitting here?”
“Chill, dude. It’s only been five minutes.”
“Of not moving one inch. What are they doing up there? Rebuilding the entire freeway?”
“There’s nothing we can do about it. Might as well make the most of a bad situation. Wanna play a game? I spy with my little eye—”
“No, I don’t want to play a game. I want to drive. I want to get the hell to Key West. I want to sit down with my sister, face-to-face, and convince her to call off this crazy wedding.”
“Something red.”
“Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. It’s not a lark. It’s a commitment. You shouldn’t go into it thinking it’s going to be all pancakes and morning sex, because it’s not.”
“I spy something red and very close.”
“Divorce is painful and
Similar Books
