Stop The Wedding!: Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing. Lori Wilde

already apologized to her once and it had taken everything he could muster to admit he was wrong. Asking for forgiveness felt like weakness and he was weak enough as it was with a bum leg.

      But when her warm, tight body lay stretched across his he’d gotten aroused. It was a normal biological reaction. How could she blame him for something he had no control over? Was she insulted? Scared that he was going to take advantage of her? She’d run away from him. Clearly, he’d made her uncomfortable. Hell, he’d made himself uncomfortable. He didn’t like facing the fact that flaky Tara Duvall turned him on.

      Boone let loose with a stronger curse word. They were still a very long way from Key West. He had to do something to smooth things over. Apologize again, if needed. He winced and struggled to his feet. He didn’t bother putting on his brace and he had to pick his way carefully over the uneven ground. In the light from the half-moon, he could make out her silhouette. She was leaning against the back of the U-Haul, her head bowed.

      A spurt of alarm went through him. Was she that upset? Frig. Now he felt like a pervert.

      “Tara,” he said softly once he reached the trailer. A strange tugging pulled at his heart. “Are you okay?”

      She made a noise, sort of a cross between a snort and a chortle, but she could have been crying. Really? Crying? She might be a lot of things—impulsive, nosy, a chatterbox, but he’d never thought of her as someone who got upset easily. Or someone who would be shocked over an impromptu reaction.

      He limped closer. He could smell her natural fragrance mingling with the scent of the night. “Tara?”

      Her shoulders shook helplessly.

      Yep, she was crying. He hated it when women cried. Tears made him feel so useless. “Hey,” he said simply. “Hey there. No need to snivel.”

      He touched her upper arm.

      She turned into him. He wrapped his arms around her. “There, there, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I didn’t mean to get…aroused.”

      All at once he realized she wasn’t crying, but laughing. She was laughing at him!

      Irritated, he put her away from him. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

      “What? You thought I was crying because of how you spoke to me?” She lowered her eyelids, sent him a sultry look. “Or that I was shocked into sobs over your…” Her sly gaze slipped below his belt. “Um, impressive package?”

      He flushed hot all over. “I didn’t think that.”

      Her lip curled into an impish grin. “I did.”

      The woman was toying with him and enjoying getting a rise out of him. Literally. “You’re hopeless.”

      “And you’re uptight. Relax, Boone. The world isn’t going to come to an end if you have a good laugh at yourself.” She winked.

      No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. For one thing, she was just so damned bewitching with that cocky little grin and rocking hot body. His hand itched to draw her close again, to run his fingers through her hair, tilt her head back and plant rough kisses along that long, slender neck. The caveman in him wanted to do much more than that. A dozen erotic images passed through his head.

      The woman was a knockout. Slender, but not skinny. Long-legged. Breasts that were the stuff of dreams. Her blond hair was tousled, falling over her shoulders in a sexy tangle. She had skin the color of a ripe peach—honey-hued and golden—eyes the color of the Montana sky, full lips, a playful chin, sassy cheekbones. The way she spoke was light and airy, as if she lived in a bouncy-house castle made of clouds.

      Her frisky pink tongue flicked out to skim nervously over her femme fatale lips.

      Friggin’ hell, he was in trouble here. His heart punched against his chest and a dull roar filled his ears.

      His arms wrapped around her even as his mind yelled, No, no, don’t do it.

      Tara didn’t resist, not the least little bit, as he pulled her flush against his chest until he could feel the rhythm of her throbbing heartbeat matching his own.

      Her eyes widened, but she didn’t seem at all scared or unnerved by his proprietary action.

      What was he doing? It was dumb. It was a mistake. He knew it, but the feel of her in his arms, soft and pliant, was his undoing. Confusion settled inside him, but rising up to take its place was a dark, dangerous heat and the stunning realization of just how much he wanted her.

      His gaze fixed on her mouth.

      Her trembling lips parted.

      He was quickly losing what was left of his selfcontrol.

      His face was inches from hers. He peered into her eyes, lost as a dingy in a squall. A taut, jolting look passed from him to her and back again. He realized for the first time that she had her hands around his biceps and was holding on tightly. To keep him from coming any closer? Or to encourage it?

      The night breeze blew coolly against his heated skin and for a long while, they just stood there, frozen in time. The make-or-break moment. Would he be strong enough to stop this and walk away before he did something he would regret?

      He could feel her warm breath against his chin, hear the rapid rising and falling of her chest. He was aware of everything about her. She was so sexy. He’d been resisting her allure for weeks, hell, months even. Trying to convince himself that hooking up with her would be a bad thing.

      His body didn’t care about reasons or excuses. It was too late for either. His primal brain was issuing a message he was helpless to resist or deny.

      His arms tightened around her.

      She went up on tiptoes and leaned into him.

      Turn back. Turn back. It’s still not too late. Just let her go. Move away.

      But damn his hide, he did not let her go. He did not turn away. He did not walk off. Instead, Boone did what he’d been struggling hard not to do for the past two days.

      He kissed her.

       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