Stop The Wedding!. Lori Wilde

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?