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

“I’m only asking because if you’re going to be quiet as a corpse the whole way, I want to dig out my earphones before we hit the road in the morning so I can listen to some tunes.”

“You’re not supposed to wear earbuds while you’re driving.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s only common courtesy to have a conversation with the person who’s driving you to Miami. I mean it’s miles and miles of driving. If you can’t at least talk to me, then you’re forcing me to break the law.”

“You don’t have to wear earbuds. You can play whatever you want on the radio.”

“So, in other words, you’re not going to talk to me.”

He heaved a sigh, swept the cap from his face and sat up in the seat. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing now. We’re almost to the truck stop.” She sailed up the exit ramp.

“Why don’t you talk,” he said. “Tell me something about yourself. Your hopes, your dreams, your secrets.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“You’re impossible.” Peeved, Tara reached over and clicked on the radio. The Black Keys were singing “Howlin’ for You.” She turned up the volume. Loud.

Boone winced.

“Too loud?” She smiled sweetly.

“No.” He settled a hand on his knee.

“Is your knee hurting?” Contrite, she turned down the music.

“I don’t need your pity. Crank the damn music.” He reached over and turned the volume back up again.

“You’re a real sorehead, you know that?”

“I wasn’t always,” he mumbled.

She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She turned down the music. “What did you say?”

Silence settled over the car.

“I know you’re a wounded warrior and all that, but this dark and broody stuff isn’t working for me. Get some sleep tonight, but then tomorrow, I expect a complete attitude adjustment.”

One eyebrow shot up high on his forehead. “Oh, you do?”

“I do.” She pulled to a stop outside the bed-and-bath motel connected to the truck stop.

“You think it’s that easy to just turn your mood around?”

“Fake it till you make it, baby.” Okay, maybe she was being glib, but there was only so much gloom and doom she could handle and she’d noticed whenever she issued a challenge, he got feisty. “You know what I think?”

“How can anyone know what you think? Your mind jumps around like a spider monkey.” The blinking lights of the motel sign flashed across his face in green neon.

Vacancy.

“I think that maybe deep down, underneath the pain and grief and pissiness, you’re just plain bored.”

“Bored, huh?”

“Yep. You’re accustomed to lots of action and you’re not getting any.”

“Is that supposed to be a double entendre?” He lowered his eyelids, gave her a sultry look that sizzled her shorts.

Tara gulped, ignored that and trudged ahead. “From here on in, I want to see smiles, smiles, smiles.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll drive off and leave you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Just try me.”

He reached over and plucked the keys out of the ignition.

“Hey!”

“I’ll give them back to you in the morning.”

“You’re a pain in the butt,” she said. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” he said. Then, for the first time that day, he gave her a genuine smile. “All the damn time.”

EVEN IF BOONE didn’t want to admit it, Tara was right. He was a pain in the butt, he was bored and he hadn’t had any action in a very long time.

That included sex.

He lay on the narrow motel bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the chuff of Jake brakes as eighteen-wheelers rolled in off the highway. He tried to sleep, but Tara crowded and clouded his mind. He had underestimated exactly how tough this was going to be—sitting beside her in the car, hour after hour, smelling her feminine scent, taking in the bare stretch of skin from the hem of her shorts to her sandals, hearing the sweet sound of her voice. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Now, he fully realized why he’d kept her at arm’s length all these months.

She was in the room next door. The walls were thin and when she’d taken her shower, he heard the water come on.

Instantly, he pictured her in those shorts that crept high on her thighs when she sat down. She had million-dollar legs and he imagined her sliding them over his. Her features were etched on the back of his eyelids and it was as real as if she were standing right in front of him—from the gentle arch of her sandy eyebrows to her determined little chin beneath those wide, luscious lips. Her face was shaped like a soft heart, wider across the forehead, smaller at her jawline. Her nose was short with a delicate tip.

He might want to deny it, but she was cuter than a basketful of puppies. Boone hated cute. Nothing could trip a guy up faster than cute.

An unwelcome stiffness gripped him.

Dammit. He did not want her starring in his X-rated fantasies, but his body had other ideas, his brain teasing his appendage with provocative images of her. Stepping out of the shower, naked, wet and slippery.

She turned him inside out and she wasn’t even in the same room.