Night Driving by Lori Wilde Page B

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 self-control.
    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