she rose to her feet and held her hand for him. “C’mon. I’ve got plenty to tell you. And maybe the water will cool you off.” She cocked her head with a look of feigned sympathy. “Bless your heart.”
* * *
“SEVEN.” SUMMER COUNTED the flash that emanated from the lightning bug’s tail as it moseyed its way across her bedroom ceiling. She’d taken to counting them instead of sheep as a means of calming her mind enough to fall asleep. So far it hadn’t helped.
Every time she closed her eyes, Rick Warren filled her brain. She could still feel the scorching heat of his good-night kiss, although almost an hour had passed since he’d walked her back to her cabin. The vibrant sound of his laughter still danced in her ears, and the breath from his whispers still crept down her spine. Every part of her was filled with him, it seemed—every part except the part that needed to be filled with him.
The lightning bug flashed. “Eight.” She sighed and punched her pillow to fluff it up a bit from where she’d been wallowing.
She shouldn’t even be thinking about sleeping with Rick. They’d just scratched the surface of getting to know each other. A few kisses—even extremely hot kisses—a night of dancing, two hours of talking. None of that constituted a romp in the sack anymore.
A couple of years ago, she wouldn’t have thought twice. But she was beyond that now, and she marveled a bit at her growth in character. The aching need at her core said it sucked, but the bubble of pride in her chest reminded her that the first two letters in idiot were id.
“We’re within view of twenty kids, my godparents and a night watchman,” she confided to the lightning bug, who flashed his tail in response. “Nine,” she counted, which also reminded her of the number of times she and Rick had kissed. “And he is my boss, technically.” That thought might sting more tomorrow, but tonight his kisses had been a balm that soothed that particular pain.
He’d listened to the story of her five colleges and eight majors with impeccable diplomacy, barely even cracking a smile as she’d confessed to her worthless degree in philosophy.
But getting him to talk about his years as a marine was like pulling teeth. That haunted look when she asked about his tattoo? She shuddered again thinking about it. His best friend’s dog tags. What kind of person carried around a constant reminder like that?
Of course, he’d been just as reticent to say much about his ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t one who would kiss and tell. But, wow! Could he kiss!
Rick was an enigma. “Ten.” A deliciously, intriguing enigma. The quintessential Southern gentleman. The heroic marine. The oh-so-politically-correct diplomat. So many layers of shellac—such a polished exterior.
She’d seen the flame in his eyes, however. Experienced the heat in his kiss. Felt the pounding beat of his heart when he held her close. She recognized the rhythm...the same wild beat her heart danced to.
If they ever slept together, which she shouldn’t even be thinking about, but since she was, she might as well let her brain complete the thought... “Eleven, or was that twelve?” She gave up on the lightning bug and closed her eyes.
If Rick ever ended up in her bed, she would break his wild side out of his shell to come play with hers, and they would dance to the pounding rhythm of their hearts.
Sort of like they’d square danced tonight except that this kind of dancing would be far, far from square. And it would happen so naturally, Rick wouldn’t know his guard was down until it was too late...bless his heart.
* * *
“ONE TWENTY-THREE, one twenty-four, one twenty-five.” Rick eased his weight off his arms, enjoying the feel of the cool wood floor against his stomach. The push-ups exhausted his body, but still his mind wouldn’t let go.
Kissing Summer was a mistake.
After dropping her off at her place, he’d come straight to his cabin and taken a cold shower. That had helped ease his physical discomfort some, but as soon as he’d lain on his bed, she was there with him in his imagination.
He’d gone for a two-mile run, which required a second cold shower. Hell, he’d never been so clean. After an hour or so of reading, he realized he was merely scanning words and had no idea what had occurred in those chapters.
A hundred and twenty-five push-ups and all he could think about