Back Where She Belongs(36)

He got out and headed for the back of the Land Rover.

By the time Tara joined him, he’d donned his helmet, grabbed his gun and held out hers.

“Paintball?” She laughed out loud. “You’re kidding!”

“The range closed down a few years back, but I bought up some pellets. I figured we could rock-hop and use the caves and outcroppings for cover. What do you think?”

“I think you’re brilliant.” Her voice was lighter than he’d heard since she’d returned to Wharton. He’d forgotten how good it felt to make her happy.

“The paint’s mud-colored and biodegradable.”

“That is so you. Set up a wild stunt, but protect the environment.” Her admiration warmed him. For all that he understood her, she understood him, too. And he realized he hadn’t felt that connection with anyone in ten years, not even with Candee.

She took the cartridge he offered her. “I’m rusty,” she warned.

“It’s like riding a bike.”

“I think that’s what they say about sex, isn’t it?”

“That, too.” Their gazes tangled. Each time this happened, the urge became stronger and the voice of reason weaker.

“I brought sweats and towels in case we land in the river.” He raised a hand. “Do not call me Do Right Boy. You’ll thank me when you’re shivering.”

“Fair enough.”

He took out the two bags of paint pellets and handed her one.

“That all you got?” she said.

“I won’t need half this to beat you.”

She pretended to aim at his chest, then blew smoke from the end of her gun, a very sexy move that sent a jolt through his equipment, made him want to yank her to him and kiss her hard. Thank God, they’d be in constant motion for a while.

“Bring it on,” he said, but she needed the win more than he did, so he intended to lose. “I figure we’d play capture the flag.” He paused. “Except I forgot the flags.”

“Who needs flags? Let’s make it interesting. Let’s call it Capture the Underwear. My bra and your boxers.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” She reached inside the sleeves of her shirt, unhooked her bra and pulled it out through the sleeve opening.

“I could never figure out how you did that,” he said.

“You were always too busy watching my boobs to notice my technique.”

“It’s a guy thing.” He tried not to stare at her softly swaying breasts as she waved her bra in front of his face. It was black and lacy and she was laughing at him.

But when he undid his belt, the laughter died on her lips and she sucked in a breath. “Uh, I’ll...” She spun her finger to signify turning, then made the move.

He smiled. She wasn’t managing her sexual responses any better than he was.

Dylan took off his boxers, grateful they weren’t threadbare, then put his pants back on.

They tied their unmentionables to two sticks.

Tara shook her bra flag at him. “Take a good look. You won’t see this again until after I’ve snatched yours.”

But he was distracted by the shape of her nipples through the soft fabric. He wanted to touch them, watch her eyes burn in response, hear her breathing hitch, her body tremble.

She snapped her fingers. “You in there, Dylan? I just said I’d own you.”

“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat—and his mind. “We’ll see about that.”

They set distance boundaries, planted their flags and began the battle, chasing each other back and forth across the narrow bend of the river, hopping rocks, voices echoing against the hills on either side as they yelled, shrieked, and howled, shot and missed, ducking behind boulders, lunging around tree trunks, slipping into the river with sharp gasps at the cold.

He felt eighteen again. Tara’s face, when he caught glimpses of it, was totally intent, totally delighted, animated and happy and so young.

Half an hour into the game, he spotted her flag, but stayed clear until he heard her yell that she’d found his. She emerged from some trees waving his underwear in triumph. “You’re mine!” she called to him.

He just smiled. She was blotched with paint and splashed with river water so that her shirt clung to her shape. He was grateful when she crossed her arms to rub them for warmth, blocking his view.

“Let’s get some dry clothes,” he said, thinking the roomy sweats would hide her curves well, though Tara could make a garbage bag with leg holes look sexy.

They dressed back to back.

“That was really fun,” she said, turning to smile at him.

He noticed a gray streak in her hair. “You’ve got some paint here.” He wiped it with a towel, standing close, smelling her perfume, feeling her eyes on him, tugged again into her magnetic field.

“I’m starved,” she said shakily, stepping back to break the hold they had on each other. “You said there was a picnic?”

“I did.”

“Let’s eat up on the ridge.” She headed up the path toward the tables near the caves. He grabbed the ice chest and the Mexican blanket he planned to use as a tablecloth and followed, catching up with her in the second cave. “This is the one, isn’t it?” she said in a breathless voice. “From that storm?”

“Yeah.” They’d made love here one August during a monsoon. The memory hit him hard. Maybe he should have picked a more neutral spot, but then he couldn’t think of a place that didn’t hold memories for them.

“There was lightning and that great smell of rain and creosote and the river.”

“I remember.”

“The light was rust and gold—almost supernatural. I felt like we were Adam and Eve in the garden.”

Making love with the storm all around, naked, sheltered in the cave and in each other’s arms, it had been almost mystical.

“Let’s eat in here,” she said.

“Sure.” He could hardly say no, it makes me think of you naked. He set the ice chest on the smooth stone floor and together they shook out the blanket, then sat on it.

As he opened the cooler, she said, “I remember you tasted like German chocolate cake and vinegar chips.” Grinning, he held out the bag of vinegar chips and a plastic-lidded bakery box of German chocolate cupcakes.

“You didn’t! You are so sentimental.”

“I remembered that you liked them,” he said, but their gazes locked, and he realized it had more to do with the memory of that time. What the hell did he think he was doing? They were alone in the cave and he could almost hear the rumble of thunder.

His subconscious had been working overtime.

She handed him a cupcake, took one herself, then dug into the chips bag, holding out her full palm so he could take some.

Watching each other, they bit into the cake then ate a chip. “Mmm,” she said.

“Yeah.” The flavors of salt, vinegar, chocolate and coconut blended well.

“I have to check.” She leaned in and kissed him softly, running her tongue along his lips. She sat back. It had been a quick, friendly kiss, nothing like the one at his house, but he could hardly see for how much he wanted more.

“Well?” he managed.

“Tastes the same...maybe better,” she said softly, her pupils huge, her hair trembling on her shoulders.

And he wasn’t quite done. “My turn.” He leaned in and took her face in his hands, kissing her more intently. She gave a little moan and returned the favor. He pulled her closer until they were chest to chest, the rush of it blasting through him, the need for her, the hunger. She tasted sweet and salty and like her.

She broke off again, fighting for breath, her eyes sparkling with blue fire, the way they got when she was aroused beyond reason. “Why can’t we leave each other alone?” She sounded desperate. Her words vibrated in the air, almost alive, raising goose bumps on his skin.

“I wish to hell I knew,” he said. Ten years and a lifetime later, he wanted this woman like no other before or since.

“Why are we here? In this exact place?”

“I didn’t think it through clearly.”

“I think you did, Dylan. I think deep down you knew exactly what you were doing. You have instincts, too. Maybe we need this. To do this.”

She pushed him back onto the blanket and landed over him, her eyes big, her mouth soft, lips parted. “I can hardly think for all this wanting. It’s too much with everything else going on. You know?”

“I do. I know.” He wanted her. He wanted to be inside her. He rose and rolled her onto her back, so he was on top looking down at her.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, their blue glowing up at him eagerly. “What did you say about the gawkers last night? You don’t give them power over you? Maybe we’re giving this too much power, making it too big a deal.”