“This isn’t gonna cut it.” He tossed the pad into the trash, returned to the bathroom, and came back with a couple of bath towels and some shampoo. “On the counter. I’m going to wash the sand out of your hair.”
“I could go back to the barn and shower and take care of this myself.”
“You could.” He folded one of the towels as a neck rest and laid it on the counter beside the sink. “Or you could lay your ass on the counter and we can get this done.”
Sidney didn’t move. She could take his offer or leave it. It didn’t matter to him.
Yeah, tell yourself another lie, like you buy tickets to the World Series to eat the hot dogs.
Then she stepped to the counter and he couldn’t help the grin that slid across his face. She boosted herself up and lay back with her neck on the towel, her head hanging over the sink and her legs dangling off the far end of the counter.
He pulled a plastic pitcher from the cabinet above the sink and glanced down at her face as he waited for the water to warm. Even though her eyes were closed there was an animation to her features, an excitement that radiated from her. He opened his mouth to ask her about it when she started talking.
“I can’t believe I’m working for Hank Nash. Hank freaking Nash! I mean, I knew Mac’s last name was Nash and I knew her husband’s name was Hank, but holy cowboy, I didn’t put the two together.”
Mac had told Boomer all about the buckle bunnies that flocked around Hank like he was a monstrous, juicy carrot. Boomer chuckled. “You know he’s married, right?”
“I don’t care about that. Training for him and Mac, having their support, their stamp of approval…” Her voice wavered and she swallowed hard a couple of times.
He finished wetting her hair, then plopped some shampoo into his palm and started working it into the soft, bright strands.
“Training for Hank could do amazing things for my career.”
Working the suds across her scalp, he gently scrubbed and massaged. She groaned, deep in her throat. Boomer’s jeans shrunk a size as he thought of more fun ways he could get her to moan.
“You know, if the construction thing doesn’t work out for you, you could make a mint washing hair at a beauty salon.”
“I think I’ll file that under Things I’d Rather Kill Myself Before Doing.”
“You should keep your options open. You’re pretty amazing at it. Of course, it isn’t as amazing as, say, being a bull-riding champion—”
“Bull riders only have to hang on for eight seconds. I have far more impressive skills.” He refilled the pitcher and poured water over her forehead and rinsed away the sand, suds, and dried blood.
She opened her eyes and her face lit. “Oooh, impress me.”
“Well…” He dug way back into his childhood. “At the age of six I was a master of the atomic wedgie.”
She rolled her eyes. “Handy skill.”
“By ten I could burp the alphabet backwards. By thirteen I’d perfected my directional detonations…” And by twenty-three you were your company’s next best thing to a sniper. By twenty-seven you’d lost your leg, your career and your wife. Yeah, pretty fucking amazing.
Her smile slipped from her face and she sat up. Water dripped onto her shirt. “There.” She pointed at his eyes. “What was that?”
He wrapped the other towel around her shoulders. “What was what?”
“What were you thinking right then? It was like someone kicked sand on your fire.”
“It was nothing.”
“Liar.”
Suddenly he wanted a drink, wanted some pills, wanted to get the fuck out of his head.
Her eyes held his, a dense, lush forest full of private, probing questions.
Questions he had no intention of answering.
“What about kissing?” Her eyes darted to his lips.
His mental gears ground at the unexpected change in subject. It made him like her that much more. “What about it?”
“Are you amazing at kissing?”
“Uh…” His brain jumped the track trying to shift gears so fast.
“If all the women you’ve kissed were given a multiple-choice test, would they say: A, Yowza, my toes curled and my insides went jiggly; B, It wasn’t as bad as kissing my brother; or C, I’d rather French my pug?”
He nudged her legs apart, stepped between them, and cupped her jaw. “Kissing is very subjective.”
“If you acquire an adequate polling size—”
He leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her to shut her up, he kissed her to stay out of his head, he kissed her because he wanted to.
Her lips were warm and dry from being out in the sun all day. She nipped and sucked his upper lip, diving in deep when he opened his mouth to hers. She was bold and voracious, exploring his lips, his teeth, his tongue. She smelled of dirt and horse sweat, and a lightness more intoxicating than the booze could ever be.
He groaned when she wrapped her booted heels behind his ass and squeezed him closer. Because he wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed and slowly, painstakingly explore every inch of her tight, lithe body. He broke the kiss.
Her eyes remained closed, then fluttered open, a lazy, well-kissed smile spread across her lips. “Yowza.”
A huff of a laugh escaped him. He pressed his forehead to hers while his racing heart slowed and they both caught their breath. He dropped his hands to her strong thighs and stroked the length of them—which didn’t help the whole wanting-to-go-caveman thing.
When he could talk again, he said, “Yowza is right.”
Her eyes explored his face. He felt everywhere her gaze landed, nose, cheeks, chin, lips. Back to his eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to wish it away, to take it back, to regret I kissed you.”
“Do you? Regret it?”
Seconds ticked by. Her eyes brightened from forest green to lush pasture. “About as much as I regret streaking at Aaron Edelstein’s bar mitzvah.”
His heart shrunk by a third. “So…a lot?”
“Aaron Edelstein was a pompous, pretentious prick. My streaking was the most excitement the town had seen in ages, and, as a bonus, my parents never made me go to an event I didn’t want to again. So, no regrets, not a sliver.”
He smiled and helped her off the counter. “Good to know.”
A few minutes later he had Sidney peroxided and all lubed up with a generous dose of triple antibiotic cream. “That should about do it.”
“Thank—”
Two heavy feet landed on the front porch and the cabin shuddered, snuffing out her just-kissed glow.
“Oh no,” she said.
The lever handle on the front door rattled and turned, and Sidney scrambled to her feet. The door slammed open, cracking against the wall and bouncing back. Sidney caught it on the backswing before it slapped Eli in the face. The horse brought a bold hoof inside.
“Get out!” Sidney hollered, even though it looked like she was fighting the giggles. “Go. Get.” She waved her hands and shooed him back, step by step, until he had all four feet off the porch and on the dirt.
She