The Ranger Page 8

  “It’s nice,” she said, trying to distract herself from that line of thinking. “And really new. When did you get it?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “So you would have wanted to drive regard less.”

  He made another notation on the map and added an address. “I would have wanted to drive even if I’d been in a tank.”

  She grinned. “He who has the keys has the power, eh?”

  “Something like that,” he admitted, still focused on his task.

  “So how much longer are we driving before we settle in for the night?”

  “I thought we could put in another hour on the road. You up for that?”

  “Sure.” Though she was a bit worn out. The end less time in the car, the stress of worrying over Theo and the unceasing attraction—being constantly aware of and in tune with every move he made, every breath that entered and exited his lungs—was beginning to get to her. She needed a little distance. A chance to regroup. To possibly desensitize herself.

  As if that would help, she thought fatalistically.

  She was hopelessly in lust with him, had been fantasizing about him all day. In bed, against a wall, in the shower. Didn’t matter. She just wanted, and there was nothing tender or gentle about the sentiment. She wanted the hot, desperate, mindless sort of sex that resulted in frantic disrobing, torn underwear and whisker burn. Her skin prickled with heat and she squirmed in her seat as her sex tingled with warmth.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You look a little flushed.”

  Busted. “My sandwich is hot.”

  He smiled, the wretch, as though he knew she was lying. “Want me to blow on it?”

  “With your minty breath? No, thank you.”

  He laughed and his gaze drifted slowly over her mouth. “Still going to breathe on me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her toes curling at the thought. “If for no other reason than to prove to you that mint isn’t the only option when it comes to fighting bad breath. We’ve been brainwashed with advertising to believe otherwise, I know, but—” she sighed as though it were a tragic injustice “—it simply isn’t true.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m surprised you haven’t mounted some sort of campaign,” he said. “Launched a Web site or blogged about it.”

  She tossed her napkin onto her plate and grabbed her purse from the back of the chair. “How do you know I haven’t? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to brush my teeth.”

  8

  THREE CHAIN HOTELS LATER, they finally found one that passed muster. Hotel number one had a surly desk clerk who displayed poor personal hygiene and hotel number two had, according to his companion, “smelled funny.”

  It would not do.

  This one, however, boasted the clean scent of lemon cleaning solution and had a huge vase of purple irises—her favorites, she’d explained—on the check-in counter, and she was certain it would do nicely.

  Will watched her lean over and sniff the blooms, and the small smile that captured her lips made his own inexplicably slide into a halfhearted grin.

  For someone with such high standards, the littlest things made her happy. She was a conundrum, Will thought, with more facets to her personality than the most complexly cut diamond.

  “I love this shade,” she said, fingering a bloom as the desk clerk located their rooms. “It’s the color of my bedroom.”

  “Purple?”

  “More lilac I would say,” she told him, as if he would understand the difference. She lifted her foot and absently rubbed the back of her calf. Her long curly hair was once again pushed away from her face and secured with her ridiculously large sunglasses. They swallowed her face and looked especially bizarre with that tiny little nose.

  Naturally, because he was quickly losing any perspective—provided he’d ever had it to start with—he found it charming.

  “You’re in luck,” the desk clerk said. “We’ve got one room left.”

  Rhiannon blinked and her mouth rounded in a little O of surprise. She looked at him, then back to the clerk. “Only one?”

  “Oh, you’re not together?” the clerk asked.

  “We’re traveling together,” Will explained before this could get any more awkward.

  She smiled regretfully. “I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got. It’s a double,” she said. “If that makes any difference.”

  To his amazement, Rhiannon merely shrugged. “I’m cool with that, if you are,” she said, as though sharing a room with him wasn’t the least bit disconcerting. “It’s late and I’m tired.”

  “I’m fine with it,” he said. He slid a credit card to the desk clerk. “I just didn’t expect you to be.”

  She blinked up at him, her eyes innocently surprised. “Why not? I’m much more logical than you.”

  An incredulous laugh broke apart in his throat. “You are so full of shit.” She tsked under her breath. “Cursing again. You’ve got a terrible mouth.”

  He grinned at her. “But it’s minty fresh.”

  “You’re on the second floor,” the clerk told him, handing him the key card. Her lips twitched. “Elevators are just around that corner. Continental breakfast is served from six to ten. Enjoy your stay.”

  He nodded his thanks, then slung his bag over his shoulder and reached for Rhiannon’s.

  “I’ve got it.” She grabbed it and they headed toward the elevators. “Honestly, it’s on wheels.”

  He depressed the call button. “I was trying to be nice.”

  “I know.” She sighed as though it were a bad thing. “You open doors and pull out chairs and everything. A girl could get used to that kind of old-fashioned courtesy.”

  They stepped into the elevator and his gaze slid to her once more. So the guys she typically dated weren’t always as polite? Interesting…

  “Courtesy doesn’t ever go out of fashion,” he said. An image of his grandfather sprang to mind and he smiled. “At least, not according to my grand father.”

  The doors slid open and he waited for her to pass. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Sounds like he’s a smart man.”

  “He was,” Will confirmed. He scanned the hall for their room number.

  Her gaze softened and a sympathetic frown lined her brow. “I’m sorry.”

  “Cancer.” He sighed, slipping the key card into the slot. “Damned miserable disease. We lost him five years ago.” He was glad he’d made the time to call his grandmother today. She’d been thrilled to hear from him, her familiar voice damning him when it broke on the verge of tears. Though she was smart enough to know that something terrible had sent him fleeing from the military, she didn’t know what, and Will was determined never to tell her. It was hard enough living with it himself. He’d be damned before he off-loaded it on her.

  “Both of my grandparents died when I was very young, so I never knew them,” she said. “I was always envious of people who did.”

  Will flipped on a light. “Mine raised me,” he told her, for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain. This wasn’t something he ordinarily talked about. Not because it was painful or he had anything to hide—he just never felt the need to share. It was her, he realized again. She just had that way about her.

  She rolled her bag up against the wall, dropped her purse on the low dresser and turned to face him. “Really?”

  She didn’t ask why, just left him the choice as to whether or not he wanted to tell her. He liked that. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My parents and little brother were killed in a car accident when I was ten.”

  She gasped. “Will, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Were you in the accident, as well?”

  “No. I was at school. David, my little brother, had a doctor’s appointment that day. Asthma,” he explained. “A truck ran a light and hit them.”

  Her face crumpled. “Damn.�
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  Because he couldn’t stand the sadness on her face, he purposely laughed to lighten the moment. “Who has the potty mouth now?”

  It worked. She smiled. “Yes, but at least it’s not polluted with mint.” She gave a delicate shiver.

  He shook his head and gestured toward the beds. “Which one do you want?”

  “The one farthest from the door, if you don’t mind. You can have the death bed.”

  His eyes rounded and he knew he was going to regret asking, but couldn’t help himself all the same. “The death bed?”

  She plopped down on her bed and leaned back, testing the mattress. “Yes,” she said. “If we’re attacked in the middle of the night, more than likely the intruder will come after you first because you’re closest to the door.” She sat up again and her hair settled around her shoulders. “And that will give me the opportunity to escape.”

  Will felt the edges of his mouth tremble. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

  She kicked off her shoes and happily flexed her toes. “No more than anything else.”

  “And you wouldn’t try to save me? You’d just run?”

  She considered him for a moment, then released a small sigh. “I would probably try to save you,” she admitted grudgingly. “I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

  The unexpected declaration caught him completely by surprise, but more bewildering than the announcement was the way it made him feel. His heart lightened and a certain sense of manly satisfaction expanded in his chest, making him feel ridiculously—amazingly—happy.

  It had been so long since he’d known true joy, the sensation almost knocked the breath out of him. She was a blip on the radar of his life, a passing thing, a fleeting character who would disappear from his world as soon as they located Theo…and yet her casual revelation left him with the certain impression that she was going to reverberate through his universe much longer than she’d be a part of it.

  “You don’t have to look so frightened,” she teased, thankfully misreading his thoughts. “I’m fond of the bag boy at my local grocery store, too, and would probably try to save him, as well.”

  He feigned disappointment. “So I’m not special after all.” He sighed.

  She laughed at him. “Oh, please. If I did think you were special—me or any other woman, for that matter—you’d be gone faster than I could say commitment phobic,” she said.

  Intuitive, too, Will thought, though naturally he was going to argue with her. “So that’s the quirk, is it? You’re psychic?”

  “No,” she said. “But I am very good at…reading people.” She lingered over the phrase, as though there were something significant that he was missing. His intuition flared.

  “Reading people? How so? What do you mean?”

  She sucked in a breath through her teeth, hesitating. “I already know how you’re going to react,” she said, more to herself than to him. “And you al ready think I’m weird.”

  “Not true. You’re unique,” he said, proving that he remembered her correction.

  She chewed the corner of her lip, still seemingly undecided. She finally released a long breath and gave a what-the-hell shrug. “Have you ever heard of emotional intelligence?”

  “Vaguely,” he admitted, and a finger of unease nudged his belly.

  “It’s the science of learning to identify, control and manipulate the emotions of yourself and others. Learning to change harmful emotions into helpful ones.” She tucked a leg under her bottom. “I actually teach a class on it at the local community college. Theo and I are keenly aware of other people’s emotions, of what other people are feeling. When I was younger, I would just get…bombarded with feelings that didn’t belong to me and I didn’t know how to process them.” Her troubled face was suddenly transformed with a soft smile. “Theo understood me—is probably the only person who ever has—and helped me learn how to cope with it.”

  The longer she’d talked the more tense he’d become, and right now every muscle in his body felt as if it had atrophied. She could feel his emotions? All of them? The irritation, desire? God help him, the grief over what had happened? Did she feel that, too?

  Help me…

  Her ripe mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Relax,” she said. “I haven’t asked you a single question, have I?”

  Yes, she had, Will thought. At the diner. When the crushing sadness had settled around him and he’d had to work a little harder to shrug it off. She’d put her hand on his, had asked him if he was okay.

  He’d lied.

  Hadn’t he known there was something different about her? Hadn’t the memories been worse since he’d met her, coming more and more frequently? Hadn’t he been compelled to confide in her? He hadn’t bared his soul, but he’d certainly been a hell of a lot more chatty with her than he’d ever been with anyone else. Her apparent ease with Mimi…It all made sense.

  “Why don’t you take a shower,” she suggested. “Let the hot water work some of the knots out of your back.”

  He arched a brow, equally impressed by and terrified of her ability. It was intimidating to think that she knew his emotions, that she could feel them emanating from him. No secrets, stripped bare…

  On the other hand, there was no point being coy about wanting her, Will decided.

  She knew. No doubt had known all along.

  “Reading my emotions?” he asked, lifting a brow again.

  She chuckled. “Those, too, but your face is what’s giving you away.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve spooked you.”

  “It’s…unnerving,” he admitted, shooting her a look.

  “It’s not a cakewalk on this end, either,” she said, grimacing significantly.

  No, Will considered thoughtfully, he imagined not.

  WELL, THAT HAD GONE about as well as she’d expected, Rhiannon thought later as she took her own shower. Will’s scent still hung in the bathroom, flooding her senses and making that ever-present sense of longing curl tighter in her belly. Men were more careful of guarding their feelings than women were and any inkling of perceived weakness that went along with that was sure to rattle their cage.

  Whatever Will was battling was substantial—she’d recognized that from the beginning. She’d felt it the minute he’d made the connection—the trepidation, the anxiety of her knowing that he wasn’t quite as together as he appeared. He wanted to be in control, to govern his own thoughts and feelings, and he damned sure didn’t want to share them with her.

  No doubt he was waiting for her to ask what had happened, what had made him leave a career he’d obviously loved, what sort of horrific event haunted his soul.

  But she would not.

  Feeling other people’s emotions—things that were private—was invasive enough. She would not compound the unintentional intrusion by prying, as well. Besides, she’d never had to pry. People typically wanted to share with her. Provided they had enough time, she suspected Will would, too.

  And though she knew it was dangerous—that any sort of emotional bonding with him would be foolhardy—she wanted to know. She wanted to soothe him. To try to help him heal. All of that would simply invest her further into a relationship she neither wanted nor needed—it was too close to that unmanageable emotion known as love for her liking. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about Will Forrester, other than his potent sex appeal, called to her on a deeper, frighteningly unfamiliar level.

  Furthermore, though he had hadn’t said as much, she’d felt his surprise that he’d told her about his parents and little brother. How terrible, she thought again. To lose your entire family in one fell swoop. Thankfully he’d had his grandparents and he seemed to hold them both in very high regard.

  Love and admiration had rung in his tone when he’d spoken of them, and she hadn’t been kidding about getting spoiled with his courtesy.

  Will Forrester was part of a dying breed—an authentic Southern gentleman. He said please and thank you, held open every door
, including the car, and never failed to make her feel like anything but a lady…even when he was burning her up with one of those less than subtle I-want-to-fuck-you-blind looks.

  It was thrillingly hot and made her equally so.

  Even now, smelling his aftershave, knowing that he was in the other room—shirtless, a pair of low-slung shorts on—lying across the death bed made her nipples tingle and her sex quicken. Her belly clenched and an indecent throb built between her thighs.

  Rhiannon turned off the shower, snagged a towel and quickly went through her evening routine. She moisturized, she partially dried her hair—it would take too long to do it properly and she didn’t have the patience—then slipped into a pair of cotton shorts and matching cami.

  Then she brushed her teeth.

  Two minutes later she strolled back into their room and stowed her things. She felt Will’s brooding gaze linger over her breasts, skim over her hips and settle on her ass, caressing her with the heat of that heavy-lidded stare. She could feel his desire—it was practically arcing off him, sparking against her own. In a minute, if she had her way, they were going to blaze out of control.

  A dry bark of laughter rumbled from his chest. “Just out of curiosity, can you feel what I’m feeling now?”

  She bent over—purposely allowing her shorts to ride up—and stowed her cosmetics bag in her suitcase.

  She straightened slowly, then turned and looked at him. “I can,” she admitted. “But not for the reasons you think.”

  He laced his fingers behind his head, doing his own little torture trick as his abs rippled invitingly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  She sidled forward. “Luckily this isn’t an intelligence test.”

  Another sexy laugh. “Explain, please.”

  Rhiannon sat on the edge of his bed and slid a finger deliberately down his belly. His unsteady breath hissed between his teeth, making her smile. “My feelings mirror your own, so they’re sort of…tangled up. I can’t tell which feelings are yours or which feelings are mine. I’m just doubly—” she bent forward and put her mouth a hairbreadth from his “—hot,” she breathed.