Marooned With The Maverick. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
like that. No matter how humiliating her history with the guy, he’d been there when she desperately needed him. He’d saved her life a few hours ago, at no small risk to himself.
Plus, well, she hadn’t really been honest while she was getting all up in his face just now, had she? She hadn’t bothered to mention that she had serious reservations about her and Dane. Dane was the greatest guy in the world and he did want to marry her, very much. But Rust Creek Falls was her home and he wasn’t about to give up his wonderful career at CU. And more important than geography, Dane somehow didn’t quite feel like her guy.
Whatever her guy should feel like. She wasn’t sure. She just had a certain intuition that Dane wasn’t it.
And worse than her doubts about her future with an ideal man like Dane, well, there was that longtime thing she’d had for Collin—oh, not anymore. Of course not. That night at the Ace in the Hole had put an end to her ridiculous schoolgirl crush on the town bad boy. But before that night she used to fantasize about him now and then.
Or maybe even more often than now and then.
She used to wonder what it would be like if bad-boy Collin were to kiss her. Or do more than kiss her …
Not that it mattered now. None of her past silliness over Collin mattered to anyone. It had been a fantasy, that was all. Her fantasy. He’d never been the least interested in her. He’d made that painfully clear on the night he led her on and then laughed in her face.
And really, after all that had happened today, her four-year grudge against him for not having sex with her was beginning to seem nothing short of petty. She really needed to let the past go. She needed to be … a bigger person than she’d been so far about this. She needed to be a better person.
And she needed to start doing that now.
Willa cleared her throat. “Um. Collin?”
He shifted a little, back there against the wall. “What now, Willa?” His voice was scratchy and deep. Lazy. What was it about him? He just always made her think of wrinkled sheets and forbidden passion.
In a purely impersonal, objective way, of course.
“I, um, well …”
“Come on. Spit it out.”
She made herself say it. “I’m sorry, okay?” She hauled her blanket-wrapped legs back up on the hay bales and wiggled around until she was facing him again. He lay sprawled under his blankets, his head propped against the wall, his eyes shut, his eyelashes black as coal, thicker than any girl’s, his full mouth lax and lazy, just like his voice had been, the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. A curl of that impossibly thick black hair of his hung over his forehead. She clutched her blankets tighter to keep from reaching out and smoothing it back. “I shouldn’t have jumped all over you like that. I shouldn’t have called you a tool. That was … small-minded and mean-spirited of me, especially after all you’ve done for me today.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. And he didn’t open his eyes. Again, she wondered if he’d dropped off to sleep and she had to resist the urge to reach out and shake him. But then those bad-boy lips curved upward in a slow smile. “So you don’t think I’m a tool, then?”
“Um. No. No, of course not. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I am.”
“And you think maybe you could stop racing off like your hair’s on fire every time you see me coming?”
A fresh wave of embarrassment had her cheeks flaming all over again. But what did it matter? He couldn’t see her blush. His eyes were shut. Also, she truly wanted to make amends. “Ahem. Yes. Fair enough. I will do that. I will stop avoiding you.”
“Well, all right then. I accept your apology.” He patted the empty space beside him. “Stretch out. Try and get some sleep. I’m thinking we’re going to be busy when the rain stops and the water goes down.”
His words brought reality crashing back down on her. She hung her head. “Oh, Collin. It seems like it’s never going to stop. I know my brother’s house is already underwater. And what if it just keeps rising, what if we—?”
“Shh.” He reached out and clasped her arm through the thick wool of the blanket. His grip was strong. Sure. It made her so very glad that he was here with her, that she wasn’t huddled in the family barn all alone, waiting out the endless storm. “Don’t go there.” His voice was calm and firm. “There’s no point.”
She lifted her head. His eyes were open now, steady on hers. Shamelessly, she pleaded, “Tell me that we’re going to be okay, that Rust Creek Falls will be okay, that we’ll make it through this, come back better and stronger than ever.”
He didn’t even hesitate. He told her what she needed to hear. “We will. Just watch. Now come here. Come on …” He lifted the blanket that covered him.
She didn’t think twice. She went down into the shelter of his offered arm, resting her head on his shoulder. He was so warm and big and solid. He smelled of mud and man, which at that moment she found wonderfully reassuring. He fiddled with the blankets, smoothing them over both of them.
Willa smiled to herself. All those crazy teenage dreams she’d had about him. And here she was, damp and dirty, bruised and scratched up, lying practically on top of him, grateful beyond measure to share a pile of saddle blankets with him. The world seemed to have gone crazy in the space of a day. But right now, in Collin’s arms, she felt safe.
Protected.
She closed her eyes. “I didn’t realize until now how tired I am….”
He touched her hair, gently. Lightly. “Rest, then.”
She started to answer him, but then she found she didn’t have the energy to make a sound. Sleep closed over her. She surrendered to it with a grateful sigh.
When she woke, the light was different.
Sun. It was sun slanting in the window—and the window faced east. That meant it had to be morning, didn’t it?
Also …
She was lying on a man. Collin. He had both arms wrapped around her and his cheek against her dirty, snarled hair. Her head was on his shoulder, one arm tucked in against her side.
Her other arm rested on Collin, which was perfectly acceptable, given the circumstances. But the hand that was attached to that arm? That hand was exactly where it shouldn’t be.
And where it shouldn’t be was hard.
Blinking, not quite putting it all together as reality yet, Willa lifted her head from his shoulder and blearily squinted at the morning light. Outside, faintly, she could hear birds singing.
Without moving her hand away from his very definite, very thick and large hardness, she looked down at him. Because, seriously. Could this actually be happening?
It was.
And he was awake. He gazed up at her with the strangest, laziest, sexiest expression. “Mornin’.”
She puffed out her cheeks as she blew out a slow breath. And then, with great care, she removed her hand from his private parts and whispered, “The sun’s out.”
He nodded. “The rain’s stopped. It stopped hours ago.” He was playing along with her, pretending the contact between her hand and his fly had not occurred. Which was great. Perfect. Wonderful of him.
She backed off him onto her knees, dragging the blankets with her, and shoved her hair out of her eyes. “You, uh, should have woken me.”
“Uh-uh.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder, a companionable, reassuring sort of gesture that made tears clog her throat. She swallowed them down. And he said, “You needed your sleep and so did I. I woke up in the middle of the night and it was quiet. I knew the rain had finally stopped. I thought about getting up, but then I just closed my eyes and went back to sleep.”