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there was nothing too gushy or melodramatic or whiny about him, as sometimes overly romantic men
could become. Ty was all man, as was evidenced by how he d followed up that quote. He had shoved
her against a tree trunk, and shown her exactly how much he wanted her.
Squeezing her knees together, Imogen swallowed hard and admired Ty s butt when he bent over to
grab the sleeping bag out of his giant backpack. If she were inclined to write poetry, she could pen a
sonnet regarding the beauty of his backside in denim. Not many things in her life had drawn such a
tactile response from her. She always wanted to touch his bum when it was in front of her. Always.
Hell, whenever it was in touching distance, she wanted a crack at it, no pun intended.
Maybe she hadn t consumed enough coffee yet, given the wild and ridiculous nature of her thoughts.
It had to be almost 10 A.M., and one cup was way below her daily average for this time. She usually
got up about eight and, two hours later, was on her third or fourth cup. Lack of caffeine and the
arduous nature of the hike were clearly making her punchy, because she was waxing poetic about the
man s backside and not feeling the least bit concerned about the physical discomforts of camping that
lay ahead. She had already seen Ty toss a spider out of the tent and she hadn t even winced.
All she could think of was what difference did animals, insects, cold, and the lack of a comfortable
bed matter when she was spending time, naked fun time, with Ty?
It seemed that feeling the way she did just might indicate that she was more emotionally involved
with Ty than she cared to admit. It might even be that she was potentially falling in love with him,
which was more than alarming. Yet she had never been in love before, she was certain of that, so how
could she possibly know if she was even remotely close to feeling that exalted emotion for Ty?
What she did know was that she was sitting on a rock, a hard, dirty rock, in the middle of nowhere,
with mosquitoes flitting around her face, with aching feet, and yet watching Ty, she just wanted to sigh
in moony, googly-eyed girl fashion.
 How could you remember that quote from Much Ado About Nothing? she asked him.
Ty glanced her way and tapped his head before returning to the task of making some kind of
sculpture with the wood in the fire pit.  I have a good memory.
 Obviously. But what made you think of it? She shouldn t ask, shouldn t ruin a good moment by
probing into the why of it. She should just enjoy the fact that he had said it and stop always searching
for answers and explanations. So she quickly added,  Never mind. You must think I m akin to a
preschooler, always asking why.
Standing back up, Ty looked over at her, his expression unreadable.  Why shouldn t you ask why?
If you re curious, there s nothing wrong with asking. And I ll tell you why I thought of it . . . Watching
you on the trail in the quiet of the woods, I was just grateful to be with you. He shrugged.  That s all.
And Shakespeare s words are better than mine.
There it was again, that fluttering-butterfly feeling in her chest and the urgent need to heave out a
massive sigh of aching contentment. Imogen had never really experienced this level of infatuation
since early high school, and it was weird and wonderful and illogical. But having spent the past few
days interviewing six more wives of drivers, Imogen had definitely seen a pattern nothing about
love was logical. Plain and simple.
Not that she was in love with Ty.
That was ludicrous. But she was in serious like.
 I think that any words spoken with sincerity are of value. Imogen leaned back on the rock and let
the sun wash over her face as her eyes drifted close.  Thank you for bringing me here.
 The pleasure is truly mine. Ty was moving around, his boots crunching in the sticks and leaves.
 And maybe you should hold off on the thanks until tomorrow morning. After a full day you just might
change your mind. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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