“
“Ahhh, but we’ve already established that I’m a hero. And I’d wager you’ve mellowed slightly.”
“I’ll take that wager,” I countered, letting one eyebrow kink in challenge.
Sean’s grin flashed quick, the sun glinting sharply off his perfectly straight teeth. My eyebrow relaxed as he demanded, “Truce! Even now it’s clear I’m no match for a little sister.”
He held out his hand and I took it, for once not second-guessing anything. Filling my head with thoughts of Sean, careful not to leave room for anything else, I managed just fine. The effect was a floaty, serene sense of light-headedness. Perfect for a wandering hike along the limestone cliffs and a sunny picnic on a vast sloping slab of rock facing out over water and sky, both the same Easter egg blue.
I managed somehow to forget about everything—all of it but the two of us together. I might have fallen asleep on that flat, warm rock under the sun, but with nothing more than the tail end of a baguette for a pillow and a Texan’s fear of sunburn, I opted instead to wrap my arms around my knees and tip my head back for five blissful minutes of heat without the burn. It was a tricky balance, an art form really, much like the way a fugitive knows precisely how long to stay on the phone to beat the trace.
It was impossible to say when Sean switched his gaze from the glorious Texas Technicolor to me, but when my eyes finally blinked open, he was staring. Flustered, I took refuge in common sense, struggling to sit up despite my limbs feeling like warm wax. “We’re going to need to pick up some sunblock if we’re going out in a canoe,” I reminded him. “Otherwise we’ll crisp up and hurt like hell.”
“We don’t want that, do we?” he asked, sounding very James Bond and looking the part with his carefully banked smoldering gaze. He kept it trained on me as he pulled me to my feet.
“No-ooo,” I answered, suddenly obsessed with dusting off my bruised bottom.
“In Scotland we pack umbrellas, not sunblock. No sense in being overly optimistic.” We were climbing slowly back toward the limestone-paved patio, the sun beating warmly on our backs.
“You only have to burn once. After that you remember: getting aloe vera gel sticky-slathered all over you, cringing at every touch for days, peeling and itching until you resemble some sort of queer albino reptile. After that, you don’t leave home without it.” I looked at him quizzically. “You’ve never gotten burned?”
“Funnily enough, this is my first good opportunity. And now I’m wondering why
Something triggered in the back of my mind but got shuffled away in the face of unadulterated exasperation. “Possibly because I wasn’t privy to your plans, and I never expected to be flitting about, exposed to the elements, not to mention the pavement, on the back of your motorcycle.” I could hear the panicky edge to my voice and knew exactly what was causing it. Sean had touched my biggest nerve—today, I was flying blind.
“I’m teasing, luv. The sunblock was clearly my responsibility, and I bungled it. I’m just relieved you thought of it before we shoved off into the lake, pale and exposed as sitting ducks.”
“Well, we’d have had your umbrella, right? You
I was almost positive—you could say 100 percent certain—that the man wasn’t packin’ an umbrella.
“I’m afraid not,” he admitted, looking chagrined, the slightest bit of pink staining his cheeks. Quite possibly the onset of sunburn.
“I’m only teasing, luv.” I mimicked him, looking away quickly before he could see the onset of my pink.
“I deserve that,” he said, tangling his fingers with mine.
My jeans brushed against the velvety leaves of a Texas sage, and I let my fingers skim the lavender blooms. My breath was suddenly coming in pants, and not from exertion. If I was truly honest with myself, I had to admit that the hardest part of this whip-fast romance was stepping further and further outside my comfort zone with each baby step I took toward Sean. Made me wonder how I’d feel about the “new me” after the first blush of romance had paled.
Thinking to aim us down a scrub oak–lined hiking path and detour the century of steps, I shifted right. Sean shifted left simultaneously, and we collided on the uneven rock. He caught me, and for the space of a hundred rapid-fire heartbeats, we were only inches away from ... who knew what ... something good. But then the wind whipped up, high on our little outcropping of rock, fluttering Sean’s skirt.
I glanced down—I couldn’t help it—and Sean, glancing down too, moved his hand to that little pouch hanging over his ... hanging over the front of his kilt. Black leather trimmed with three jaunty tassels, it matched nicely against the colorful plaid of pine green, true blue, and black, shot through with streaks of yellow, pale blue, and red. But the colors all blurred together as I stared at that little pouch and Sean’s hand on it. I waited with bated breath (really!) and tried to ignore my heartbeat, building in silent crescendo. Unsnapping the pouch, Sean reached his hand down inside. I was blinking rapidly now, and my lips were twitching with the minor hilarity of the situation.
When his hand reappeared, it was holding a disposable camera, and it took my detoured mind a second to register that Sean had probably brought it along to commemorate this Day of Dares.
“Let’s take a photo, shall we? No one will believe it otherwise—you, out on a Wednesday.” He scoffed.
We hiked back to the overlook and posed beside Lover’s Leap, Sean holding the camera at arm’s length as the two of us grinned, the moment captured.
“Did you get our T-shirts in the picture?” I asked.
“Hard to say. Why don’t I get one of just you and your shirt? Then we can stop off at Hippie Hollow and get one of you without it,” he teased with a wicked smile.
I posed, framing the white words emblazoned on my chest like a handsy spokesmodel, and he snapped a second picture. “One more,” I insisted. I extended my hand for the camera. “It’s possible you’re the first man to climb to the top of Mount Bonnell, skirts fluttering. Doubtful, but possible.”
Handing over the camera with a grin, he was quick to pose with his hands on hips and a rakish gleam in his eye. Hoping Sean wouldn’t notice, or at the very least wouldn’t comment on it, I stole a second behind the camera to marvel at this latest surreal moment in my once-predictable life.
Coming back to stand beside me and slide the little twenty-four-shot camera back from whence it came, Sean ever so casually suggested, “How about I race you to the bottom.”
He wasn’t joking. In two seconds I was scrabbling over limestone, heading downhill, making for the path in lieu of the stairs. I left Sean in a white puff of dust, his hand still in his pouch.
My grin was imperturbable as I navigated the path, dodging live oaks and ducking around the curves, skidding on gravel and getting hung up for a nervy eternity by an older couple meandering downhill with walking sticks and single-minded determination. But mere seconds had passed when I glimpsed the blacktop—the far edge of roadside parking at the bottom of the hill—and only seconds stood between me and victory.
And then I was there, my feet skimming off the slippery gravel and onto the tar black ...
And then lifting, spinning in the air in a dizzying swirl that had my adrenaline bubbling over and my stomach plummeting in panic.
The thrill of victory crashed into defeat as I realized Sean was below me, around me, everywhere: He’d beat me to the bottom.
“Trounced you fair and square, darling, despite your head start and the slight disadvantage of my regalia.” Our makeshift whirligig had finally slowed to a stop, and Sean was making no move to let go.
“If I could think of a way you could have cheated, I’d accuse you. But since I can’t ... congratulations.” I admit it—I’m a bad sport. But for God’s sake, the man was wearing a skirt!
“Come on. That was hardly sincere. And while we didn’t wager, I think I’ve earned a prize. One kiss,” he demanded quietly, a single eyebrow raised in yet another challenge.
I let my shoulders slump slightly in defeat and puffed out a sigh. “Fine.” And while he slid me down the length of his body, letting the tips of my toes settle on the blacktop, I kept my arms twined tight around his neck and tipped his head down for a kiss.
As usual, it sprang out of my control, pulling at me, twisting inside me, urging me to indulge, to steal this shady roadside moment under the twittering trees and careless clear spring sky. I’d meant to skim my lips over his and leave it at that, but within seconds I was nipping and sliding my tongue along the seam of the lips that had taunted me mercilessly for going on four days now. I heard the hum and roar of cars on the road, and Sean shifted, shielding me from passersby or possibly distraction, and I let myself let go and fell into him, swooping and sailing, my own little “lover’s leap.”
