Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out

starving, sleep-deprived, and even worse, she was sleep-deprived because her fantasies had involved him. Heavily.

Shrugging out of his untucked plaid shirt, he handed it to her. Now he wore only a plain white T-shirt.

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re covered in goose bumps.” He set the shirt on her shoulders.

Damn, it was warm and smelled like him. She hugged it closer to her body and glared at him.

He smiled. “You’ve had problems?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. You’re just standing out here for your health, I suppose. Practicing hitchhiking for the day it might come in handy?”

Pride was a terrible thing. And it had been a long night. Nothing had happened to her, but still, all that could have suddenly ran though her head.

Tanner’s smile faded. “What’s going on, Cami?”

God, that voice. It was low and husky and so sexy that, all on its own, her body leaned toward his.

Definitely sleep-deprived. “Nothing.”

“Cami.”

“All right, fine. I survived the date from hell.

There. Are you happy?”

“I know about the date,” he said quietly.

“About Ted’s love of the buffet. About the drive-in. About the car and how the son of a bitch left you out here all night.” He stepped closer, all sign of amusement long gone. “What I’m asking is, are you really all right?”

She swallowed hard. “You…listened to my machine.”

“Be grateful. Or you’d be sticking out more than a thumb right now, trying to get a ride.”

Oddly enough, she was grateful. In spite of herself, and the fact that her fingers itched to lift his T-shirt and see if his belly was as magnificent as it was in her fantasies, she was happy to see him.

So much so that she might have thrown herself against him and started crying in relief, except for her damn ego, which was definitely straining now. “What are you doing here?” She asked this casually, as if they’d run into each other at the grocery store instead of a stupid, deserted road where no one had given her a second glance all night.

“I think that’s my question to you.”

“Oh. Well, I just-”

“Admit it,” he said, stepping even closer, staring into her face. “You need me.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“So your message was a lie. Your date went fine. Is that it?”

“Well, fine is relative term-” She stopped abruptly when he set a finger to her lips. It was warm and work- roughened and smelled like soap.

“Let’s skip all the crap,” he suggested. “And get right to the part where you express your gratitude for my rescue.”

She pushed his hand away from her mouth. Her lips tingled at the loss of his touch. “I most definitely do not need rescuing.”

“Really? You’re going to walk home then?”

She studied the sky with great intensity, hoping he’d just vanish because it was easier than swallowing pride.

“Have it your way,” he said after a moment. “See you back at the lake. Whenever you get there. Did I mention it was twenty-two miles from here to there?” With that, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

“Wait!” she cried, then watched him stop and slowly turn to face her. “Okay, I need a ride to Truckee. But not a rescue. Let’s be clear on that.”

Leaning against his truck, he crossed his arms. “Oh, you’ll have to do much better.”

“Or what? You’ll leave me out here? I don’t think so.”

A blast of wind hit her, raising the skirt on her dress. Before she managed to shove it down, a passing truck honked in appreciation. “Oh, sure, now people notice me standing here,” she fumed, trying to keep her dress down and her hair out of her face at the same time.

“Maybe he could give you a ride,” Tanner said, unmoved.

“A ride from you will do,” she said between her teeth.

He didn’t move.

“What are we waiting for?”

He just stood there.

“Tanner!”

“I was hoping you could ask me nicely. Maybe even lift your thumb and smile hopefully, like you did for that other guy before I pulled over.”

She gaped at him.

His smile went positively wicked, making her stomach leap. “And if you wanted to wait for another breeze to lift your skirt again and show off those pretty pink panties you’re wearing, I wouldn’t mind one little bit.”

“You’re sick,” she declared, storming around the side of his truck, slamming the door after she plopped into the passenger seat. “Really sick.”

“Just a thought.” He started the truck and took a quick look at her. Better. She had some color in her cheeks and she didn’t look close to tears anymore. In fact, she looked downright furious.

She wouldn’t thank him for that, but he was relieved. If she’d broken down and cried, he wouldn’t have known what to do. Tears always baffled him, especially when he was the only one around to soothe them.

Not that holding her against his chest, running his hands up and down her slim back would have been a hardship. But he’d gotten quite the view of what she had beneath that skirt. Hips that begged for his hands to grip them. Creamy thighs meant for openmouthed kisses. And what those pink panties covered made his mouth water.

Holding her now would be a definite mistake. It would take her about one second to realize he had more in mind than mere comfort.

“Who’s Dimi?” he asked.

“My…sister.”

“You don’t seem too certain.”

She let out a tight smile. “She is. She’s just…a lot like me,” she finished lamely. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Big surprise. “Did you really have seven stepmothers?”

She turned on him, horrified. “You listened to the entire conversation?”

“Your entire conversation with yourself, yes, I listened. Which is why I’m here right now.”

“Oh.” She sat back. “Yeah.”

“So…do you?”

“Have seven stepmothers? No. I don’t think Brandy, Lulu or Cherry qualify as stepmothers, as they’re the same age as I am.”

“And have bigger boobs.”

She ignored that. “My dad lives in Europe, so I didn’t see much of them, anyway.”

He glanced at her and saw past the little smile that was supposed to assure him she didn’t care. He saw a woman who’d probably never had half the love and support from her father that he’d had. He wondered where he’d be without it, and figured maybe he’d be far worse off than having gone out on a stupid blind date. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she growled. “I’m sure lots of people had pole-dancing stepmothers, and fathers who forgot their birthdays and mothers who set them up with dates from hell who ditch them in a broken- down car for the night.”

“Cami-”

“Say one more word and I’ll slug you.”

The silence grew, except for the loud, pulsing rock on his radio. When the song ended, a commercial for one of