He quickly set it up, messed with some knobs, pointed it this way and that, and invited her to take a look.
“Wow,” she said, staring through the eyepiece. And wow was a totally inadequate word, because the view was amazing! She wasn’t even sure what she was looking at, but she didn’t care. The view was dizzyingly beautiful, and for the next few minutes, Beau let her hog the telescope while he lectured on nebulas, galaxies, black holes, and probably some other things. It was hard to focus on the sky or his lecture when the only heavenly body she was interested in was right here on Earth. And standing so close.
He put his hands on her hips to gently nudge her aside so he could peek through the telescope himself. And when it was her turn again, he stood behind her, touching her in a myriad of what were probably mindless and unconscious ways.
A big warm hand on the small of her back.
Squeezing her shoulder.
A small oopsie when she stepped back and bumped into him.
It felt like one of those dumb movie moments where the hero assists a woman in improving her tennis game or golf swing. Or where he helped her shoot a gun or cast a fishing line or—
Beau’s breath brushed the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Do you see it? Is it in focus for you?”
See what? How could she focus on anything with his hand resting casually on her left hip? She wanted to step back and melt into him, to be completely enveloped in his arms . . .
“Shooting star,” he said suddenly, pointing up.
Alice only caught the tail end of it, but she shivered from the thrill. She hadn’t seen too many shooting stars in her lifetime. Probably because she was usually looking at a schedule or a calendar or a book.
“Are you cold?” Beau asked. “It can get chilly up here on the bluff, even this time of year.”
She wasn’t cold at all. Just excited. But Beau was already walking back to the truck.
“I have a sleeping bag,” he said. “And since we just saw our first shooting star of the evening, it’s time to crawl in the bed of the truck and do some proper sky-scouting.”
Was he suggesting they lie down in the bed of his pickup? Next to each other?
Beau shook out the sleeping bag. Then he unzipped it and laid it out like a blanket, smoothing all the wrinkles. He held a hand out to Alice. “This time of year, we should see some more. Meteor showers abound.”
Alice took his hand, hoping he couldn’t feel how she trembled.
“Damn, woman. You don’t have enough meat on your bones. You’re shivering like a leaf.”
He started to unbutton his shirt. That wasn’t going to do anything to squelch the trembling, but she watched silently as he finished with the buttons. He wore a plain white T-shirt underneath, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
“Here, put this on,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders.
It was warm from his body, and it smelled like his aftershave.
Beau stretched out, flat on his back, placing one arm behind his head and extending the other out to his side. “I didn’t bring any pillows, but you can rest your head on my arm, if you want.”
She did want. Very badly. So, she tentatively leaned back, resting her head against his muscular arm, which was surprisingly comfortable. She looked up and . . .
“Oh,” she said. “I feel so—”
“Small?”
“Yes.” Beyond small. In fact, she felt lost. Unanchored. Like she might float away into the black abyss. But Beau was warm and solid. Maybe she wouldn’t float away, after all.
“If you’re this small, imagine how tiny your troubles are.”
That was a delightful notion, and it made her smile. “Is this something that happened at pasture parties? Lying in the beds of pickups?”
“Yes, and no,” Beau said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, people cuddled up in the beds of pickups, but no, they weren’t typically looking at the stars while they did it.”
“What were they doing?”
“Making out like fiends.”
Oh.
“I’ve never made out in the bed of a pickup truck.” She’d blurted it out in the hopes that Beau would suggest—
“Maybe you should add it to your bucket list.”
Was he simply making a suggestion? Was he flirting? Was she flirting? Where was the instruction manual? “I didn’t bring the bucket list.”
Dang it! Dumb thing to say dumb thing to say dumb thing to say . . .
“We could make out now and write it down later.”
She swallowed loudly. There it was. He sounded so confident. Like he’d made out in the bed of a pickup truck a million times. Probably because he had. He’d be a good teacher, right? And it wouldn’t mean anything to him. This was Beau Montgomery. Kissing women was like breathing for him.
No big deal.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s make out.”
“For real?”
Holy guacamole, what if he didn’t want to? His voice sounded weak and shaky. What if she’d made a rather large assumption? Beau was a playboy, but that didn’t mean he played with just anybody. He’d never shown a lick of interest in her, and now she’d put him in this horrible position. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine—”
Beau rolled onto his side, leaning on his elbow and bringing his face mere inches from hers. “I want to.”
“Okay, but we need some ground rules.”
“Always,” he said, grinning.
“Just kissing.”
“Scout’s honor that I will not try to sneak past first base.”
“We’ve already established that you were kicked out of the Boy Scouts—”
Beau looked at her lips, and she lost her train of thought. He traced his thumb over her bottom lip, and holy guacamole, that felt nice. Even in places that were nowhere near her lips.
He cupped her chin and kissed her with lips that were soft, warm, and sweet, like Strawberry Hill, holding her mouth with a gentle suction that shot sparks up and down her spine. She was the one to intensify things with a timid
