Hard and Fast (22 page)

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.”

“What are we going to do?” She was hoping it involved the sleeping bag inside the tent and Ty doing delicious things to her with his mouth.

“Right now we’re going fishing.”

“Oh.” That didn’t quite have the charm of sex, but she could roll with it. Imogen opened her eyes and glanced around. Just trees and more trees. “I don’t see any water.”

“We have to hike there.”

Right. Of course.

“And wear your bathing suit under your clothes so we can go swimming afterwards.”

Swimming sounded more appealing than fishing, hands down. “Okay. Where should I change?”

Ty grinned. “There’s no cabana here, babe. You can change right where you are, or you can go into the tent.”

Imogen felt her cheeks heat up at the thought of just stripping where she was and wriggling into her bathing suit with who knew what’s eyes on her. “I’m not changing out here, there are probably animals lurking all around us.”

Standing with his hands on his hips, he raised his eyebrows. “Why the hell would that matter?”

Just the thought had her crossing her arms over her breasts. “I would be naked! What if there’s a bear or a deer or something watching?”

Ty started laughing. “Do you think the bear’s going to videotape you and put it up on the Internet? They’re animals, they don’t know the difference between you naked and you wearing a prom dress.”

It did sound irrational when he put it that way, but she had never changed outside in her entire life and the concept was foreign and disconcerting. “I’m changing in the tent,” she told him, standing up. “And I may just come out wearing a prom dress, smart-ass.”

He laughed harder. “I would love to see that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she assured him, reaching for her backpack. “I was gawky and nerdy in high school and my dress was this horrible cotton candy blue that my mother picked out. It washed my skin tone out and I looked like I’d just had the flu for a month. My date went with me under the pressure of his best friend, who was going with my best friend, and he ignored me all night until he got drunk then tried to grope me. I gave him a shove and he threw up in the cab.”

“Wow. Sounds like a blast.”

“Not so much.” Imogen walked toward the tent. “How was your prom?”

“Actually, it was a good time. I took this girl Mindy. Real sweet and cute. And according to locker room gossip, a sure thing.”

Imogen paused on her way into the tent, and glanced back at him from her hunched-over position. “Was she?”

Ty winked. “Oh, yeah. Why do you think I had such a good time?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Guys devote so much time and energy to the pursuit of sex it’s a wonder they accomplish anything.”

“And explain how exactly girls are different?” Ty sat down on the rock and yanked his boots off. “How many times have you thought about sex today?”

“Hardly at all,” Imogen said. Ty had taken off his socks and he was removing his jeans, leaving him in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Clearly the thought of a bear seeing him in the buff wasn’t a concern for him. “Okay, that’s not accurate,” she admitted, because she never could lie. “I’ve pretty much been preoccupied with sex since the moment I woke up.”

He smiled. “I like that you’re honest about it.”

Then he removed his T-shirt and his boxer shorts and was standing there in the clearing 100 percent naked. Imogen’s mouth watered and she had a sudden flashback to the feel of him inside her on the trail, her backpack against the tree trunk, her jeans partially down, his urgent thrusting inside her. She swallowed hard as her eyes raced across his hard, muscular body.

Ty pulled on his swim trunks and said, “What are you waiting for, Emma Jean? We’re burning daylight here.”

The look on his face told her he clearly knew what she had been doing and he was enjoying it.

“Don’t come into the tent,” she warned him. “If you do, we’ll never end up fishing.”

A squirrel had hopped onto the rock next to Ty and he turned to the furry creature and said, “Does she really think I care that much about fishing?”

“You’d better care. Or why else am I enduring it?”

“She’s got me there,” Ty told the squirrel.

The animal dropped his nut and ran away, and Imogen retreated into the musty, damp tent to change and try to work up some enthusiasm for dropping a wire into the water and waiting for a fish to hook himself onto it. Just the thought made her lip curl.

Maybe she should have just lured Ty into the tent after all.

 

 

 

IMOGEN was sitting next to Ty on the seat of the rowboat, diligently following his instructions as he showed her how to cast her line and how to reel it in. Ty liked that even though she clearly wasn’t comfortable with being in the boat or casting the line, she was willing to try it.

She was chewing her lip rather industriously as she practiced with her rod. “Damn it,” she said when her line got no farther than the floor of the boat, hooking the rubber of her boot.

“You’re getting it,” he told her, releasing the hook so she wouldn’t attempt it herself and manage to impale her finger with the sharp end. “Try again.”

She did, and this time her line sailed and dropped nicely into the water.

“Good one.”

“I did it.” She smiled. “Well, you learn something new every day, don’t you?”

“That’s the hope,” he told her. “And even if you don’t, you know what they say—every day aboveground is a good one.”

Imogen gave a startled laugh. “That’s rather macabre, yet drives home a crucial point.”

What she said. Ty grinned at her, fascinated as he always was by Imogen’s speech patterns. There was something damn adorable about when she slipped into her thinking mode.

“Reel your line back in. You need a worm on it now for this to work.”

“Oh, I guess I don’t have a worm, do I? Maybe I should have put one on before I threw this perfect arch. I might have caught seven fish by now.”

“Not likely.” And he was further amused because he was starting to recognize that when Imogen was enjoying herself, she got flippant. “But it’s possible, and I take complete responsibility for that missed opportunity.”

Imogen reeled her line in and Ty took the lid off the Styrofoam cup holding the bait and held it out to her. “Pick your worm.”

Most of the women he had dated in the past would have squealed and protested and insisted he do it for them. Aware that he just might be testing Imogen, he waited for her response.

“Just grab any one I want?”

“Yep. I’ll show you how to put it on the hook.”

“Okay.” Imogen frowned in concentration. “This one looks appropriately plump and enticing to . . . What kind of fish are in this lake?”

Ty felt the corners of his mouth turning up. So far, she was passing the test. “Uh . . . crappie, bluegill, and yellow perch, and a couple varieties of bass.”

“Crappie? I don’t want to catch one of those.” Imogen put her fingers into the cup and gingerly removed a worm. “This is a bass-catching worm, I’m certain of it.”

“Absolutely. It’s written all over him.” Ty plucked a worm out for himself and showed Imogen how to put it on the hook. “See? That’s it. Just watch your fingers.”

“I would have thought baiting fish would have gotten more sophisticated these days.”

“We’re just pleasure fishing. We don’t need anything special.”

“It’s very nice that you can rent the boat, get the fishing license and all the accoutrements right here at the lake.” She crammed her worm onto her hook. “There. I’m good to go.”

“Just cast your line again, then.”

Imogen was staring at the worm. “So . . . does the worm die when I jam that hook through him? Because he looks like he’s still moving.”

“No. Worms can actually survive parts of their body being chopped off.”

“That’s impressive.” She lifted her rod. “But does the worm drown, then? Or is it still alive when the fish eats it?”

“I have no idea how long it takes a worm to drown.”

“Maybe I should just kill mine now, then, so as not to prolong his agony.”

Trust Imogen to consider the consequences of fishing to the worm. She didn’t look particularly upset or disturbed, she was just clearly thinking it through.

“If that seems appropriate to you, go for it. I’m tossing mine in, because I suspect the fish likes a wiggling, live worm better than a dead one.”

“Really? They have discerning tastes?”

“I would just think a moving worm would attract their attention more than a dead one. They might just think it’s debris floating in the water if it isn’t wiggling around.”

“Oh. That’s a valid point.” Imogen lifted her rod and spoke to her worm. “I’m sorry, but try to remember you are a part of the circle of life.” She cast her line. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry. I should have brought some snack foods.”

“I did.” Ty reached into his smaller, portable backpack. “Water, pretzels, and granola bars. And if you’re nice to me, I’ll share.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and trained those big wide eyes on him. “You promised to take care of me on this camping adventure.”

Ouch. She went for the jugular. “Fine. Here’s some water.” He tucked it between her legs. “And do you want pretzels or a granola bar?”

“Both.”

Of course she wanted both. Ty pulled out some antibacterial gel and squirted it into his hand. “Hold out your palms.”

“I can’t. I’m holding the rod.”

“Well, then one of them.”

She did, gingerly, and he put gel in her hand. Sticking the rod between her legs with the water, Imogen tried to carefully rub her hands together. “If I drop the rod, grab it,” she ordered him.

“Of course.” Ty watched her, trying not to grin. She did everything so cautiously, so precisely. When she held her palm out, he dropped three pretzel twists in it and she popped them in her mouth.

“Whew, it’s hot out here on the water,” she said when she was finished chewing, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Drink your water.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Ty drank some of his just to make a point.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom? We’re on a rowboat in the middle of the lake.”

“You go in the water.”

She shot him a look of horror. “I am not a man.”

“So I noticed.”

“Therefore, I cannot take aim and just send it into the lake.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to go swimming soon, so go then.”

“In my bathing suit?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “No, thank you.”

“So take your bathing suit off and go skinny dipping. I’d like that.”

“We’re in public. We’ll get caught. We’ll get arrested.”

She had an answer for everything. “So you’re just going to dehydrate?”

“It is a conundrum,” she admitted. “I am really thirsty. And hot.”

There was no questioning that. “Here, I’ll hold your rod. Take a sip of your water before you overheat. One sip won’t make you have to go to the bathroom. Taking your jeans off will cool you down, too, and we’re going to want to go swimming soon anyway. Just be careful moving on the bench. You don’t want to capsize us.”

“No pressure or anything,” she said, handing him her rod. After sipping her water and handing it to him, she unsnapped her jeans and began delicately tugging them off.

Ty blatantly watched. Her ponytail flopped around and her glasses slipped down her nose as she tried to wiggle out of her pants with as little movement as possible. After a couple of precarious minutes, she had them in a puddle on the bottom of the boat and had her flip-flops back on her feet. Imogen was wearing black bikini bottoms with a little tie on each side, and Ty appreciated the nice view of her long, pale legs.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.” She took her pole back from him. “Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sun hot on his arms, a sleepy and pleasant lethargy stealing over him. Now, this was the way to spend his day off—out on the lake with a woman whose company he really enjoyed.

Imogen sat up straight suddenly. “Oh, something’s happening!” She had a look of fear on her face and held her pole like it had suddenly come alive.

“Hold steady,” Ty said, leaning over and peering out into the water. He could see the ripples of movement where her line was cast. “Okay, just start reeling it in, slow and steady.”

“Just turn the little handle thingie?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Imogen took a deep breath and started reeling in her line.

Ty reached over to feel the line. It was taut and there was definitely something on it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pausing.

“Just checking it. Keep going.”

She did, biting her lip and spreading her feet to brace herself. Ty just sat and watched her, enjoying the concentration on her face, appreciating the beauty of her face in profile. He turned to the water right at the moment a striped bass emerged, dangling and flopping on her line.