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  And, as he rolled to his back, taking her on top of him, she wasn’t sure what her answer was, even though she was thinking, Yes.

  Hell, yes.

  HE EXPLORED her body—every sweat-slicked plane, every valley. He worked her, hitching her legs until they rested on top of his shoulders, buffeting her until she slid over the side of the bed and arched to the floor.

  They were all over the place as he sought more than he’d ever needed, coming hard into her and pulling her back on the mattress to him, where she slumped to his chest in panting relief.

  Joshua buried his face against her shoulder, breathing her in, tasting her sweat and skin. What he’d uttered right before they’d gone at it again dogged him.

  Why not have an even bigger adventure with me.

  He hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud, anyway. But she’d gotten that phone call from her friend, and all kinds of stray ideas had taken root in him. Foreign, colorful notions, like making her come for him on different beds in different places.

  Nothing serious, he thought, just another game.

  Another challenge.

  He wanted to see how far she would go. Wanted to see how much he could take during some kind of masochistic test that could only make him stronger.

  She pulled back from his mouth now, still straddling his body, her fingers lightly braced against his chest. Damn it, she hadn’t forgotten his suggestion. That was clear from the questions in her gaze.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked, breath straining in the flush of their intimacy. “A bigger adventure?”

  What to do…backtrack? But he realized that he yearned to push the envelope with every energized fiber in him.

  “I’m not talking about flying off to Paris or going on some safari in Kenya, now.” He skimmed a thumb over her nipple, loving how it hardened for him. “I’m thinking of a mere jaunt. The same hotel room can get claustrophobic.”

  She inspected him with those summer-deep eyes, and the fact that she hadn’t turned him down yet jolted a thrill to his very core.

  “Oatman isn’t a far trip,” she whispered.

  Oatman. He circled her nipple, and she shifted, closing her eyes slowly, then opening them.

  “There’s a hotel there,” she added, “where Carole Lombard and Clark Gable had their honeymoon. Haunted, they say.”

  “Ever wonder what it’d be like to make it in a bed with a ghost around?”

  She trembled, and he didn’t know if it was because she was faking a scare or because he had gently pinched her nipple.

  Her reaction delighted him beyond reason, and Joshua had never laid claim to that word before: delighted. It was too light, optimistic, carefree. But here he was using it.

  As she pushed her hips forward, begging for more, greed took him over. Greed for her.

  At that moment, his real reason for asking her to run off with him bared itself. He fed off her sex, her energy, her mystery. And until he’d tapped all of that out, he would be a glutton for her.

  Often enough at home, he’d heard neighbors and childhood friends talk about addiction to a woman, but Joshua had been above it all—he’d known that no lady would ever obsess him, and no one had.

  Until now.

  But why? What exactly was it that fulfilled him when it came to her?

  She’d blindsided him, taken him completely by surprise. And he had no notion of how to deal with it, especially since she wasn’t the typical female who wanted to talk all the time and take more of him than he was willing to give.

  Thing was, after their intimacy, he felt the urge to share. Yet he didn’t dare. His situation was too humiliating, and it was best that he kept it to himself, as she obviously wanted him to.

  The liaison should’ve been perfect for him, so why did he find himself needing more?

  “Oatman,” he repeated, as if he was still thinking about it. But he’d already decided.

  A pulse throbbed in his neck, marking the passing seconds.

  In the interim, she sank to the mattress on her back next to him. Then, as if lost in thought, she absently twirled a strand of her hair, and he couldn’t help thinking that she did the same thing to him: winding him around a finger.

  This could only come to no good. But he would worry about that afterward.

  He sat up, took off the condom, disposed of it and came back to bed.

  “The town started as a mining tent camp,” he said, filling the silence, “then grew when there was a gold strike. But in the twenties, there was a fire, and soon after that, the big mining company closed. But the town attracted people from Route 66, and it managed to survive.”

  “And how do you know so much about it?” she asked.

  Joshua grinned. It was his turn to withhold information. Yeah, he could play her game, too.

  “Oh, so you’re not going to tell me?” She lightly swatted at him. “No more dirty for you, cowboy.”

  But he knew she didn’t mean it.

  He could tell her the truth and clear the air if he really wanted to. After all, he’d only listened to a couple of old-timers at a roadside diner, and they’d told him about Oatman and other places on the Mother Road.

  “Well, just so you don’t feel too superior,” the brunette said, propping herself up on her elbows, “I know a thing or two about the town, as well.”

  Her breasts weren’t big, but they were firm and so nicely shaped. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  She seemed to like that he was visually feasting on her, and she turned to him, hardly bashful, even though he detected a faint hesitation, then a blush.

  Damn, she was a puzzle.

  “I know that there’s a ghost called Oatie in the hotel, and that he’s fond of hijinks. And that there’re shops in town. I like shops.”

  “Don’t most women?”

  “No, not Carmen so much. She’s the type who only goes to a store when she’s forced to by circumstance or—” The brunette stopped herself, raising a finger. “You just lulled me into revealing something.”

  “You didn’t reveal squat. I now officially know more about Carmen than you.”

  Bull. Even with the scant information she’d just given him, he felt as if he’d won an inch in the battle.

  Content for now, he added, “I hear the Oatman Hotel is simple at best, but you can stay in that Gable-Lombard room.”

  A dreamy smile settled on her pink mouth, but then she grew more serious.

  “You’re thinking of your friend,” he said. “She’s going to be on that houseboat, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So we’ll check out of here and be back by tomorrow night.”

  But he wondered if that would be enough.

  “So…?” he asked, laying his proposition out there. “Do you want adventure or not?”

  His no-name brunette turned to him, draping over his chest so that her breasts crushed his skin. He automatically held her to him, wishing everything were this easy.

  “Yes,” she finally said, and he couldn’t help noticing that there was a certain determination in her tone. “Let’s do it, stranger.”

  8

  ON A HOUSEBOAT floating on the serene surface of the lake, Carmen was concocting some agua de melón in the small kitchen, appreciating the new silence of a late afternoon.

  They had finally headed out about an hour ago, after Eddie had returned. He’d been relatively distant as Sarah had thrown her arm around Carmen’s shoulders and led her aboard, away from him, as if knowing he needed a buffer for some reason. The other kids had provided enthusiastic escort, too, and the party had started immediately.

  Eddie hadn’t been drinking though. In fact, aside from welcoming Carmen aboard soon afterward and telling her he intended to spend time with her as soon as he “wrapped up a few loose ends,” he’d remained standoffish until he’d summoned the curly blond girl—Trudy—for a talk.

  While everyone else got settled on the deck’s
lounge chairs, Carmen could barely hear Eddie’s conversation from inside the cabin. Words were muted and even a little terse, but she had shamelessly caught references to a long phone call that Eddie had needed to make.

  The discussion had ended when Trudy apologized to Eddie, came back to the group to grab a wine bottle, then headed for one of the bedrooms, alone.

  “Looks like she claimed one early,” Sarah joked. “Dibs on the second bedroom!”

  Everyone started to lightheartedly argue over sleeping arrangements then, and Carmen had gone into the kitchen to find something nonalcoholic, as she wasn’t really in the mood for spirits.

  But Eddie had already disappeared, and she could hear his voice from the bedroom down the hall, forceful and maybe even a little angry.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. The only thing she knew was that Mal had kept secrets, too.

  But wasn’t Eddie a new chance? Had she even latched on to him in an odd effort to reinvent her history?

  The rest of the kids stayed on the deck, fishing and drinking while Carmen concocted her drink. However, soon enough, the door down the hall shut and Eddie came to Carmen.

  She nodded toward the blender. “Want some?”

  He paused, as if taking in the scent of diced cantaloupe and watermelon. “Sure. Looks great.”

  “My mama’s recipe, handed down from her own mom, whose own mother brought it over from Mexico.”

  For some reason, Eddie’s forehead creased at her comment, but it happened so quickly that Carmen didn’t remark on it.

  “Your drink looks great.” He rested a hand on his camera case, which waited for him on the counter. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much today. That wasn’t the plan.”

  “Oh, no worries.” She played it off, but it mattered. She’d been anticipating him—or more precisely, the possibility of him—all day. “Sarah kept me busy. She’s interesting, with all her oceanic talk. And I didn’t even mind shopping that much.”

  “Not your thing?”

  She shot him a look. “I despise shopping. But we did need to go to the market, so it was inevitable.”

  As if to prove she’d actually been there, she swept her hand around the kitchen, indicating the fruit, veggies, booze and snacks they’d stocked up on.

  Eddie nodded, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.

  Sighing, Carmen went to the sink, where she rinsed her hands and peered out the window. Outside, the kids sat on their chairs with their fishing poles and drinks.

  “You don’t want to be with them?” She turned off the water. “Because it strikes me that you’re not exactly part of the crowd.”

  “I like them well enough. It’s just…” He waved the rest of his comment away. “We weren’t meant to vacation together.”

  Did that explain why she was getting these odd vibes about his relationship with the kids? Hardly.

  “You take care of this crowd or something?” she asked. “I mean, I heard from a little birdie that you’re paying for this houseboat, and you seemed rather guardianlike with Trudy.”

  A thought nibbled at her: she was trying to figure out what was going on between him and Trudy. There’d been the odd look she’d given him after they’d come out of the bathroom from Seven Minutes in Heaven at the Timberline Inn. Then there’d been this phone call today. And now his stern talk with the blonde in the bedroom.

  Eddie turned away, taking his camera case with him. Almost reverently, he took the item out of its shelter and began adjusting it.

  Why was it so hard to get any conversation out of this guy?

  Suddenly, she felt lonely, even with him in the room. Why she’d come on this boat, she had no idea. Sure, her hormones had driven her to follow Eddie Kilpatrick, but there was no better reason, unless you counted all her deep thinking about wanting to rediscover herself or…

  Whatever.

  She was out of place, out of sorts, and she had no cause to complain because it was what she’d wanted.

  Drying her hands, she chastised herself for breaking off from Lucy. She missed her friend, but when she’d seen how Lucy had greeted that cowboy in the parking lot, she’d felt out of it there, too. And it wasn’t Lucy’s fault. Hell, no, Carmen didn’t begrudge her pal even a second of fun.

  But being here?

  Only made Carmen feel older and more lost than ever.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eddie aiming his camera at her, heard the shutter click and saw a flash shroud the room.

  She held her hand up. “Don’t waste your film.”

  “Why?” He held the camera away from his face. It was the happiest she’d seen him all day, behind the lens. “You’re photogenic.”

  “And you’re a liar.” She smiled, pouring her blended melon and water into a pitcher, then adding more water and sugar. She didn’t have the patience to chill the concoction, so she poured it over ice into two tall glasses.

  “Let me take more pictures and I’ll prove you wrong,” he said.

  Bringing his glass to him, she shook her head. “No dice.”

  “Carmen.” His grin had gone killer again. “Trust me.”

  Trust him.

  She backed away a step, holding her own glass with both hands, almost as if it were a shield. “I had enough problems trusting the guy who lied to me about seeing other women before we broke up. And you want me to trust you? The Eddie Kilpatrick who veils himself in an astounding lack of information?”

  A tinge of what she thought might be sympathy clouded his eyes, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe she didn’t want it, so she wouldn’t identify it.

  “I don’t know thing one about you,” she said, “and you know all the embarrassing crap about me. I have no idea how that happened.”

  “Because you can’t help but be trusting. I imagine that’s what makes you a good person. Someone who attracts other people.”

  “Oh, smooth.” Carmen toasted him with her glass. “You’re a slick talker.”

  He braced a hand on the table, hunching forward, languid and persuasive. “The group loves you, Carmen. And I’ve been counting the minutes until we could be alone again.”

  Her heartbeat slipped from her chest toward her belly, beating there.

  “You sure you’re only twenty-three?” she asked. “Because you’ve got a whole lifetime of moves.”

  “Age is irrelevant.” He straightened, as if uncomfortable with her observation. “Some people don’t live at all, even after decades. I’m not going to be one of them.”

  Now, with this determination, he sounded young. It was a glimpse past his charming armor, telling her more than hours of conversation ever could. And she related. God, did she ever.

  “Expectations,” she said. Age was just another category people created for each other. They expected certain things out of twenty-year-olds, out of thirty-year-olds, and on and on. “I’ve been dealing with certain expectations my whole life, with my mama saying that I need to get married by such-and-such year and that I need to have three kids by my mid-thirties. When I get back home, I have to tell her that I’m not going to be doing any of those things with Malcolm. Ever. And she’s going to kill me.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  “You don’t know Mama.”

  He laughed, causing her to do the same. Another flash from his camera captured it, but this time, she didn’t mind so much.

  “For instance,” she added, “if she knew I was running around with you all, she’d go loco. I should act my age, she’d say. I should grow up. But what if this is how I am? What if I’m comfortable staying single and independent?”

  “I think you already know the answer.” Flash—another picture. “I think we all do, but it takes us a while to admit it.”

  She looked away from Eddie’s next picture, feeling too exposed. She didn’t usually spill like this to anyone but Lucy. Certainly not with other men. Even Malcolm had posted limits on what kind of conversations t
hey had.

  Carmen had grown to resent that, too.

  Eddie stopped with the pictures. “Hey.”

  When she didn’t answer, he moved closer, taking her glass and putting it on the table, then skimming a finger over her cheek. She trembled, coming alive at the touch.

  “What if,” she whispered, “I give in to the pressure and accept that I’m supposed to be a married thirty-year-old?”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “Sure.” Her laugh was hardly happy. “I’ll just ignore all the signs and pretend I’m forever twenty. Will that work instead?”

  Without answering—not with words, anyway—he stroked her cheek, as if appreciating the structure of her face. Then he caressed down to her neck, the tender skin, the veins that she knew were getting more visible by the year.

  But when he sketched back up to her jaw, when he eased back her hair, she saw something marvelous in his gaze: a fervent admiration. It went beyond her appearance into what he might have seen in her, even from the first second they’d met.

  Something she hadn’t even seen yet.

  She ached between her legs—twisty and pained, but in a good, swelling way.

  “You have no idea what you do to a man,” he said, so close that she could breathe him in. “Do you?”

  “Eddie…” She wanted to argue, but why? She’d been doing it her whole life, doubting herself and staying with Malcolm out of pure habit and duty.

  Now, with a man looking at her with such brutal yearning, she didn’t have the will to argue.

  Carmen’s pulse stomped throughout her body, a red light blinding her defenses. How far do you want this to go? it said in some kind of code. How intense?

  Just intense enough to allow her to leave when she was satiated, she thought.

  Her lips tingled in remembrance of their kiss in the motel. Only a kiss, and it had lured her here, where she had something to prove to herself—a bravery she needed to discover before she got back home.

  And maybe she should start now.

  She reached behind her neck, where her bathing-suit top was tied. As she eased down the material, her breasts puckered in the air, in the open where any of the kids could see them.