Forbidden Fantasies Bundle(52)

“No. I thought about taking my other car—it’s more fun to drive—but I just painted it and don’t want scrapes.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A 1969 Firebird 400.” He sighed with pleasure.

“Oooh. Muscle car. Runs on testosterone and rocket fuel, right? What color? Let me guess. Black or red.”

“Red.” He smiled. “Same model I rebuilt in high school.”

He’d been wild in high school, she remembered. “So, you’re reliving your youth?”

“No guy grows out of his first love.” Rick grinned that self-mocking smile she liked so much.

“What kind of hell did you raise in high school, anyway?” she asked. Might as well launch her plan to make Rick more ordinary by getting to know him better.

“Nothing too terrible,” he said. “Drinking…drag racing…minor vandalism. Borrowed a car once and got arrested, but that was a misunderstanding—my buddy’s stepdad hadn’t actually okayed the use of his Corvette.”

“An easy mistake to make, I’m sure. What man would object to a joyride in his expensive sports car?”

“You see our problem.” He nodded, his grin spreading.

“Anything else?”

“We built a bomb and set it off in the desert. That was a close one. It didn’t go off right away, so I volunteered to check. Luckily it blew before I got close enough to lose anything vital.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested for that.”

“Yeah. That was before the Corvette incident. I stayed clear of illegal stunts after that one. Couldn’t stand making my mom cry.”

That was sweet. She pondered what Rick must have been like as a bad boy. Sexy as hell, no doubt. He probably had girls falling all over him. She remembered what he’d said about living down his brother. “Did you resent your brother? For being perfect?”

He shot her a look. “Why would I? I loved him.” She wasn’t surprised. Of course he’d been jealous as a kid—who wouldn’t be—but he’d pushed past it. She’d sensed a rock-solid loyalty in Rick. When he swore to love, honor and obey the woman he married, he’d mean every word of that vow.

This was no way to make him less attractive. She had to look for warts and flaws and bad habits. He probably had tons.

“I packed us lunch, too,” he said. “Hope you like whole-grain bread and I got a nice merlot.”

Lord. Not only had he planned lunch, he’d planned a quality lunch. “Love it. So, after you got arrested, you straightened up?”

“That was later. After my big brother died.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Rick. What happened?”

“He got shot by a drug dealer. A client. Brian was a defense attorney.”

“How terrible. And your parents must have been—”

“Wrecked. Yeah. It’s been five years and they’re just now coming around. I keep them busy, take them out. Anyway, we’re about to take some great pictures.” He rolled a shoulder, clearly wanting to change the subject.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.

“Sedona is unique because there are three different life zones within twenty minutes of each other—desert to woodland.”

“Interesting,” she said.

“Now if we were serious, we’d set up a blind and camp out so we could catch some nocturnal action.” He shot her a look, checking her reaction.

“Camping’s not my thing.” She shuddered. There was a wart. He was a camper. “My idea of camping is when the Hyatt only has basic cable.”

“Come on. You’d love it. Well, maybe not love it. But you’d find it worthwhile. Overnight outdoors really lets you fit into the setting.” He told her about the time he’d spent three days in a creek-side blind just to catch a shot of ringtail cats, about the great blue heron who’d allowed him within a few feet after many cramped, mucky hours, and the prairie falcon, rare in the Arizona desert, he’d surprised from atop a saguaro.

She was surprised how chatty he was. She barely had to ask a question before a new story rushed out. Of course, these were photography stories, not personal stories, but he seemed so relaxed and comfortable with her it made her grin.

Meanwhile, her attraction hummed along, steady as the Jeep’s engine propelling them toward the red Sedona hills.

As dawn lit the sky, Rick pulled off at a lookout point and they took pictures of the lacy tangle of mesquite, rim-lit saguaro sentinels and high breaks of wispy cottonwoods that decorated the Verde Valley.

Rick let her try his 500 mm lens. She was stunned to pick out a Harris’s hawk soaring over the ridgeline, the image crisp enough she could detect the white underfur on the rodent in its claws.