Page 16 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"About?"

"You."

And if that didn't put a burr under her saddle. The audacity of him talking behind her back to people she didn't even know.

"I gave one week before you go limping back to the Big Apple in those designer boots."

"And the townspeople?"

"They don't think you'll make it the day."

"How much money?" she asked.

"What?"

"How much money to participate?"

"Twenty bucks. Why?"

"Make it a thousand and I'm in." She lifted her chin. "And you can tell them—tell everyone—I'll make it the month. You know why? Because I'm strong, daring, and entirely capable on my own," she said, repeating exactly what Lady Rea had told her last night in the coffee shop.

After all, she'd already announced to the entire town that she'd never had an orgasm with someone else in the room, she figured strong, daring, and capable was the least she could claim.

She caught the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his fists flexed just a fraction—like she’d challenged him and he was quietly plotting to make sure she didn’t survived the day without disaster.

Boone looked at her for a moment longer. She knew what he saw—soaking wet, one boot missing, chin high, ready to fight the whole town. "If you say so, Boots."

Moo, moo, the little shit interrupted, wading casually out of the water and rejoining its herd as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Vivi crossed her arms, adrenaline still buzzing through her.

"Congratulations," she said. "You've both officially made this personal."

CHAPTER 8

Boone watched Vivi follow him into the family room, feet squelching across the floorboards, and felt that familiar mix of exasperation and something else—something that was becoming harder to dismiss as anything other than what it was.

Attraction.

The scent of memories hit him first—but then there was her. Wet, shivering, and impossibly alive. The scent of her, faint but undeniable beneath the crisp smell of rushing water, teased at the edges of his attention. He hated how well he was learning it. Just like he hated how his body reacted before his brain could shut it down.

He moved to the hearth, stacking kindling and lighting the fire to help her dry off. Even though it was a hot day, the river came down from the melted snow in the mountains leaving the water a balmy forty degrees.

She stiffened when he draped the thick blanket over her shoulders, the soft weight settling against her. He let his fingers linger on her neck and let the warmth from him press into her for a moment longer than intended.

She didn’t need him, he reminded himself, but he liked being useful all the same. He told himself that was just his personality. But his dick reminded him that he’d never gotten quite so upset with someone for doing something stupidly brave.

His fingers dipped to the curve of her shoulder and he caught the small hitch of surprise in her stance and couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.

"You're lucky I'm not letting you freeze your toes off," he grumbled.

"I'm fully capable of warming myself," she shot back, confidence layered over chattering teeth.

He stepped closer—close enough to see the water still dripping from her lashes—and allowed himself a slow smirk.

"Capable, huh?" Then he leaned against the armrest of the couch, arms crossed, watching her the way he'd been trying not to watch her since she arrived. "You're a little firecracker."

She met his gaze with this daring fire in her eyes. "Better a firecracker than a damsel in distress."