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He stared at the side of her helmet in disbelief. “It’s Sunday.”
She turned her head farther, and he saw creases by her eyes, indicating a smile. “Yeah…things may have changed since then.”
“Ya think?”
A louder, more ominous rumble of thunder underscored his sarcasm. Tara laughed as though she hadn’t a care in the world, and at that moment, Wes figured getting wet was worth it. Still, he couldn’t help layin
g on a little guilt for her sass.
“I’m running out of clothes, you know.”
She revved the gas, giving him a three second warning before they took off toward the heart of the storm. Getting a little wet was one thing, but Wes wasn’t prepared for the downpour that drenched them and forced Tara to slow the bike substantially. A fierce wind drove the rain sideways, making the raindrops feel like needles pricking his bare arms. He would’ve offered to drive to shield Tara from the wind, but she had far more experience than him.
Not that it mattered anyway since the wind kept shifting and the cold rain came at them from a new direction every few minutes. Finally, he slid his body tight up against her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She stiffened at first, but as heat built between his chest and her back, his arms and her stomach, she relaxed into him. Wes enjoyed the remainder of the ride back to town, watching the awesome fury of the storm as it ravaged the earth around them.
She was on the main road that led past his hotel when a bolt of lightning appeared to strike a transformer half a block ahead of them. Sparks rained down, and after a reflexive jerk, Tara regained control and brought the bike to a stop. With his heart thumping, Wes reached around her shoulder to point toward the Rykers Inn. She nodded, so he held up his fingers to indicate room twenty-one. She parked in front of the door and cut the engine.
When she slid off the bike, cool air rushed in against his chest, raising goose bumps on his arms. She removed her helmet and started toward the door before he even swung his leg over the seat. He hurried through the rain after her, undoing his chinstrap as he caught up at the motel overhang. Wes tucked the helmet under his arm to fish out his key card. He happened to catch her eye, but then she glanced away.
“Seemed like a good idea to get off the road,” he explained to ease her apparent unease while waiting for the light to blink green.
“Yeah, it stopped being fun about fifteen minutes and ten degrees ago.”
Her teeth chattered as he held open the door and waited for her to enter first. Wes closed the door and turned, trying to put the thought that they were in his motel room out of his mind. She stood next to the king sized bed, rubbing her arms and looking miserable. Feeling like a jerk, Wes gathered his wits and quickly grabbed a couple towels from the bathroom. He played it safe by tossing one to her instead of walking close to hand it her.
“Thank you.” She wiped her face, down her slender neck, and started toweling her arms.
He focused his attention outside and ran his own towel over his wet neck. “It’s not letting up out there, is it?”
“I should’ve checked the weather,” she said, walking to the window.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just wait out the storm here for awhile.”
She faced him as another flash of lightening lit the sky behind her. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
The shiver that shook her slim shoulders reminded him that despite the towels, they were both soaked to the skin. He reached into the small closet to pull out a dry shirt before digging through his suitcase for a pair of sweats for her. “If you want to change first, there’s a laundry room where I can throw our things in a dryer.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
She accepted the clothes he held out and started to walk past. In the process of turning back to get dry clothes for himself, Wes did a double take and reached out to catch Tara’s arm.
“What the heck is this?”
Chapter 9
Tara followed Wes’s surprised gaze to her arm and saw the rain and scrubbing she’d done with the towel had worn half her barbed wire tattoo away. Darn it, so much for her tough exterior. Heat flooded her cheeks and she gave him a sheepish grin.
“They’re airbrushed.”
“All of them? You mean none of them are real?” He sounded chagrined.
Tara hesitated before confessing, “Well, one is.”
“Yeah, right.” He took hold of her other arm and turned her, scrutinizing first the snake and sword, then the rose on her neck. Her skin tingled as his gaze swept over her body. He lifted her arm and rubbed his index finger across the small shooting star on the inside of her wrist.
“Which one?”
