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“Aw, hell, Daisy, I like having you ride with me, you know that,” he breathed, his steel eyes glittering with something, just for her.
So she plunged in, recklessly. “If you want, ride over the hill Sunday to our place. We can take the horses up along the creek, past the spring pond to the waterfall at McGreers like we used to.”
She hadn’t been thinking it, but the words were already out of her mouth, for some dumb reason. Maybe that wasn’t so bad. His jaw eased.
“What time?”
“Anytime. Before noon, maybe, and we can take a picnic.”
He cracked a smile and brushed her arm. “That sounds real nice, Daisy.”
For no good reason, she found her fingertips running down Hank’s tanned arms, tender around new scratches. Smooth, firm muscles lay underneath. His arms were as hard and strong as they looked and when her fingers curled into his thick palm, he took them gently and put a heavy hand to her waist. Something whooshed all the way up into her chest, which was suddenly much closer to his, and her breath caught. She leaned into him, smelling a clean, pine-soapy, Hank smell.
His cheek brushed hers, prickly and warm, his lips so close, she caught a hint of Shiner Bock as he breathed, “Geez, you’re hot, Daisy.”
******
Hank rested his lips on the soft-pillow curve of Daisy’s mouth, taking their first-ever kiss sweet and slow. Her lips parted with a little sigh, and their tongues touched, hesitant at first, just testing.
He moved his hands to the curve of Daisy’s back, tangling them in her honey-gold hair on the way. Deepening the kiss with a thrust of his tongue, his hands willed her closer as he dropped his lips to the skin on her neck and cheeks and eyelids, tasting the flavor of her silky contours. Sighing, she put her hands to either side of his jaw and kissed him like she meant it. Pink-lipped and pouty-mouthed, her tongue twitched and teased like nothing he could have imagined when she’d hissed and clawed at him that first day in the truck, eyes flaring.
A zing shot down his spine, straight to the groin. He let his fingers drop, grazing them along the back of her thigh, touching bare skin. With a little gasp, she coiled an arm around his neck, and her body sunk against his, molding to it. Sighing, he took her lips again, letting his hands roam her back and waist and hips until it got so hot between them, so fiery hot, that everything melted away but holding Daisy, kissing Daisy.
He’d dreamed of this since sixth grade, but when he’d dared to dream of Daisy, he thought it would be shy and awkward at first, then sweet and gentle, like Janie.
But it was Daisy pressed against him now, feeding him kisses, making him so hot he was consumed by her. There was so damned much throbbing fire between them, he couldn’t help wanting to lift her up onto the seat of the truck and climb on top of her, grind his hips into her and taking her hard under him, frantic and shameless, door open, feet dangling off the seat.
I want Daisy. I want all of Daisy, more than I’ll ever want anyone else. Shocked by the realization, Hank came up for air, took a breath to cool off and get his bearings. Surprised, Daisy stiffened and pulled away. The light from the pole crossed her face, and her eyes showed caution. She wiped a hand over her mouth, then thumped his chest with her palms—hard—catching him off guard. “Did you plan this?”
His eyes had been at half-mast but they opened wide. “What?”
Arms across her chest, Daisy was fierce again, all snarling olive-amber cat eyes, sparking with heat. “Did you plan this? Did you come here tonight to kiss me, Hank Gallagher?”
“No! How could I plan it, Daisy? It’s not like you don’t have a say in it, I mean, kissing did. . I. . . I wanted to.”
“What?” She glared at him, all sharp edges and elbows.
He wouldn’t let his eyes wander down to the ripe peaches he’d been about to grasp just seconds before, luscious under her snug blue “Hymie’s” t-shirt. Not knowing where to look or the right thing to say, he sighed and touched her lips, ripe and pouty from all the kissing. “I like being with you, Daize. I like kissing you.”
Arms still crossed, her eyes narrowed. She taunted him a little. “Isn’t Janie Dupree still upstairs? Why not kiss her?”
She was being Daisy, which meant difficult as hell. He grinned and tugged a streak of her golden hair. “Heck, Janie’s a nice girl, but she’s not you, Daize. I can’t help it, wanting to kiss you. For me, everything about you is just a damn turn-on.” Taking on her amber-olive cat eyes, still sparking fiercely, he said, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, Daisy Mae. Probably since the summer before sixth grade, when we played in the creek together. At least since T.J. Watkins beat me for Best Young Rider, junior year.”
She laughed and slugged his arm. “Aw, c’mon. You hated me then, Hank Gallagher.”
“Yeah, but only because it made me crazy, seeing him all over you by the lockers.” He stepped closer, sobering. “Are you still mad at me?”
Biting a lip, she looked up at him, uncertain. “Maybe. But some things you might not be able to do much about, even if you wanted to. And I’m sorry about the flowers.”
“Flowers?” He knew what she was talking about.
She leaned back against the seat so light bounced off the peaks of her cheekbones. Eyes sincere, she said, “You gave me flowers after we got our BYR belt buckles. They were pretty. I was getting in the car with Luanne and her parents, and I didn’t want any questions, so I tossed them in the dirt. You saw them there. It was mean, Hank. I’m sorry.”
He stroked a finger across her lips. “I am, too. I wanted you to like them. I wanted you to take them home and put them in a vase and keep them, Daisy Mae.”
Climbing up on the truck seat, she gave him a wicked little smile. “Then why didn’t you give them to Janie? She would have kept them.”
“Janie didn’t win Best Young Rider. You did. They were some special daisies, bright-colored, just for you.”
