kidding!” He glanced at her, then looked back at the road.
“Would I kid about a thing like that?” She shook her head and laughed at the memory. “We swam out into the ocean, chasing that darn bike, but apparently King Neptune needed some transportation, because it disappeared real quick.”
He tried to imagine the young, hopelessly awkward Tracy, swimming out to sea after a bike, but looking at the woman beside him made it darn near impossible. “He never said anything to me about that.”
She lifted her chin, crossed her heart with her fingertips, then held up the regulation three-fingered salute. “Partners in crime do not squeal on each other.”
“Until now?” he asked.
Tracy nodded. “I think the statute of limitations has about run out.”
“That’s what you think, Spot,” he said, unconsciously using the nickname he’d christened her with one long ago summer. “I’ll be settling up with each of you now. Your share comes to seventeen fifty.”
Tracy didn’t say anything for a long minute.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Going to refuse to pay up?”
She still didn’t speak. He glanced at her and noted the wide, surprised look in her eyes. “You called me Spot.”
“So I did,” he said on a chuckle. Strange. Where had that come from? He hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. But he certainly remembered the reason behind it. Every summer, Tracy’s freckles had dotted her cheeks and nose as if someone had splattered her with soft peach paint. And, as he recalled, she wasn’t very fond of his making fun of that fact. “Huh.” He changed lanes and spared her another look. “Sorry, don’t know why that popped out.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said and reached out to place one hand on his arm.
Rick’s gaze dropped briefly to her long, slender fingers against his tanned forearm. Hot, jagged bolts of electricity seemed to hum from her touch, reverberating deep inside him. Mouth dry, he told himself it was simply a normal male reaction to a pretty woman. But it was more than that and he knew it. She pulled her hand away too quickly for his tastes. But even after their connection had been broken, the echo of that surprising sizzle of heat lingered.
He rolled his window down, hoping the cool outside air would work on the sexual heat barbecuing him from the inside out.
“God, it’s been years since I’ve even thought of that name,” she whispered, half to herself.
“I don’t know what made me think of it,” he admitted. But being with her like this...memories filled the car like the scent of childhood summers.
He shifted in his seat again. What he was feeling at the moment had nothing whatever to do with the Tracy he remembered from years ago.
“I never told you,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful, “how much that nickname meant to me.”
“What?” He steered the car into the far right lane. Less traffic meant he could shoot her another look. Her blue eyes looked misty, shimmering. And entirely too beautiful. “As I remember it, you were less than happy with me at the time.”
“Oh, sure, I acted all insulted,” Tracy said. “It was awful the way I used to freckle up after a couple of hours in the sun. Meg always got such a great tan and I looked, well, dreadful.”
“Apparently, you’ve grown out of that,” he pointed out, noticing again her pale golden tan.
“Not completely,” she admitted. “It’s just that the freckles don’t pop out on my face anymore.”
Instantly, Rick imagined seeing those mysteriously hidden freckles for himself. His body quickened and he bit back a groan of discomfort. Hell, who would have guessed that little Tracy Hall could set his hormones in an uproar?
“But when you called me Spot...”
“Not very nice,” he said in his own defense, “but I was a kid.”
“I loved it.”
He slowed down to match the pace of the produce truck ahead of them. “You did?”
“Oh, yes.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, raking the curls back from her face and exposing the long elegant line of her throat. Those silver earrings twinkled in the sunlight. “Don’t you see?” she asked. “For me, it was the first time you ever really noticed me.”
He was noticing her plenty right now, but she appeared to be unaware of it.
“Oh,” he said, “I noticed. Hard not to when you were walking your dog back and forth in front of the house every half hour.”
She dipped her head and looked up at him, a smile curving lips that looked full and ripe and totally delicious.
“Again with the not subtle,” she said, chuckling. “When your mother made you stop calling me Spot, I thought my heart would break. My misery took up three whole pages in my diary.”
He forced a rueful laugh from a too tight throat. “I wish you’d told me that. Could have saved me a week’s grounding.”
“Hey,” she said, echoing his earlier excuse, “I was a kid.”
Not anymore, he wanted to say, but somehow managed not to. Good God, he hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid himself. His palms were sweating, his heartbeat thundered in his ears and he had to wonder if there was some sort of celestial irony in all of this.
Ten, fifteen years ago, he’d been the unwilling object of Tracy’s desire—at least for a little while. Now, it seemed the tables had been neatly turned.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered the car into the exit lane.
“We need gas,” he explained. “Might as well get something to eat while we’re at it.” Plus, he needed to get out of the car and move around. Try to walk while he still could.
It was only late afternoon, and they could drive several more hours before stopping for the night. At that thought, he gave a heartfelt, though silent, groan. A motel. With Tracy.
Man. He hoped somebody somewhere was getting a good laugh out of this.
“Okay,” she said, “and for our first night on the road, dinner’s my treat.”
He stopped at the end of the exit and gave her a smile he hoped didn’t look forced. “At least seventeen fifty’s worth.”
“Deal.”
Three
The coffee shop was crowded, indicating to two hungry travellers that the food was better than the decor. As she surveyed the room with wide eyes, Tracy desperately hoped so.
Dark wood paneling covered the walls and garishly colored baskets, containing long, trailing arms of plastic ivy, hung from the ceiling. Improbably colored sombreros were tacked to the walls and wagon-wheel chandeliers studded with candle-watt bulbs kept the place as dark as a cave.
But the waitress was friendly and took their order quickly. As she moved off to the kitchen, Tracy took the opportunity to—all right—stare at Rick.
Even after several hours in his company, she hadn’t looked her fill of that face. Strong jaw, sharp, straight nose, piercingly green eyes dotted with tiny gold flecks near the irises and a smile that had her insides screaming for mercy.
Amazing. She’d thought her feelings for him were safely buried years ago. Instead, here she sat, feeling that torch fan into flame again. The only difference between then and now was that the sensations were stronger, more raw. After all, she was grown up now. She had a lot more detailed—if still strictly theoretical—information to draw on for her fantasies.
Their waitress set glasses of iced tea