She appeared poleaxed by his words.
When he leaned forward to kiss her, he urged, “Close your eyes.”
Her dark lashes fanned her cheek.
He brushed his lips over hers. “Your mouth is so soft. Such a perfect fit for mine.” At first, Colt kissed her with passion and promise, then he gentled the kiss into something wholly different.
Sweetness. Tenderness.
India sighed in his mouth.
His smile broke their lips free. “So in any of these romantic comedies, do they end up doin’ it on the swing?”
“Umm. No.”
“Pity. That, I’d pay to see.”
“Maybe we oughta jot that down on our kinky sex fantasy list to try, once we actually start having sex.”
“You have a…list of that kinda stuff?”
“Uh-huh. Don’t you?”
“No, but you can bet your sweet behind I’m startin’ one right now.”
She laughed.
They held hands as they walked back to the truck. “Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome. What are we doin’ tomorrow night?”
“Nothing. We can’t have a date every night of the week, Colt.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I think I’m supposed to play coy, bat my lashes, and pretend to be ‘busy’ washing my hair for the next two nights to keep you interested.”
He snorted. “The datin’ handbook clearly states we spend as much time together as possible to keep me interested.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Yep.”
“Then you’ve got an advantage over me because I’m flying blind here, Colt.” India gave him all-too brief a kiss before she hopped out of the cab.
He was damn tired of saying goodbye to her from the driver’s seat of his truck. And it was only their second date.
Colt put India out of his mind during the hours he spent working on the ranch. She’d kept her tattoo shop open late some nights, so she’d bailed on him for a third date.
When he’d called after breakfast and asked her plans for the evening, she’d offered some half-assed excuse. He couldn’t imagine she’d actually attempt the “playing hard to get” angle.
Instead of brooding and pacing in his empty house, he headed to the community center. He ran. Lifted weights. It helped if he focused on the pain of pushing himself to the limit and couldn’t flash back to the way India felt in his arms. The sweet, addictive taste of her mouth. The intoxicating scent of her hair and her skin.
Her soft, breathy moans when he kissed her. The husky, sexy timbre of her voice in his ear.
Think of something else or you’re going to get a hard-on in the gym.
Workout complete, he looped a towel around his sweaty neck and cut through the main hallway to the men’s locker room for a cold shower.
But it seemed as if those reminders were stuck on a continual mental loop. India’s taste. Her scent. Her laugh. Her voice. Her instructions for everyone to sit down and listen up or no one would get a cookie.
Huh?
Colt shook his head. Pathetic. Hearing her phantom voice.
Except…he took another step and heard it again.
“No, Ginny. Poke a hole in the cup first. Then put in the gravel.”
His heart kicked harder than when he’d been running flat out on the treadmill. India was here? He followed the sound of her voice, coming from inside a small room. He hesitated outside the door, in case he was delusional and hearing things.
“Once you get the soil in the cup—Jeremy honey, only fill it halfway, no, don’t pack it so tight—we’ll put in the seeds.”
“Oh, no, I spilled—” a girlish voice wailed.
“It’s okay, Becca, don’t cry. I’ve got lots more.”
“But I wanted to take it home to my mommy tonight!”
“You still can. We have time, sweetie, don’t worry. Go grab another cup and start over. I’ll be right there to help you.”
“India? Ruger threw a rock at Anton.”
“Did not!”
“Did too.”
“No throwing rocks, Ruger.”
Colt poked his head in and saw…total chaos.
At least ten kids, a mix of boys and girls, around seven years old, were flinging dirt all over a long table. A few boys were throwing small marble-sized gravel at each other. One red-haired girl poured water on a pile of dirt while an Indian girl stirred it into mud. A bespectacled kid was methodically stacking empty Styrofoam cups in precise rows. Some youngsters were actually sitting still, awaiting additional instructions.
But India wasn’t fazed. She stopped the rock fight, the mud-pie makers, and managed to get the cups back in the plastic bag, all while directing the kids in the next step of the project.
Colt was absolutely stunned. This was the woman who’d called him in a panic? About three kids? And she was juggling…ten? A disconcerting thought on its own, but not as confounding as why hadn’t India just told him about this when he’d called her this morning?
“Whose daddy are you?”
India looked over at him and froze.
“I’m not anybody’s daddy.” He glanced down at the tow-headed boy. “I was just passing by and wondered what you guys were doin’. Looks like fun.”
“We’re planting flowers!” the mud-pie maker exclaimed, throwing her hands up, flinging mud everywhere.
“Cool. Can I watch?” He stepped inside, bracing himself for India’s reaction.
She didn’t growl or demand he leave, like he’d expected, she smiled the angelic smile that twisted his guts into a pretzel. “Sure.
Come on in. You can even help.”
The bespectacled boy asked, “What’s your name?”
“Colt. What’s yours?”
“Hayden.” He gave Colt a thorough once-over. “Hey, are you Buck’s cousin?”
“Yes. I am. Do you know him?”
“Uh-huh. He’s my big buddy.”
“Lucky for Buck. So, Hayden, think you can help me make one of these things?”
Hayden beamed. “Yes. It’s quite logical, really.”
The rest of the kids started talking all at once, offering suggestions. Crowding him, but he didn’t mind.
India clapped her hands. “Okay, munchkins, listen up. Once everyone has soil in their cup, we’ll move to the next step, the fun part; planting the seeds.”
“Carrot seeds?”
“Eww. Gross. I hate carrots.”