“Thanks. I thought it made me look like a biker chick.”
One brow lifted and disappeared within the shadow of his hat. “You don’t look anything like a biker chick. First off, you need leather and a bad attitude.” He paused for a moment before he added, “But come to think of it, you just might have the attitude part.”
Hope didn’t have an attitude, she just didn’t put up with a lot of crap.
“If you were a biker chick, you’d have to listen to your old man and sit on the back of his hog.” He bent his head over hers. “And quite frankly, honey, you strike me as a woman who likes to drive.” From ten feet away, someone called his name and he placed his hand on the small of her back. “Come on,” he said in a low, husky voice that sent shivers up her spine. “Let’s go shoot some squirrels.”
“Squirrels?”
He led her away from the food booths, and at that moment Hope would have followed him anywhere. “You want to shoot squirrels?”
“Yep.”
She would have followed him to the moon, the end of the earth, or shooting squirrels, but she had to admit that it was weird, and not a typical date. “I suppose they taste just like chicken,” she reasoned.
“I wouldn’t know.”
They moved down the midway, past the crowded food stands to the relatively deserted game booths. Most people had taken a break to eat, and the Shoot a Squirrel game was empty except for the carnival worker. She’d seen the booth earlier but had forgotten about it, because not only didn’t she have any desire to shoot a BB gun, each game cost the exorbitant price of two bucks.
She glanced at the five happy squirrel targets, then looked up at Dylan. One side of his face was lit by the light pouring from the booth; the other was covered in shadow. “When you said you wanted to shoot squirrel, I thought…”
“I know what you thought.” He removed his hand from the small of her back and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He handed the carnival worker, named Neville, ten dollars and was given two BB guns. “We’re going to have a contest,” Dylan said as he shoved his wallet into his back pocket. “I get two games and you get two. You also get a free practice round.”
She took the gun and held it at arm’s length. “What makes you think I need practice?”
“Just a wild guess.” He smiled, a slow and sensual turn of his mouth. “We’re also going to place a little side bet.”
“You don’t think I have a chance of winning do you?”
“Nope.”
He was probably right. “What’s the side bet?”
Dylan leaned his gun against the booth. Then, without a word, he stepped behind her and positioned her gun against her shoulder. He placed his warm hand over hers and positioned his finger over the trigger. “Now squeeze the trigger,” he said next to her right ear. She did and the BB hit the tarp behind the first squirrel. He folded her within the warmth of his solid chest, and the hairs on the back of her neck tingled as she fired again. The shot hit a bushy-tailed target happily munching on an acorn. “The secret to a steady shot is knowing how to handle a loaded weapon,” he said just above a whisper as he cocked the gun for her. “It takes a smooth motion of the wrist… and a slow, firm squeeze of the trigger.” The third shot hit the third squirrel with a loud ping that sent Hope’s nerves pinging through her body. “You look like a girl who’d be good at nice, smooth strokes and a firm squeeze.” The fourth target fell, and then the last. “Are you, Hope?”
Hope glanced at the carnie standing several feet away. He was watching them, but he couldn’t hear anything. She chose to ignore Dylan’s question, but that didn’t keep her insides from heating up and her nerves getting jumpy. She looked up into Dylan’s face and asked, “What’s the side bet?”
He stared into her eyes for a moment and then lowered his mouth closer to her ear. “When I win,” he said, “I get to lick you up like you’re ice cream.”
His breath on her ear warmed the side of her throat. “What happens if I win?”
He didn’t answer right away, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility. “You won’t.”
“What if I do?”
“Whatever you want.”
She tried to think of something to lighten the sexual tension, but her words came out sounding more sensual than she’d planned. “Like I could order you to come over and mow my yard?”
“That’s the best you can do?”
“Naked,” she added.
“Naked is good. Take out the part about mowing your yard and I just might let you win.” He brushed her arm with his hot palm and thought for a moment. “Nah, I like mine better. Maybe you should admit defeat right now and save yourself some embarrassment.”
“Do I have a choice?”
He dropped his hands and took a step back. “Hope, you always have a choice. I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do. What’s the fun in that?”