Fortune's Prince Charming. Nancy Thompson Robards
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is the first time I’ve been here. How about you? Did you spend any time here when you lived in Horseback Hollow?”
“No. It’s my first time, too.”
Zoe arched a brow. “Well, I’m glad we can share each other’s first time. You know, make it special.”
Phew! Did she realize the double entendre she was bandying about?
Of course she did. She could be a first-class flirt sometimes. When she was, it caught him off guard. He didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t want to encourage her. But on the other hand, encouraging her—adding fuel to the fire—was exactly what he wanted to do.
And that latter won out handily.
“Please be gentle with me,” he quipped. “I don’t ride roller coasters. I’m not that kind of guy.”
She locked gazes with him, her eyes sparkling.
“So, you don’t like it rough and fast, huh?”
Damn, how far was she going to take this? She was killing him.
“No, I’m more of a smooth and easy kind of a guy.”
“Really? Do tell.”
A rush of awareness coursed through him.
Her smile was nothing short of wicked. Obviously she knew she was getting to him, but that seemed only to fuel her fire. And his, for that matter. For a moment he fought the urge to close the distance between them and show her exactly how easy things between them could be, but somewhere in the fog of his lust-hazy brain, he knew that would only muddy the waters between them.
Especially since he was already keeping a secret from her. If things became intimate between them—and God knew it was taking every ounce of restraint he could muster to not cross that line—he would have to tell her about what he’d witnessed as he’d arrived.
Or would he?
Hell, his brain was so fried with want right now, he didn’t even know. The only way around it was to get out now.
He took a symbolic step back from her.
“I have a feeling Steffi-Anne is not going to go very easy on us if we hold up her race,” he said. “She seems to have us on a tight schedule. Why don’t we get over there now?”
Just as he’d predicted, Steffi-Anne was in a mood and she looked disheveled and frazzled, as if she was just about at her wit’s end. She’d pulled her straight blond hair back into a haphazard ponytail and her yellow blouse had a dirty smudge on it. From this angle, the harsh daylight and the scowl on her face aged her about ten years.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Zoe moved closer to him and pressed her pretty, tanned leg flush against his so that they were hip to hip. Well, they were in a sense. She was so petite that her hip hit his body in the upper thigh region. He loved how utterly un-self-conscious she was about invading his personal space. But the other good thing that came out of it was that he now knew for a fact that she seemed to fit perfectly under his arm. Just as if she belonged there.
And what her nicely tanned legs lacked in length they more than made up for in supple shapeliness. They looked strong and quite lovely, he thought as he bound the two of them together.
Being this close to her brought back the rush of awareness he’d felt earlier. He could smell her shampoo, something light and floral, and he could smell her soap—or maybe it was her perfume? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and he wanted to lean down and bury his face in that sweet, delicate spot where her neck curved into her shoulder.
Being here with her like this, feeling how well she fit in his arms, was an unexpected surprise. Suddenly this team-building nonsense seemed a little more palatable.
Even though he knew getting involved with the boss’s daughter was not a wise idea, it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy every single thing about being all tied up with Zoe Robinson. Win or lose.
* * *
It had been said the way a person danced revealed a lot about what kind of lover they would be. Zoe couldn’t help but wonder if the same rule applied to the way a couple’s bodies moved together and adapted to tests like the three-legged race and the water balloon toss. Because, if so, she and Joaquin were destined for greatness between the sheets.
They’d been beasts at the challenges that required them working together physically. Of course, it didn’t hurt at all that they had permission—no, they were required—to get into each other’s personal spaces and violate boundaries that were usually off-limits.
Could they please do team-building exercises every day?
Then again, if they did, Steffi-Anne would surely find some way to ensure she ended up paired with Joaquin.
Now that they were breaking for the barbecue lunch Cowboy Country was providing, Steffi-Anne was already weaseling her way back in to Joaquin’s company.
It had only been natural for Zoe and Joaquin to fall into the buffet line together since they’d been partners. After they got their food—pulled chicken and barbecued brisket with baked beans, coleslaw, potato salad and ice-cold glasses of sweet tea—they’d found two spots at a table.
Steffi-Anne filled her plate and brought her lunch over to the full table where Joaquin and Zoe were sitting with six other coworkers. Zoe was sitting next to Joaquin, who was on the end.
“Scooch, please,” she said, gently nudging Tracy from accounts receivable, on the opposite side of the table.
“There are plenty of places at the other tables,” said Tracy.
“Yes, but this is the only table in the shade.” Steffi-Anne had given the entire table the big, poor-me eyes and it had worked. Well, it had sent Tracy grumbling to another table where she could have more elbow room.
After Tracy left, Steffi-Anne zeroed in on Joaquin like a homing device.
“Aren’t you glad you came today?” Steffi-Anne said.
Joaquin smiled at Zoe. “Actually, I am. I’m having a lot of fun.”
The way he looked at her made Zoe’s heart perform a quickstep.
“I’ve been dying to go ride the Twin Rattlers Roller Coaster,” Steffi-Anne said. “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”
“I’ve been looking forward to the funnel cakes,” Zoe said. “I love them so much.”
Steffi-Anne looked at her as if she’d just said she was going to go eat a bucket of fish heads.
“God, Zoe, funnel cakes are pure fat. Fat, carbs and sugar,” she said. “You’re young now, sweetheart, but if you keep eating things like that, you’ll regret it sooner than you think.”
Since when had eating a funnel cake become a capital offense?
“I enjoy the occasional one,” she said. “One every five years won’t hurt anything.”
“Suit yourself.” Steffi-Anne shrugged, her gaze scanning the picnic area. “Oh, Zoe, look. There’s Ron Lowell. Didn’t the two of you used to date? He’s kind of cute in a bookish sort of way.”
“We went out a couple of times,” Zoe said, thrown by the non sequitur. “He’s a nice guy, but it was nothing serious.”
“Who are you dating now?” Steffi-Anne pressed.
“No one.”
“I thought you had a boyfriend,” she said.
“No, I’m completely free.”
The way Steffi-Anne was moving the food around on her plate instead of eating it made Zoe think of a witch at her cauldron. At any moment she might pull out a poison apple and lob it at her because it was much healthier than a funnel cake.
“I’m