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More than that, he was sexy as all get-out. The smile, the eyes, the body. A quickie? She knew what a quickie was, thank you very much. Her one sexual experience had lasted less than two minutes, and it had been painful and unpleasant. She hadn’t minded at the time, because she’d thought the man who had asked her to marry him actually loved her, and that things would get better with time.
But she and Dustin Talbot hadn’t had time. She’d found out too soon that the only reason he’d asked her to marry him was that he had political ambitions, and being married to Gus Barrington’s daughter would be a real boost for his career.
Since her recovery from that disastrous encounter, she’d been cautiously guarding her heart and waiting. Waiting for the perfect man to come along. Waiting for her knight in shining armor to appear.
She might occasionally think of Boone as a kind of errant knight, but he was far from perfect.
Maybe she’d waited too long. She was twenty-seven years old, and no man had ever made her moan or shake or shout yee-haw.
As Jayne drifted toward sleep, she chastised herself. She’d be lucky to survive the coming days, and here she was worried about her sex life! Or lack thereof.
But once, just once, she’d like to shout yee-haw.
Boone awoke slowly, reluctant to return to the world of the waking. He’d feel better if he didn’t have to sleep at all, at least not on this job. He didn’t trust Darryl. And Darryl didn’t trust anyone.
There were four of them living in this shack, five if you counted Jayne, and yet there was only one working cell phone. Darryl’s. One car. Darryl’s. This shack was well off the beaten path, and whenever anyone needed to go to the nearest poor excuse for a town, usually for food or beer, he was not allowed to go alone. They traveled in pairs, always.
Setting up his cover here had taken time, but thanks to Dean and Luther, he’d had the paper trail and the contacts to make it work. An introduction from a snitch who hadn’t yet been retired or caught had brought Boone, as Richard Becker, into the circle that Darryl ran and worked. And Darryl was his only key to finding Gurza.
As he came fully awake, Boone realized he was warm. Very nicely, unusually warm. Jayne was using his chest as a pillow. Her head rested over his heart, and one arm was draped around him. She breathed deeply and evenly, and had thrown the covers off so the sheet was partially twisted around both of them. Most of the green comforter had fallen off the foot of the bed.
He should think of Jayne as nothing more than a nuisance. That was all she was. She had stumbled onto something ugly, and in doing so she’d complicated an already difficult job. That aside, Jayne Barrington was everything he didn’t like in a woman. Petite. Classy. Spoiled. Prudish. Rich. Dainty.
It was this make-believe relationship, he supposed, that made him occasionally look at her and wish that some of what he pretended was real.
He touched Jayne’s red-gold curls and gently shifted her head. Comfy as this was, it definitely wasn’t a good idea. “Wake up, sugar,” he whispered.
She murmured against his chest, wriggled a little and didn’t wake up.
His physical reaction to finding a half-dressed, pretty woman clinging to him in the morning, especially when he hadn’t had sex in months, was completely natural, he was certain. Perfectly understandable. Somehow he had to get this woman off him. Now.
“Jayne,” he said a little more loudly, patting her on the back this time.
She stirred finally, lifting her head to look him in the eye, whispering, “Yee…,” before coming fully awake.
Realizing where she was, Jayne rolled quickly away. “How dare you?” she asked in that prim voice she used when she was really a
“Pardon me, miss priss, but you will notice that I’m on my side of the bed and have been all night.”
She had no argument for that.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he left the bed. “You probably just got cold.” Or lonely. “No big deal.”
“Sorry,” she said softly.
Darryl was probably already up and about. Maybe the boys, too. He really should grab the headboard and shake the bed and tease Jayne until she squealed. But he couldn’t. No way. Not now. He grabbed his pistol from the bedside table and stood. “I’m going to take a shower.” A cold one. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in but me.”
“Don’t worry,” she muttered.
Once he was in the hallway, he listened until he heard the lock turn. He knew Jayne wouldn’t open that door to anyone but him, but still he rushed through his shower. One way to get his mind off inappropriate speculation was to get his mind back on business.
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