Rescue Me

the backs of her shoulders. “She hated it.”
    “Bet I could make you scream if I tied you up.” He lifted a brow. “You wouldn’t hate it, either.”
    She looked up at him from within the shadow of her hat. “Does that line usually work for you?”
    He shrugged. “It did the last time I used it.”
    She turned her head to one side and bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I assume that since you are a military man, you can shoot straight.”
    “Are you talking about weapons?” His expertise with weaponry was wide and varied with the situation, but his own weapon of choice was an automatic Colt pistol. The ACP was accurate to one inch at twenty-five yards and held eight deadly full metal jackets.
    “Shotguns. I thought we could shoot trap.”
    He tilted his head just to make sure he heard her clearly and dropped his gaze to her mouth. “You shoot?” The last shotgun he’d held had been the short version with a pistol grip.
    “Is a frog’s butt waterproof?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m a Texan and I grew up on a ranch.” She shoved the glasses onto her face. “Traps and skeet are two things that Daddy and I did together.”
    A beautiful woman who was good in bed and wanted nothing from him but sex? A woman who could lock and load and was wrapped up in one soft package? Had he died and gone to heaven?
    “I thought that since the benefits part of our friends-with-benefits situation is good . . .” She put a hand on the letters on her T-shirt. “At least I think it’s good. I thought we might try the friends part.”
    Is that what they were? Friends with benefits. “You wanna be friends?”
    “Sure. Why not?”
    “Ever have male friends?”
    “Yes.” She raised her eyes to the heavens as if counting. “Well, no. Not really.” She returned her gaze to him. “Have you? Had a female friend, I mean.”
    “No.” He slid his hand to her waist and pulled her closer. He didn’t believe it was really possible, but he liked spending time with her more than anyone else in town. So, what the hell? “Maybe I could give you a try.”

Chapter Fourteen
    S adie stumbled out of bed and stepped over her black lace panties, which lay on the floor. A smile tilted her lips as she reached for her robe and remembered Vince shoving her underwear down her thighs the night before. “You didn’t notice my underwear,” she’d complained as she’d reached for his belt buckle.
    “I noticed,” he’d answered, his voice rough with lust as he’d pushed her onto the bed. “I’m just more interested in what’s beneath your underwear.”
    The fact that they’d lasted until after traps before they’d torn at each other’s clothes had been a miracle. A frustrating, sexually charged miracle.
    She threaded her arms through the purple satin sleeves and tied the belt around her waist. She was competitive, but Vince was super competitive. She supposed she should have guessed that about him. He’d missed the first two clay targets, but once he got the hang of the long barrel and adjusted his shots for accuracy, the guy was deadly. He’d hit forty-one out of fifty pigeons.
    Sadie had been shooting clay pigeons for as long as she could recall. She was rusty, which accounted for her score of thirty-three.
    She moved into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her hair was a tangled mess from Vince’s hands and she looked like crap. Once again, she’d fallen asleep before he’d left, and she was glad he wasn’t around to see her so scary.
    Eyes still a little bleary, she walked down the hall and back stairs to the kitchen. The ends of her robe flapped about her calves and she came to a dead stop on the last step.
    “More coffee, Vince?”
    “No thank you, ma’am.”
    “Oh you. I told you to call me Clara Anne.”
    Sadie slid her bare feet to the hardwood floor and squinted across the kitchen to the cheery breakfast nook. Bathed in golden morning light, Vince sat at the table, the remnants of a feast in front of him.
    Well, this was awkward and embarrassing. “Good morning,” she said, and tucked her robe more securely.
    Vince glanced up and didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed. “Hello.”
    “Look who I caught sneaking out,” Clara Anne said as she reached into a cupboard and pulled out a coffee mug.
    She supposed that was a rhetorical question since he was sitting at the table. She took the mug from Clara Anne and poured coffee into it. She’d woken with men in the