Tucker by Emily March

Author:Emily March
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter Eleven

In the minutes following the kiss, Gillian’s four years of high school drama class paid off. Outwardly, she remained calm, cool, and collected. Inside, she was an emotional gob of goo. Tucker had kissed her again. She’d kissed him back. And enjoyed it. A lot.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Stop. This was trouble. She wasn’t ready for this.

As they retraced their steps heading back toward Tucker’s truck, Gillian ignored all the bounties of nature that she’d noticed on the way in. This time, she didn’t hear the sound of the distant waterfall or smell the musty scent of decay as they traversed the wooded section of the trail. She barely took note of the tree roots crisscrossing their path, which required stepping over, and certainly didn’t notice the dapple of sunlight and shadow on the forest floor. She was totally lost in thought.

She’d been ready for his mild flirtations and over-the-top compliments. They’d been balm for her wounded heart, and she’d done nothing to shut them down. Were she honest with herself, she would admit she’d encouraged them. But this kiss? This kiss had been way more than mild flirtation or roadside impulse. This kiss from Tucker had blindsided her. It had been ten thousand watts of raw energy that knocked her new hiking boots off and heated her blood and recharged nerves that had been dead since the breakup. Shoot, even before the breakup.

Had Jeremy’s kiss ever jolted her this way? If so, it was too long ago to remember.

That truth unsettled her and distracted her. Inattentive to the trail, when her new boot skidded on loose gravel of a rockslide during a section that climbed along the canyon wall, her reaction was sluggish. The next few seconds passed as if in slow motion, though it happened very fast.

“Nyah!” she exclaimed when she lost her balance and knew she was going down. In her peripheral vision, she saw Tucker whip his head around in alarm.

Thud. Pain jarred her shoulder and hip as she landed on her side and rolled and slid downhill until a dusty, windswept pile of brittle leaves slowed her momentum and pillowed her crash into a boulder. “Oomph.”

“Gillian!” Tucker scrambled sure-footed down the hill.

She sat up, sneezed twice, and was attempting to stand when he reached her and steadied her with his hands around her waist. “Hold still, honey. Are you hurt? What hurts?”

“My pride.” She found her footing and balance.

“Anything else?” His gaze skimmed over her. “Ankle? Arm? Shoulder?”

She wanted to massage her butt, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She pushed his hands away. “No, seriously. I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

She wasn’t about to explain her inattention either. With a bit of snippy in her voice, she said, “The greenhorn in me surfaced. I told you I don’t do the outdoors.”

His lips twitched. “Well, yeah, it does appear that the outdoors got the better of you.” He flicked some leaves out of her hair, then thumbed dirt off her cheek. “You’re a mess. You’ve scratched yourself.

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