Page 34 of Takes Two to Tango

"Run, Mom!" Henry shouted, reaching for the water gun in Brent's hand. Brent let the child have the toy. His eyes were on her.

He lunged toward her. Rayne shrieked, hiked up her skirt, and ran to the other side of the fountain while Henry dunked the gun beneath the water in the pool, trying to refill it.

The sound of Brent's deep laughter joined hers as they raced around the monument The founding father glared his disapproval as Henry joined in the fray with a reloaded water gun. Rayne ran left and Brent met her. She spun and ran round the other side, but he was there before her.

Brent grabbed her upper arms and spun her backward. "You're going to pay for trying to make me look like I peed my pants."

Rayne could barely talk past the laughter. "Don't do it, Hambone."

He laughed at the nickname he'd earned in high school that made him sound like the hound dog he'd become. His laugh was low and luscious. Shivers crept up her spine. Then he scooped her into his arms. "Or what?"

"I'll tell everybody that you cried duringRudy,"she said, digging her fingers into the softness of his shirt. Her fingers slipped so she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling into the water he now held her over.

"Everybody cries during that movie," he said, allowing her to slide down to his forearms.

"Eek!" she cried twisting away from the depths of the fountain. She could feel the spray on her arms. She looked down. Six inches from submersion.

Brent played dirty.

But then a stream of water hit him full in the face.

He sputtered and stepped back. "What the-"

Henry delivered a Sioux warrior battle cry. He'd perfected the call to arms over and over in his room one Saturday. He did it rather well. ''That's what you get for trying to dunk my mom!'

Eyes shut against the water running down his face, he laughed then whispered, “Yeah? Well, that's not all I want to do to her."

Heat unfurled in her body and she became very aware of being held in his arms. Of the flirtiness of his words. Of how good his lips had felt on hers several nights before.

Rayne wanted to ignore the feelings stirring inside her so she turned her head to see her son darting toward the azalea bushes. Smart boy. He was taking cover.

Brent seemed content to hold her. Her hands were still locked behind his neck in a death clasp. She could feel his heart beating right next to her breast. Something more than heat fluttered inside her. She looked up at the man that a mere week ago she'd sworn to despise. Something shifted. It was thatfeeling she got when doing a jigsaw puzzle. Like when she slid one big blob of linked pieces over to another big blob of pieces, and then suddenly she could see where they linked and matched up.

Revelation.

Brent's gaze met hers, and she caught her breath at the expression in the depths. Water droplets dripped from his dark brows and rivulets of water streamed down his face, but his ice-blue eyes seemed almost... serene.

"I swear Hank is about as aggravating as I was at that age. How'd you put up with me?" he asked.

And just like that, with one sandal hanging off her right foot and her hair caught painfully between Brent's arm and chest …with a giggling eight-year-old still zapping Brent with a water gun …with all of Oak Stand tootling around the square going to the post office or the grocery store, Rayne felt herself go under.

For a second time.

What it was or how to describe it wasn't important. All she knew was that she didn't hate Brent anymore. Maybe it was acceptance. Or lust. Or a connection that never went away. She didn't know. And putting a name to it wouldn't help. All she knew was her feelings had changed and she saw him as he was in the fading afternoon light.

A boy who was more than what others saw, a boy who had poetry beneath the shoulder pads. Rayne was nearly certain that as a grown man he was way more than met the eye, even if he’d come home in the early hours of the morning, drunk, and carrying deflated condoms.

***

BRENT STUDIED THE beautiful creature he cradled in his arms and felt satisfaction sweep over him. Or was that warmth merely contentment?

Whatever it was, he'd not felt it in a long time. It was comfortable, like pulling on a favorite coat or taking the first sip of morning coffee.

Rayne stared back with a contemplative gleam in those brown depths. He loved her eyes. They were exactly the color of cinnamon, warm and spicy with a hint of imp. This was the Rayne he remembered. This was the Rayne he wanted to bring back.

And nothing beat standing in the middle of the town, holding her in his arms while being drenched by a demonic second grade sharpshooter.

Another blast of water hit him between the eyes, showering Rayne with a fine spray. She blinked against the assault, and the small droplets caught in her eyelashes.

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