Before We Kiss (Fool's Gold #14)

“Is Larissa involved?” Jack asked. “She has to be. Rabbits are just like her. Is she rescuing them? Am I going to have fifty rabbits in my house?”


Because whatever Larissa was involved with, she dragged Jack along. Sam found their relationship interesting. He knew they weren’t romantically involved. Larissa was the partners’ private masseuse, but she was Jack’s personal assistant. She also allowed him to stay emotionally detached while she got in the thick of things for him.

He’d often wondered how she kept her distance, emotionally. Every now and then he thought he saw something in her eyes, but then it was gone. He figured if Jack wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t be, either.

“There weren’t any rabbits,” he started, only to be interrupted by Taryn walking into the locker room.

He’d already pulled on briefs, but didn’t bother covering up. Taryn had seen it all before, with all of them. Sometimes, just to mess with her, they insisted on holding meetings in the steam room. Not that she cared about them all being naked. Instead she objected to what the moist heat did to her hair.

“Someone set fire to a bunch of rabbits?” she asked as she approached. “And you saved them?”

Sam pulled on a pair of jeans. “Rabbit costumes,” he corrected. “There were rabbit costumes. Hundreds of them.”

His three partners stared at him blankly.

“Hey, I can’t explain it, either,” he told them. “They have a parade every Easter and people dress up like rabbits.”

Taryn frowned. “Bunnies,” she murmured. “I read about it in the Acorn handbook. It’s a tradition. Our girls will be in the parade next year.”

A couple of months ago Taryn had agreed to help Angel with a special project. Fool’s Gold had its own version of scouting called Future Warriors of the Máa-zib. The youngest were Acorns. Even now, Sam couldn’t imagine Taryn sitting around with a bunch of little girls, but from what he’d heard, she’d been very popular with the Acorn set.

Kenny grinned. “So you’re going to dress up in a slightly crispy rabbit costume?”

Taryn wrinkled her nose. “Of course not. I’ll order one custom-made. Are they all right? The rabbits?”

“De-smoking out in Pyrite Park.” Sam shrugged into a fresh shirt. “The weather looks good. They’ll be fine.”

Taryn sighed. “My hero.”

* * *

KIPLING GILMORE FLEW down the mountain. Probably not his smartest move after so long away, but part of his need for speed was because of time spent partying and promoting and generally enjoying the end of a season that had included two Olympic gold medals.

Now he leaned forward and let gravity and aerodynamics increase his speed. He cleared his mind of conscious thought, allowing his body to react. The adjustments were automatic. Tightening, leaning, reaching for every advantage. In his game, failure was measured in hundredths of a second.

Serious training would start in a couple of days. Kipling was ready. He’d given up the late nights and the drinking. And the women. Now he would focus. The cold felt good, as did his body. His time in the gym paid off in quick responses. He was in control.

But he wasn’t alone on the mountain. His goggles impeded his peripheral vision just enough that he wasn’t sure what the blur was that raced across the side of the mountain. He was far enough away that it wasn’t a problem, but the guy on his left involuntarily jerked—and at sixty miles an hour, that could be deadly.

Kipling shifted out of the way, but it wasn’t enough. One second he was flying and the next he was falling.

For several heartbeats there was only silence and the world spinning and spinning. He knew he was in trouble, but he didn’t have time to consciously react. Trees came up hard and fast and when he hit there was a blinding light, followed by nothing at all.

* * *

DELLINA HAD KNOWN the panic would come. It was inevitable with a project this big. The trick was to hold it off for as long as possible. To stay in the moment and be focused on her list. Because in the end, good planning would save her.

Only she’d woken up that morning with what felt like a giant clock ticking in her head. They were less than two weeks away from the weekend and she didn’t have finalized menus or a completed schedule or goodie bags. She had to get the decisions made so she could lock it in with her vendors. Why didn’t Sam understand that?

She sucked in a breath and crossed to her front door. She pulled it open, glared at the handsome man standing on her front porch, then announced, “You’re not making this any easier.”

Sam’s eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m panicking. We have to make some decisions. There isn’t enough time.”

“What has you freaked out specifically?”

“Everything. Pretend it’s tax season.”

His frown deepened, then cleared. “Finance,” he told her. “Not accounting. I don’t do tax season.”

“Okay, whatever. I need you to make decisions.”

He stepped into her place. “Absolutely. Where do you want to start?”