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“She had a tough day,” Rasa said. “Real tough. Her boss is rich and famous and demanding. Not to mention she just turned thirty. She could use some sympathy.”
The cowboy was staring at Amy again. “Thirty? You don’t look twenty.”
“I feel thirty.”
“Bye, you two,” Rasa said, pulling out a chair for him as she winked at Amy. “Have fun! I think I’ll go ask somebody cute to dance while you two get to know each other.”
Burning color washed Amy’s cheeks. “Rasa!”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. I’ll go if you want me to.”
His eyes lingered on her face. They reminded her of warm, rich, dark chocolate, at least in color. At the same time, they were hard and shrewd, wary, too.
He seemed vulnerable and almost shy. Was he from the country, in town for a night of fun? If so, what would be the harm of sharing a drink if it went no further than a little flirting?
“No.” Was that squeaky, very unsexy sound her voice? “Don’t go,” she pleaded.
He turned. “You sure?”
No, I’m not sure. I’m the farthest thing from sure. But she said nothing more, and he sat down and signaled a waiter, who came flying to their table to wait on him. Quickly he ordered another round of drinks. Then he turned his full attention back to her.
Close up he was remarkably good-looking, too good-looking, really. Gorgeous even, if one could call such a big, dark, rough-looking man, gorgeous. His body was tall and lean and hard, and he had those wonderfully wide shoulders. His face, with its masculine, angular planes and chiseled cheekbones, was strong. He had thick, dark brows, a long, straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth. He wore a snowy white western shirt with pearl snap buttons.
“Where do you live?” she said, swallowing to wet the dryness in her throat.
“I have a ranch southwest of here.”
“I wondered if you were a real cowboy.”
“So, the country in me shows.”
“Only a little.” She laughed, and so did he. She’d once had a thing for cowboys.
“I’ve been ranching for ten years—among other things. Too many other things. I’d like to start concentrating on the ranching, but I needed to raise capital from my other ventures to buy land and stock.”
When she finished her Flirtita, he held up his hand, and the bartender brought her another.
“I really shouldn’t.”
“It’s a hot night,” he said. “You feel like dancing with me yet?”
When she gazed at him, his dark face blurred, which meant she’d better dance to burn off that last Flirtita. “Why not?”
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Slowly he folded her into his arms. Then he simply held her against his body for a long time, hesitating, before starting to dance. Still, all too soon they were swaying together to a slow western tune.
She didn’t consider herself a good dancer, and she hadn’t danced in years. He was sure and masterful even though he danced away from the other couples, who glided past them in a circle. As he held her against his powerful chest and they moved together, she forgot her fear of him and her guilt, at least for the moment. Dancing in his arms was like a drug. Soon her spirits rocketed sky-high.
Although they didn’t speak in words, their bodies spoke, and she began to feel more and more at ease with him. Or maybe it was the two Flirtitas. Soon it was as if she’d known him always. Gradually she relaxed, and their bodies became more intimately entwined.
When that song ended, he held her, his heat seeping into her, until the next one, which was a polka, started. Thank God. This time they skipped along expertly with the other dancers until her heart was beating in her throat and her breath began coming faster and faster. He never removed his gaze from her face, nor could she quit looking at him.
They danced to song after song, to waltzes, polkas and two-steps, and each number was more fun than the one before. She felt almost lighthearted. She floated in his arms. When at last the music slowed again, he held her more tightly than before, so tightly that their bodies melted into each other and she felt the hard imprint of his muscular frame molding her softer flesh. He was hot, and his white shirt felt damp. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave spiked by his own clean scent, which was both musky and pleasantly distinctive.
His holding her with their faces mere inches apart slowly became too erotic to bear.
“You’re a good dancer. You must practice. Do you come here often?” she asked, hoping he’d say no.
But he didn’t. He crushed her tighter. “I came here to meet somebody just for tonight. But this is different. Don’t you know that?” He stroked her throat with a callused thumb, causing a thousand little nerves to tingle delicately.
She gasped.
“You’re different,” he said. “I think you know that I could care about you…too much.”
Hearing the change in his rough voice, Amy glanced up at him. His intense, dark eyes were grave.
“Then you do…come here…often?”
His face was suddenly so serious, her heart ached.
“And do you dance with a different woman every night?”
“If you want to know do I sleep with a lot of different women, just ask me.”
“Well, do you?”
“I said you were different.” His voice had darkened. “I said I could care. I shouldn’t have said that, but I meant it.”
“You told me to ask, but you didn’t answer. Do you sleep around or not? Am I just tonight’s flavor?”
His mouth thinned. He spun her in an intricate turn and then snapped her back into his arms. “If I have in the past, I had my reasons,” he growled.
“A man either has character when it comes to women or he doesn’t,” she said.
“So, things are black-and-white with you, no shades of gray? Good or bad? Evil or virtuous?”
His words sliced her like a knife through soft tissue. She notched her chin up so high, she felt her neck muscles tighten.
“Which are you, then?” he asked. “A saint or a sinner?”
His question stung her like a whip. “You’re evading my question,” she persisted, her tone sharp.” Why is that, I wonder?”
“Maybe because I want you to think well of me.” He dragged her closer and bent his dark head down to hers. “What the hell are you running from?”
“You at the moment.”
“I don’t think so.”
When his mouth was less than an inch from hers, she touched his lips with a fingertip.
He sucked the tip into his mouth and suckled it, sending hot, thrilling shivers through her. “You don’t have to run from me. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was husky and his eyes unfocused as he pulled her against him. “I—”
“Wait. Not so fast,” she whispered huskily. “I want to know more about you first.”
“Okay. So, maybe I’ve had a few women. They were casual affairs.”
“One-night stands?”
“Uncomplicated fun.”
“I learned there’s no such thing.” The weight of her guilt crushed her heart. Why had she said that? Told him anything?
“Really? Then why are you here?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
When he lifted her hair back from her hot face, she tried to stop him. She was a little sensitive about her ears, thinking they stuck out too much. Then his mouth brushed her earlobe, and she felt another unwanted rush of heat fire the length of her spine.
“Are you so different from me? Isn’t this what you came here for?” He kissed her other earlobe.
“This?” she whispered.
“Sex?” he said.
“I for one don’t sleep around,” she said primly, pulling her hair back over her ears. “I don’t go to bars to pick up—”
“You’re here. What did you come here for, if not for this?” His lips nibbled her cheek. “You were giving me a look.”
The warmth he aroused was so delicious, she gasped. “Don’t. I feel faint.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Yes.”
“Or is it just me?”
“Maybe a little of both,” she admitted shyly.
He laughed.
“Don’t get conceited.”
He kissed her throat above the chunky coral necklace, and she shivered when more heated sensations flared in her stomach. Then she hugged herself with her arms.
“You smell good,” he said. “Like flowers.”
“Violets,” she replied. “Soap and perfume. It was a Christmas gift.”
“From a man?”
“From my mother.”
He kissed her again, harder than before, and she felt herself responding. Why shouldn’t she let him kiss her? Was it so wrong? He’d asked her if she was a saint or a sinner. She was definitely the latter. What would he say if she told him that because of her, her best friend had died and that now she lay in a cold, dark grave Amy couldn’t bear to look at?
His mouth made her feel like she was burning up. It wasn’t as if she was a virgin, either—although she was, if not technically, a kind of virgin. What was the modern term for it? A born-again virgin. It had been years since that wild time in her life that had ended in disaster. Years. And yet, in a way, that awful time felt like yesterday.
Because she didn’t want to think about the cemetery or the past, because she wanted to use him to blot it all out, she arched her left eyebrow flirtatiously. “So, what’s your name, cowboy?”
“Steve.” With blunt, expert fingers, he cupped her triangular chin. His warm breath fanned tendrils of her hair against her ear.
She relaxed a little as the western music, which was a mournful lament about lost love and death, ebbed and flowed around them.
“Steve,” she murmured huskily. “Steve. I’ve never known a Steve.”
“What’s yours?”
“Sally, er, Jones.”
“Sally?” He bent to kiss her again, and this time she parted her lips. For a long moment his mouth clung to hers. When he fused his body to hers, her heart clamored for even more.
“Take it home, you two. If it’s that good, save it for the bedroom,” a cowboy quipped as he and his partner glided past them on the dance floor.
“You want to?” Steve asked her. “I’ve got a hotel room.”
“Uncomplicated sex?”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have called it that.”
There’s no such thing as uncomplicated sex when two people feel as passionately about each other as we do. Somebody always has an agenda.
“Kiss me first,” she murmured, “and I’ll decide.”
“So this is a test?”
“Of sorts. Scared you won’t pass?” She stared teasingly into his dark eyes. “You are scared, aren’t you? In spite of all your practice with other women?”
“There haven’t been all that many, really,” he muttered, looking slightly offended.
He was a lot more arrogant when he was scared, she thought as he nuzzled the side of her throat with his mouth.
“A test, huh? All or nothing? I like that. So you’re a risk taker.”
“Not a good trait really.” She smiled nervously. “And you could decide you don’t want me.”
“Not a chance, darlin’.” His grip tightened on her. “Not a chance in hell.”
Thrilled beyond measure at the passion in his determined voice, she felt her heart skip lightly and then pound violently even before his mouth, which was gentle and sweet, claimed hers again. His warm lips slanted across hers, lingering softly until she moaned for more, until she clutched his neck, growing feverish with impatience for him to deepen the kiss.
But he didn’t.
