He got out of his chair and went over to her side of the table. She was drinking her Midori Sour, and as he stood by her, she put down her cocktail and looked up at him.
Was there something in her gaze?
Something to hope for?
He held out his hand as the two-step kept playing over the sound system.
Biting her lip, she looked at her drink, as if the taste of it was lingering in her mouth, helping her to remember what it’d been like to drink Midori in college, go to the small country bars, dance to the down-home music.
She took his hand, and he smiled.
“I don’t remember how to do this,” she said as he led her to the dance floor.
“Just let me lead, Margot.”
“I...” She stumbled in those high boots. “I don’t know how to let anyone lead. I never have.”
“Trust me.”
He had her dancing in no time, keeping her in a firm grip that was gentle at the same time. He loved the feel of his palm on her waist, her hand in his.
Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat—that “something” he’d been hoping for pounded in the slight space between them.
Since they’d joined in the dance late, the music didn’t last long. It trailed off as the DJ invited people to participate in a foosball contest.
Meanwhile, the two of them stayed on the floor, still holding on to each other, even without a song to join them.
Suddenly, they were back in college, on that night. But it was as if this were a do-over.
A chance to make things right.
He wanted to kiss her now, needed to, because in spite of all the sex, they hadn’t had a moment like this yet. They hadn’t had a heart-to-heart kiss full of real emotion and innocence.
They were close, so very close, and they got even closer with every breath.
Two inches apart. One and a half.
A quarter of an inch.
Their lips could’ve touched if he moved only a fraction more.
But then he heard the crowd around them, and he realized that this was not the place for the intimacy he hungered for.
“Later, Margot,” he whispered in her ear. “We’re going to take this up with each other later.”
He drew away from her, and she looked at him a second longer, as if figuring out what he was all about. Then she laughed softly and headed back to their table.
Did she think he’d been teasing her again, setting her up for another sexual game?
As he returned to the table, too, he told himself that he definitely would find out later, after they got back home.
11
AS THE NIGHT went on, Margot just sat there in her seat, tapping her foot to the pumping music and thinking that, sometime, Clint was going to stop nursing the damn beer he’d been working on the entire time and ask her to dance again.
Why did she have the feeling he knew that she was waiting?
And waiting.
Eventually, she decided that she would gainfully occupy herself and show him that she had other things to do.
When the Monday-night football game ended and a band came on stage, encouraging a bunch of cowboys to swing their partners around the floor, Margot got out her phone and began texting with Dani.
How’s everything with you and Riley?
A few minutes passed. Then, an answer.
A-OK. Still some things to work out, but hard feelings put aside.
That news lifted Margot’s spirits, and by the time the band launched into a song that brought out the line-steppers, she was done with being on the fringes.
“Let’s go,” she yelled to Clint over the gyrating guitar riff in “Footloose.”
He shrugged and sent her one of his cocky grins, as if he’d known all along that she would be the one asking him to dance.
“I’m doing fine right here,” he said.
Jerk. But he’d see that two could play at this.
Glancing around the bar, she caught the eye of a tanned, tall cowpoke—a guy she’d seen speaking to Clint earlier when he’d gone to the bar to get Margot another Midori Sour after Lula had inexplicably decided to give them the worst service imaginable.
She smiled at Mr. Tall and Tanned, but after a beat in which she actually thought he might ask her to dance, he looked at Clint, then away from her.
She got the hint loud and clear.
“Did you spread the word that I wasn’t available?” she asked.
He finished his beer. “I might’ve mentioned it.”
Oh, really?
Well, screw this. She went to the floor, to a spot not far from their table, and joined a line of dancing cowboys and girls. All night long, she’d been studying how they moved, as well as the different steps, and those college nights when she used to Electric Slide and Tush Push til closing time came back to her with a vengeance.
As she stepped and slid and wiggled her butt more than the dance really called for, she locked gazes with Clint, giving him the same cocky smile he’d sent her earlier.
But now, the expression on his face wasn’t so self-satisfied. His mouth was set in a firm line while his hand gripped his empty beer bottle.
Ha! A taste of his own teasing medicine. She hoped he liked it. And she hoped he was regretting that moment earlier in the night when he’d almost kissed her.
She swore that he had come this close to doing it, his lips nearing hers until... Well, until the jerk had pulled away from her, playing her for a fool for real this time.
She’d hidden her mortifying frustration well, nonchalantly walking back to their table, but damn him, she’d somehow been anticipating—and worrying about—more than the games they’d been engaging in tonight.
As the song ended, the cowboys around the area applauded her hip-shaking performance. She made a playful show of turning to each and every one of them, thanking them, then facing the table again to gift Clint with a right-back-at-you grin.
But he wasn’t there.
And she knew just where he’d gone when she felt a hand on her arm from behind, firmly guiding her through the appreciative crowd and toward the exit.
“Nice show,” he said tightly.
“I try my best to entertain.”
They were in the parking lot in record time, and he opened the passenger door with such a pull that she thought he might tear it right off.
“Is Alpha Male angry?” she asked.
“Just get in.”
A thrill spun inside of her, but after a second, it didn’t feel right. A week ago it certainly would have, but now?
Now she wanted to ask him what was wrong, just to see if he would answer truthfully. She wanted him to admit that he might’ve been a teeny-weenie bit jealous while hearing those other men applaud her line dance.
They drove back to the ranch with the radio on full volume, the tires roaring over the country road until finally they passed under the iron arch that announced the Circle BBB. When they reached the ranch house, Clint snapped off the radio and wasted no time in alighting from the truck.
She opened her own door, thank you, shutting it and following him up the steps.
“I’d call the night a major success,” she said. “Very good research for that fish-out-of-water book. I might have to go back there tomorrow and drag some of those cowboys onto the dance floor, just to gather more anecdotal color for a possible story.”
God help her, but she’d meant to goad Clint—it was a part of that “push them away” deal she had going on. And as he came to the door, he paused.
> Goaded, indeed.
Why did she have the feeling that he was about to get serious?
Did she want him to?
A spark of that familiar panic that she got only when she was around Clint popped inside her. No way. She absolutely didn’t want him to get serious on her.
Thank goodness he didn’t do anything else but open the door, then stand aside to let her in while sweeping off his hat.
“After you, Fitzgerald,” he said.
She brushed right by him. “Would you stop calling me those names?”
“They’re compliments.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but closed it. How could she tell him that every nickname he’d been calling her since last week was an author who’d eventually become famous and respected?
The names were a slam to her pride when her own chances of even staying employed were looking slim.
She marched the rest of the way into the house, tossing her purse on a velvet-upholstered chair in the foyer, just as if this was her own home.
Thinking twice, she backed up and retrieved it.
“Going to bed already?” he asked.
“I’m tired.”
“You’re pissy.”
She stopped in her tracks and glanced behind her. “Excuse me?”
He was hanging his hat on a rack as if he had all the kick-around time in the world to poke at her.
“I’m just saying that you’re in a mood, Margot.”
“Do you maybe think it’s because you acted like a possessive troglodyte back at the bar?”
His eyebrows shot up as he sauntered nearer to her. “You do have a way with words.”
Why wouldn’t he outright engage in a sparring battle? It was the only comfortable way she knew to communicate with him.
He walked right by her, out of the foyer and into the family room, where he grabbed a remote for the big-screen TV, dropped down onto the sofa and turned on the device. A drop-down menu revealed shows that he had recorded, and he chose one.
Of all the programs in existence, Leigh’s “Come-On Down Kitchen” appeared on the screen.
“You don’t really watch this,” Margot said, wandering to the room’s entry and lingering there. Maybe she could start a fight with him yet.
“I recorded Leigh’s show because I thought you and Dani might want to see the newest episode.” He glanced at her. “Do you wanna?”
Even though his question was tipped with innuendo, she thought that he might be offering an olive branch of sorts, inviting her to relax with him.
Heck. She wasn’t really that tired, anyway, so she found a good spot in the corner of the cozy sofa, far enough away from him to make a point.
Clint clearly thought it was amusing.
“Get over it, Margot,” he said, reaching over, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer to him until her thigh was flush against his.
It took her a second to get her breath back. Took her a moment to get over how sexier-than-hell that move had been.
“This is way better,” he said, sounding content.
Margot couldn’t think of a thing to say. She merely attempted to control her heartbeat while they watched Leigh on the screen in her softly lit country kitchen, which boasted gingham curtains, evening-shaded trees peeking through the windows and the ingredients for a sensual Southern version of red velvet cake—emphasis on the velvet part—spread out before her on the counter. She was wearing a flannel shirt with one more button undone than she would’ve had in real life, flashing some cleavage and a little bit of tight tummy, since she had her shirt knotted at the bottom.
Being this close to Clint had Margot’s adrenaline pumping, running hot and cold. Sitting next to him with his leg against hers was...different. Especially since she kept expecting him to make a bigger move.
She tried to breathe. In, out. Don’t be too loud about it.
Just breathe.
And she was doing okay until he did make a bigger move—if you could call it that.
He slipped an arm on the back of the sofa behind her, and she could feel the vibration from his skin on the back of her neck.
A first date, she thought. That’s what this felt like.
The date they’d never had before skipping to all the other parts.
They’d seen each other naked, felt each other come to orgasm and, suddenly, she realized that she wanted something else.
A quiet date moment like this, on a sofa, just sitting around with a person who made something come alive in your chest.
Not allowing herself to think too much about that buzzing sensation—if she did, she would only run—she sank back into the sofa a little bit, against his muscle-bunched arm.
Relax, she thought.
But, naturally, she couldn’t.
Hell, she couldn’t even follow Leigh’s show, as her friend spread the red velvet batter in a cake pan with smooth strokes.
All Margot could do was think over and over again that Clint had his arm around her, and that she felt just like a teenager, anxious about the end of the night.
But then she started getting restless.
Time to go.
Time to run before it’s too late.
By the time Leigh was making a batch of sinful cake frosting on the TV, Margot was a complete bundle of nerves, wondering if Clint was going to kiss her...and wondering if he wasn’t.
Finally, she couldn’t deal anymore.
“Mind if I watch the rest of this later?” she asked, standing up and away from him.
Far, far away.
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” She started to leave, but more words wanted to trip off her tongue.
She let them. “I mean, thanks for everything. It really was a good night.”
And she made herself leave before she tripped herself, falling right into his arms.
* * *
MARGOT DIDN’T ACTUALLY sleep until dawn, when she heard the door shut downstairs, indicating that Clint had left for the working part of the ranch.
Finally, she thought, her eyes closing. No more wondering if he would come to her room to finish off all the building sexual tension from last night.
She went to sleep so quickly that she didn’t even have time to feel disappointed.
A few hours later, when her smartphone alarm went off, she sprang up in bed, automatically bending down and dragging her purse by the straps across the floor, then plunging her hand inside to turn off the wake-up-lazy-bones chimes.
Right away, she dialed a number.
After the pick-up, Margot blurted out, “Dani?”
“Hey.”
“He’s got some nerve.”
Dani paused on her end of the line, obviously trying to put two and two together. Then she laughed. “I know what you’re saying really isn’t funny, but it just sounds like you’re a character from Bye Bye Birdie. You know, at the beginning when all the screwy teenagers are blabbing on the phones about all the romantic gossip and—”
“Dani.”
“Okay, what did Clint do this time?” Then she halted. “Wait. How could he be getting on your nerves if you’re at home and not on his ranch?”
Time to come out with it. “I’m, uh, still here.”
“What?”
She’d gotten called out yet again. “I didn’t want to bother you with my issues when you and Riley
were having worse ones.”
“I like your issues, Marg. Believe me, they’ve been the highlight of my week.” She didn’t go into detail but instead asked, “Why did you decide to stay there?”
Here came the grilling, but it was a relief to get everything off her chest. “Clint had this idea for a new book.”
“Oh, a book. How could I not have guessed that? I’m sure you and Clint have had a lot of literary discussions.”
“I kid you not, Dani.” And she described his idea.
Dani seemed to chew on it for a second. Then, “I would totally read that.”
“You read everything I write, anyway.”
“That’s because your life has always been a vicarious pleasure.”
Why did she sound so wistful?
Margot didn’t have time to analyze the remark before Dani went on, in a much cheerier tone.
“You must be working very hard on that book, Marg. How late did you stay up last night working?”
“You’re mocking me about this?” Margot swung her legs over her mattress, her toes skimming the floor. “I called to tell you how much he’s driving me up a wall. I need a friendly ear.”
“Then talk away.”
So she related everything about her and Clint’s time in the bar—the near kiss, the territorial way he’d kept the other cowboys from dancing with her, even the end of the night when it’d felt so much like a date.
Dani sighed. “Like this is all a surprise. Riley said...”
She dropped the sentence midway, and Margot wasn’t about to let that go.
“What did Riley say?”
Dani made an I’m-shutting-up-now sound. “Ignore me. I really shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Well, you did.”
“Why do you even care when you’re just going to take off from the ranch soon? Unless...”
Oh, God. Even Dani suspected that Margot was much more interested than she should be.
“Listen,” Dani said. “I like Clint, and I know you, Margot. And as long as I’ve known you, you freak out at the first sign that a guy wants to get serious.”
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