by Alison Bliss
Sam laughed and accidentally lowered his gaze again. Her wide eyes and pinked-up cheeks told him everything he needed to know. The girl was terrified of embarrassing herself again, and for some strange reason, the desire to relieve her of that mental anguish washed over him. “If you can walk, then you can two-step. I’ll teach you.” He rose to lead her to the dance floor, but she didn’t move. “Come on,” he said, coaxing her out of her chair. “I promise not to let anyone call an ambulance…or a priest.”
She stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress by running her hands over her curves. Sam shifted his gaze and blew out a breath. Don’t look at her, you idiot, or you won’t be going home alone.
He held out his hand—one she reluctantly accepted—and then pulled her onto the crowded dance floor. He settled her left hand on his right shoulder and wrapped his free hand around her waist.
She stiffened.
“Relax,” he said, offering her a comforting smile. “This is supposed to be fun.” He quickly explained which leg to start on and the tempo of the dance, while she sighed nervously and forced her body to loosen. “Okay, ready?”
She nodded hesitantly, and he moved toward her, dancing her backward to the beat of the music. At first, she stumbled to keep up. She bit her bottom lip and concentrated intently on her foot placement, but she didn’t quit. Sam liked that about her, even if her jerky movements were throwing him off as well.
To help her keep the rhythm, he pulled her closer, forcing her to look over his shoulder instead of down at her feet. Then he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Quick, quick, slow. Slow.”
She improved instantly, and her movements lined up with his, matching the pace he’d set to the music as they glided across the dance floor. He was sure she was chanting the mantra over and over in her head and probably still wore a tense look of concentration and determination, but he hesitated to pull back to see for himself. Mostly because her soft skin emitted a sweet, delicious aroma, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Like the woman had bathed herself in vanilla-scented sugar. God, she smells incredible.
Her unexpected laugh had him wondering if he’d spoken out loud, but then he noticed her friend across the dance floor with a huge smile, giving them a thumbs-up. Not only was Leah dancing, but she was doing a fairly decent job at keeping up. Sure, her form could use a little polish, and she stepped on his foot every now and then, but he had to give the girl some credit.
“Your friend seems nice,” he said, making small talk to pass the time as well as smooth out the awkward silence.
“Valerie’s great, even under all that toy poodle cuteness.”
Sam let out a hearty laugh. “A poodle—that’s it! I had her pegged more as a Chihuahua, but I think you nailed it. All she needs is a large, obnoxious pink bow in her hair.”
“She stopped wearing hair ornaments after I made the reference last year,” Leah said with a giggle.
“She keeps staring over here. Why does she look so surprised to see you dancing?”
“Because I can’t dance,” Leah said evenly.
“Oh, really?” Placing his hand on her hip, Sam pushed her out, spun her around twice, and pulled her back to him in one smooth motion. “Looks like you’re doing a fine job to me.”
“It’s you,” she said, looking him square in the eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze that stole his breath. “Y-you make me look good.”
The song ended, and although they stopped moving, they didn’t separate. Silently, he stared at her face, taking in her features one by one. Emerald jewels stared back him, glistening under the strobe lights. She licked her plump, ripe lips nervously, coating them with a glossy sheen of moisture. Rosy cheeks, heated by the spike in body temperature, clearly had nothing to do with dancing. For a moment, Sam lost his wits.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, allowing his eyes to drop lower for a delicious view of her nicely rounded curves. “I think you look pretty damn—”
“Excuse me,” someone interrupted, tapping his shoulder. “Do you remember me from the other night?”
Sam and Leah both turned toward the black-haired beauty standing behind him. The young woman’s red leather pants clung low on her waist, displaying a midriff pierced by a sparkly diamond on a silver chain. Her top—if you could call it that—resembled a sexy push-up bra with rhinestones.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, glancing at Leah and then back to him. “But I saw you when I walked by and couldn’t help myself.” She giggled and blushed a little. “After all, it’s not every day a girl gets picked up and taken home by a stranger.”
Sam knew she referred to the innocent ride home he gave her when he found her on the side of the road with a flat tire and no spare, but he stiffened a little anyway. Anyone—including Leah—could easily take the girl’s comment out of context. And judging by the irritated expression on Leah’s face, she had done just that.
He could’ve told the truth. Hell, maybe he should have. But remembering what he was about to say to Leah made him rethink his position. The interruption had to be some sort of divine intervention. Otherwise he’d have his mouth trailing all over Leah’s body until morning. And that couldn’t happen. He meant what he’d said to Max. No women. Not even this one.
“Amy, right?” Sam asked the young woman and waited as she nodded in confirmation. “Would you like to dance?” Out of the corner of his eyes, he monitored Leah’s reaction. Her green eyes widened, and her mouth fell open before she snapped it closed. “You don’t mind, do you, Leah?”
“No, of course not.” She smiled briefly, but the disappointment was apparent in her lackluster eyes. Without another word, she pivoted and marched away, leaving an overwhelming amount of guilt in her wake.
“Give me a second,” he told the young woman and then rushed to catch Leah before she vacated the dance floor. “Leah, wait!”
She spun on him, her fierce eyes punching him straight in the gut. She was pissed and rightfully so. And that only made him feel more like a heel than he already did.
“Leah, it’s just that…” He should explain it all, if only to keep her from thinking he was a jackass. But he couldn’t. Not without leading her on, which wouldn’t be fair to her. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with her—with anyone, for that matter. And as cowardly as it was, the simplest solution was to let her think whatever horrible scenario she’d conjured up in her mind was true. “I’m sorry. You’re just not my type,” he blurted out.
Leah glanced across the floor, her eyes scrolling up and down Amy’s skin-baring, leather-clad figure. Then she peered down at her own voluptuous body and pursed her lips. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s not like I didn’t see it coming.” Then she turned and walked away.
He cringed. Not only was what he said the farthest thing from the truth, but the thoughtless brush-off sounded more like a fucked-up insult. Smooth, asshole. Real smooth.
Chapter Two
Leah sank into her chair.
It wasn’t the first time she’d been turned down because of her weight, and she doubted it would be the last. It was, however, the first time a man had been honest about it though. Not his type. Hmph.
As Sam danced with the girl, he occasionally glanced over, as if he were expecting Leah to burst into tears at any moment. Okay, so maybe she did feel like crying a little. But she wouldn’t. Not in public anyway. That sort of thing usually snuck up on her when she was lying in bed alone in the middle of the night, wondering if she’d ever meet a nice guy who didn’t care she had love handles and wasn’t a size two.
Even her ex-boyfriend had tried to force her to lose weight by ordering her salads and convincing her to join the gym. If he’d been a health nut, then it might not have been so insulting. Instead, he’d boasted about his great metabolism, ordered himself a bacon cheeseburger, and said he didn’t have time to work out. Yeah, he was a jerk too.
Leah sighed, motioned for the waitress, and ordered five shots of tequila. Her plan was simple.
She’d show Sam there were no hard feelings by buying the next round, including one for the stripper wannabe he was dancing with. Because she was mature like that. She stole another glance at him dancing with the midriff-baring brunette. Dickhead.
Why couldn’t he have just fed her a line of bullshit like other guys always did? I’ve sworn off women for good. I think I’m coming down with something. What’s your friend’s name? She wasn’t his type because he obviously preferred younger, skinnier girls. Why was she surprised? He hadn’t even committed her name to memory two seconds after they’d exchanged them. And he’d barely looked directly at her. That alone spoke volumes.
Leah rubbed at her forehead, wondering if the word pathetic had somehow appeared without her knowing. Because that’s exactly how she felt after Sam blew her off to dance with another woman.
The waitress brought the shots to the table, and Leah became even more depressed. Five shots of tequila sat in front of her reminding her that she was now the fifth wheel. Just great. And she was doing what she always did…pretending it didn’t bother her. But it did bother her. No, actually it annoyed the hell out of her.
So she developed a little crush on an inaccessible guy who wasn’t into shapely women. So what? Story of her life. No need to torture herself this way. Then she made the mistake of checking on Valerie. Unsurprisingly, she was in Max’s arms on the dance floor, engaged in conversation as they exchanged flirty eye contact and subtle glances.
Leah sighed. She didn’t begrudge Val for having a good time, but she would give anything to know the girl’s secret. How was it possible Leah struggled to find a single date, while a full-figured Valerie attracted every man who crossed her path? Maybe the old saying was true after all—blondes had more fun.
But then she glanced back to Sam dancing with the skinny brunette and narrowed her eyes. No. Apparently only blondes and thin women have more fun…
Well, not anymore. Screw him. She would make her own fun.
For the first time in her life, Leah was going to be bold. She picked up one of the shots of tequila and plucked the lime wedge off the side, tossing it onto a napkin. She didn’t need a sissy-ass lime wedge chaser. She was proving to herself how daring she could be. This was for her. Then she downed the shot in one gulp.
Oh God. She cringed and shuddered, then quickly reached for the lime wedge and bit into it, neutralizing the nasty tequila flavor. She knew she had made horrible faces but couldn’t help herself. The taste of the tequila was terrible. Thank goodness no one saw… Crap.
Wearing a grin, Sam stared at her from the dance floor.
She squirmed in her seat as irritation transformed into anger, and the sudden need to wipe that stupid smile off his face took over. So she lifted a second shot glass and quickly tossed it back, forcing herself to keep a straight face. He continued to watch closely so she lifted a third glass. That had him raising a brow and his mouth collapsing into a thin, straight line. Guess he didn’t approve.
Like I care? Hardly.
Leah wanted to laugh, but instead she lifted the next shot higher, toasting Sam’s asshole behavior, and threw that one back as well. The shots were getting surprisingly easier—and better tasting—by the minute, so she finished off the other two. That made Sam frown, and he squinted at her, as if he were trying to figure out what the hell she was doing. Like it was any of his business.
She ignored his questioning glare and again searched the room for Valerie, who had vanished. Great. Leah still hadn’t spotted her when a broad figure blocked her view of the dance floor. She gazed up to see Shrimper Bob leering at her with his eyeballs dangling out of their sockets and halfway down her cleavage.
“Whoa! I’d do a body shot off your chest any day,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He gestured to the five empty shot glasses. “Tequila tastes better when you lick salt off each other. Why don’t we try it and have a little fun?”
Leah cringed. No way was she licking anything off someone she’d dubbed Shrimper Bob. “No thanks.”
“Aw, come on,” he slurred drunkenly. “I don’t bite. At least not unless you want me to.” He chuckled and stepped closer.
Leah shot out of her seat to move away from him but swayed and gripped the back of her chair, dizzy from the five shots that had apparently hit her when she rose. Shrimper Bob gripped her arm and pulled her into his chest, which reeked of beer and sweat.
“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.”
“Let go. I don’t want your help.”
He sniffed her hair and tightened his grasp on her arm, while wrapping his other brawny arm around her waist. “Why don’t I take you out to my truck and you can lay down on my lap for a while?”
Yeah, like that was the least bit appealing. “Why don’t you get lost?” Leah jerked away, freeing herself from his grasp. “Like I said, I’m not interested.”
A drunken, lopsided grin widened his face. “I bet I could change your mind.”
And I bet I could kick your nuts halfway across the room. “Sorry, it’s not going to happen.” She started to stagger away, but he reached for her again and laughed, as if this were some fun game they were playing. “Stop touching me!”
“Oh, come on, I’m just playing around,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender and winking. “You know, just copping a little feel.”
“Touch her again and the only thing you’re going to feel is my fist in your face.”
* * *
Sam had known this guy would cause trouble before the night was out.
When the big man had sat near them at the bar, Sam heard some of the crude comments he made to the bartender about various women who passed by. Since the man hadn’t spoken directly to any of them, Sam let it go, chalking it up to the alcohol. But putting his hands on a lady, when she’d already asked him not to, was going too far.
“I can handle this,” Leah said, stepping up beside Sam.
“Looks like your boyfriend wants in on the action.” The man laughed and squared his broad shoulders, daring Sam to intervene.
A searing heat traveled through Sam’s body as he clenched his fist. He was only seconds away from losing his temper completely. “Why don’t you walk away before someone gets hurt?”
The other guy’s eyes lit up at the challenge. “What? Afraid your little bitch found herself a real man?”
Sam shook his head. “Should’ve listened to the warning, dipshit.”
In a lightning-fast move, he swung and cracked his knuckles against the other man’s rock-hard jaw. The solid punch knocked him out cold, and his big body crumpled into a heap on the floor. Sam stood over him, shaking his fist and rubbing his sore knuckles.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Leah yelled.
Sam looked at her stupidly. “He insulted you.”
“And?”
“And…he insulted you.”
“So what? You think it’s the first time I’ve been insulted by some asshole?” she scolded him with an accusatory glare then paused and lifted one finger in the air. “Oh, I get it. You probably don’t think I get many offers.”
“What? No, of course I don’t think that. I was just—”
“Uh-oh,” Leah said, glancing over his shoulder.
A bald-headed bouncer in a black shirt barged over, pointing to the exit. “Out!” he demanded. “Both of you.”
Leah’s eyes widened. “But my friend is in here some—”
“I don’t care,” the bouncer sneered, unsympathetic to her situation. “Get out. Now.”
She scowled at Sam then huffed as she wobbled toward the door. He followed behind her, amused by the way she focused all her attention on walking so she wouldn’t fall over. Served her right for slamming back five shots, one after another.
Once outside, she rounded on him with glazed eyes of fury. “This is all your fault,” she slurred, swaying on her feet. “If you would’ve just stayed out of it, then everything would’ve been fine. You didn’t have t
o punch him.”
“He had it coming.”
“I was handling it.”
“You can barely walk straight, much less fend off some offensive asshole.”
She narrowed her eyes, obviously still pissed off. “Oh yeah? Well, he wasn’t the first offensive asshole I crossed paths with tonight.”
Sam had a sneaking suspicion she was referring to him, probably from the way her eyes shot flaming daggers at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What happened? Did you draw the short straw? Lost a bet with your buddy, Max, and got stuck with Large Marge?”
Sam blinked, stunned and completely clueless as to who she was talking about. “Bet? What are you talking about? And who the hell is Large Marge?”
“Like you don’t know?” Leah shook her head with disgust and sighed. “Now, thanks to you, I have to walk home. Valerie was my ride.”
“I’ll take you home,” Sam said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “You’re in no condition to walk anywhere.”
He wasn’t sure why the comment upset her even more, but she practically growled out, “I guess you don’t think I can walk that far.”
Sam shrugged it off. “No, actually, I don’t. You’d face-plant before you even got out of the parking lot.” He led the way over to his red truck nearby and opened the passenger door as she mumbled incoherently behind him. “Do you need help getting in?”
She climbed clumsily into the cab without his assistance and heaved out a breath. “What were you planning on doing…greasing my whale ass to fit through the door?” Then she slammed the truck door closed.
Only then did Sam understand. Obviously, he had somehow offended her about her weight, though he wasn’t sure what he did wrong. Then he remembered his comment on the dance floor. You’re just not my type. Oh, hell.
She must’ve thought that was what he meant. God, she didn’t know how wrong she was. It was Max who liked his women sleek and thin as a rail, not Sam. In fact, most women his buddy dated were one sandwich shy of being hospitalized for malnutrition. Their bones jutted out of their shoulders, and the majority of them shopped in the kids’ clothing department to find something that fit their tiny frames. To Sam, that wasn’t a sexy woman—it was a prepubescent child.