by Caro Carson
Which left Graham alone. Again.
He was next in the men’s line, but when the door opened, he almost turned to let the next man have his place. Graham didn’t want to miss her when she came back out.
Her. Em.
Just as quickly as he recognized that anticipation, that almost hopeful desire to see her again, he pounded it down. Hopeful. Who did he think he was?
She was self-possessed, confident—intriguing to him. But she was still young, a woman who’d calmly set her boundaries while wrapped in youthful blue ruffles.
He was nothing more than a jarhead who’d left the Marine Corps, who’d spent a year after that burning a few bridges in the corporate world, who’d returned to grad school only to drop out weeks ago. He was on his way to take the only job offer he had left, one from his uncle, one that would barely pay minimum wage, but one that would require little to no human contact in the rural part of Texas. He’d given up on fitting in with the world, and he had no business forgetting that tonight, not even for a minute.
Let the beauty live her beautiful life.
He stalked toward the blinding light, straight into the toilet stall, and slammed the door.
* * *
Oh, my gosh. Ohmigosh, ohmigosh—who was that man?
Emily washed her hands quickly, thoughts racing.
Heart racing.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened. She’d taken one look at him and bam! Her heart had started pounding. Then when she’d turned around and brushed against his body, she’d practically melted at his feet. He was hot. Hot in a way that the other men in her world weren’t.
She had the impression he could be dangerous, but she couldn’t say why. He’d just stood there, really. Just said one sentence to her idiot ex and nothing to her at all. But there was an aura about him that left her in no doubt that he was a man with whom one did not mess. An aura and a hard body.
She shivered as her soapy fingers slid together, but it was a delicious shiver. None of that danger had been directed her way, but she’d felt it. And it had triggered just about every primitive response she was capable of. More than she’d known she was capable of. She’d never met a man like that, not on her college campus, not even among the cowboys on her family’s ranch. She’d grown up here in cattle country, so she knew plenty of men who were plenty masculine, but none had ever been so...dangerous.
No, he wasn’t dangerous to her. What was the word she was looking for?
Sexual.
Maybe it was just sexy to have a man step in to defend her.
Him, Tarzan. Me...Jane?
No way. As long as Emily could remember, she’d always been able to rope and ride and keep up with the boys in her life. Unlike poor helpless Jane, Emily would never stand still in a frilly dress and scream uselessly, waiting for a man to swoop out of the jungle to save her.
Maybe that’s why no man ever has before.
She hadn’t known she could feel like Jane, body set all aflutter because a physically powerful man had brushed against her dress. Emily barely dried her hands before using the paper towel to yank the door open.
Too eagerly.
Slow down.
Had she learned nothing in her twenty-two years? Had her sisters’ dramatic love lives taught her nothing? Her mother’s three marriages?
Slow down.
She, Emily Dawn Davis, was not going to have her life derailed by a man. She was no Victorian miss, no helpless paragon of femininity waiting for a man to complete her. In fact, she’d prefer not to have a man in her life at all right now. She had plans. Things to do. Places to be. Goals to accomplish.
But not tonight.
She was going to have to obey her family and return to Oklahoma Tech University in three days whether she stayed at this bar another three minutes or three hours. She’d intended to leave when she’d realized her ex was here at Keller’s and her friends were not, but now...
A dangerous man had appointed himself her bodyguard. For once, she understood the appeal in having a man take care of everything. What would life be like as Jane, not having to stand up for herself as long as Tarzan was around? She could just look pretty in her new blue dress and—and—
And not be in charge of my own life.
Her mother was controlling enough. Her older sisters, too. This entire winter break had been one frustration after another as they put roadblocks in her path. The last thing she needed was a man to give her his opinions on where to go and how to live.
It was time to leave. There was nothing she needed from a man, not even from a bodyguard.
The men’s room door opened, and Tarzan stepped out in a blaze of light.
Sex.
Well. There was that.
She took in all the vivid details as the door slowly swung shut behind him. He wore a navy blue knit shirt, long sleeves pushed up his forearms. Snug jeans, not new. Boots, but not cowboy boots. Maybe he was a biker? His dark hair was just a shade shorter than most of the guys. Maybe he was from Fort Hood. A soldier?
She wanted to know. She was wild to know more about him.
In the last sliver of light before the door shut, their eyes met. The man had honest-to-goodness green eyes, a warm green, like the grass in autumn when she went riding, happy in her world.
Emily stared at him, mute. Had Jane been struck speechless when she’d first laid eyes on her uncivilized man?
We don’t do helpless. Snap out of it.
Emily forced herself to move. She stuck out her hand to shake his, as if she were back at the James Hill Ranch, meeting a new cowboy whom the foreman had hired for the season. Not the most feminine move, but it was better than staring.
“Hi there. I’m Emily Davis.”
“Graham.” He took her hand in his without taking his gaze off her face. He looked so terribly serious about a handshake, as if they were closing a business deal.
It occurred to her that she was accosting someone in a bathroom hallway, just like her ex had done. Just ugh. She was classier than this. More mature than this. Really, she was. But that electricity she’d felt when she’d first brushed against Tarzan was all there, that thrill in the air as warm palm met warm palm. Every crude line her girlfriends used to describe a sexy man, every purr about a man who could make a woman want to drop her panties at one smoldering look, all of them suddenly made sense.
Even his hand feels sexy.
He let go, gave her the slightest of nods and the smallest attempt at a smile, and then he started to shoulder past her.
No! Don’t go. In sudden desperation, words popped out of her mouth, the oldest pick-up line in the world, the one dozens of men had used on her. With a jerk of her chin toward the bar, she raised her voice over the music and the crowd.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Chapter Two
Ohmigosh, he said yes. I don’t know what to do.
Yes, you do. Get your act together.
She was going to buy a man a drink. She’d asked, he’d nodded and it was as simple as that. She was no helpless Jane. She was Emily Davis, future rancher—whether her family approved of that goal or not—and current purchaser of a beer for a man whom she wanted to... Well, never mind where her mind went at the sight of him. She just wanted to be around him. So she was going to buy him a drink.
He’d gestured out of the hallway with his nod, so she’d turned and started pushing her way back into the crowd. Guitars and drums obliterated all but the loudest shouts as Emily headed for the far side of the room, where the iron-trimmed wooden bar stretched the length of the wall. The hottest man in her world was currently half behind her, half beside her, matching her every move as she dodged left and right around people who were talking and drinking and standing in one place. The rush was as exciting as that first dro
p on a roller coaster.
Emily wedged herself in between two other people at the bar. Like all the other girls who wanted the bartender’s attention, Emily put her elbows on the iron-trimmed wood and started to lean forward, prepared to flirt her way into getting some service, but she felt Graham’s presence behind her, and she paused. He was in a different league than her college crowd—the college she was being forced to return to. She didn’t want to act like the other girls.
It wouldn’t work, anyway. Leaning over the bar generally gave the bartender a nice cleavage shot, which would hopefully get his attention, but Emily’s outfit was more subtle than that. Sure, her dress barely reached to mid-thigh and she was wearing her fancy cowboy boots, the ones that were only good for dancing, but her chest was covered with ruffles up to her neck, not exposed by a low neckline. Besides, the bartender tonight was Jason, helping out his family on his own winter break from college. She’d known Jason in high school, when her previous stepfather had lived far outside of Austin and the school bus ride had taken over an hour each way. If the sight of Emily’s cleavage was going to make Jason hustle over to her, it would have done so years ago.
“Yo, Jason!” But her shout had to compete with the band’s cover of a Merle Haggard outlaw country tune. She whistled instead, another masculine move, but the piercing sound worked. Jason pointed at her to let her know he was coming her way next. She turned to ask Tarzan—Graham—what he’d like, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. Instead, with his eyes narrowed and his jaw set, he was scanning the crowd.
Maybe he was looking for whichever friends he’d come in with. She hoped he wasn’t looking for a particular girl, but that was entirely possible. He was undeniably handsome, and the protective streak he seemed to have—and the buff body his shirt clung to—only made him more appealing. Women would fall all over him, as she had.
He was watching someone in particular now, no longer scanning. The thrill she’d felt from having his attention dropped a notch.
“Is beer okay?” she asked over the band.
He didn’t hear her.
She reached out to touch him, her fingertips sliding over his shirtsleeve, the curve of his bicep solid underneath that soft knit.
He looked at her.
“Light beer?” she asked, pointing at the handles of the beer taps in case he couldn’t hear her. “Dark beer?”
He shook his head and made a small gesture with his hand, almost like he was busy and she shouldn’t bother him. Nothing. Not right now.
Disappointment flooded through her, washing the thrill away. A little embarrassment heated her cheeks, because she’d misread him. That nod in the bathroom hallway hadn’t meant Yes, I’d like to spend more time with you, after all. He probably hadn’t even heard her question in the first place. He’d just been on his way to the bar himself. He was waiting for her to get her drink and go back to her friends, so he could order his and go back to whomever he was looking for.
There was nothing more Emily could do. Graham had turned half away from her again. Since he wasn’t even looking at her, she could hardly flirt with him now, even if she had the guts to risk a second rejection.
Emily caught Jason’s eye and held up one finger. One beer, darn it. One lonely beer.
From somewhere beyond the pool table, a male voice shouted in anger. Two voices. More. Suddenly, Graham’s hand was on her waist, his palm immediately warm through the thin blue material of her dress. Emily turned to him in surprise just as a flurry of violence erupted near the pool table.
The crowd lurched away as one, pushing everyone a foot closer to the bar, butting up against Graham. He was braced for it, though, and didn’t move. Emily wasn’t squashed at all, not with him standing like a wall, breaking the tide of people coming at her.
Emily stepped back as much as she could to give him room, but she could only back up a half step until the rounded iron edge of the bar touched her back. He stepped with her, keeping his hand on her waist, then placed his other hand on the bar beside her and braced his arm straight. There was more shouting, another surge as people tried to get out of the way of the fistfight. Emily was sheltered from the second wave, too, safe as she looked up into those green eyes, feeling Graham’s muscles flex as he kept his arm stiff and people collided with his back, and wow, this is much too sexy.
She could love being Jane. It would be too easy to get addicted to having this man protect her from the dangers of the jungle.
But he shouldn’t have to. The crowd pushed against him, and Emily grimaced apologetically. Fistfights around here were usually over as soon as they started, but the distinctive sound of a pool cue cracking cut through the air, as loud as a baseball bat splintering on a fast pitch. Women screamed.
“Let’s go,” Graham said.
He didn’t wait for her to answer. He let go of her waist to put his whole arm around her, holding her so that her back was against his chest. He raised his other arm in front of her and used it to firmly clear the way as he herded her toward the closest door, an emergency door with an alarm on it. She knew it would open onto an outdoor courtyard full of picnic tables that would be empty in January. The door was usually propped wide open with a cinder block on summer nights.
Tonight, in the dark, people were heading for the main exit, so she and Graham were like salmon going against the flow as they headed to the much closer emergency exit. The band stopped playing, one guitar after the other petering out mid-chord. More women started screaming, which only added to the chaos.
Emily ducked instinctively as a bottle flew over their heads. She kept moving, the wall of warm man protecting her, his body all around her. The crowd jostled them—well, it jostled him. She only felt everything secondhand, a vibration at her back as his body absorbed any impact. In an amazingly short time, a matter of seconds, Emily and her bodyguard pushed open the silver bar of the emergency exit and burst into the crisp, cold air of the empty courtyard.
“Go on.” He let go of her so suddenly that she took a couple more steps before it registered that he’d changed directions and gone back to catch the door before it shut. No alarm was sounding; it had probably never been armed after the summer. Graham reached in, leaning in with his shoulder, and handed out another woman. Another. Then a steady stream of men and women started pouring out of the open door, dozens of people filling up the patio, bringing their loud and excited chatter out into the cold January night.
She lost sight of him.
Her ex, Foster Bentson, hustled out the door instead. Foster looked around the growing crowd, but there was no sharpness in his gaze, no efficient scan of the situation. Instead, Foster looked nervous, peeking back over his shoulder as he put distance between himself and the fight inside. Emily watched him for a moment. That wasn’t nervousness; it was guilt. He looked like a child afraid someone had seen him filch an extra dessert.
“Em! Hey, Em!” One of Foster’s friends, Doug, called to her from the rapidly growing outdoor crowd. “Have you seen Foster and Mike?”
She pointed briefly. “Foster’s over there.”
Tarzan had disappeared back into the jungle silently. Emily couldn’t do anything about it except wait and hope she’d see him again. Being Jane had its sucky side.
Emily crossed her arms to keep herself warm. It wasn’t freezing, but it was still in the forties, typical January weather around here. It was cold enough that she hoped the crowd would be able to go back inside shortly. She’d dressed for her night out in something fun and feminine, not warm. Her legs were bare from mid-thigh to the tops of her cowboy boots. She was going to get real cold, real quick.
Instead of walking over to Foster, Doug hollered at his friend to come over to them. The guys greeted each other like they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of minutes, performing some kind of an arm wrestler’s grip of a handshake and a bump of shoulders.
<
br /> Oh, yeah. You’re a couple of he-men, the pair of you.
Emily looked around the growing crowd, but Graham was gone. It had been nice of him to get her out of the bar, but considering the way he’d helped the next few women as well, he’d just been a gentleman. He hadn’t wanted to have a drink with her, and he didn’t want to stick around and talk to her now. She wasn’t his Jane.
“Mike’s still inside,” Foster said. “I don’t know what happened. Some guy just pushed him, and next thing I knew, pool cues were flying.”
And then you ran outside to be safe and left Mike to fend for himself in there?
No wonder Foster had come out looking so guilty. He and Doug stared at one another in silence for a moment.
“But Mike can hold his own,” Doug offered.
“Oh, yeah. Mike can handle it.” Foster sounded eager to believe it.
“Yeah. Mike’s fine.”
Emily rolled her eyes even as she kept her arms crossed against the cold. “Whether Mike can handle himself or not, I’m sure he’d appreciate some backup.” She was half-tempted to go back inside, just to demonstrate how a loyal friend should act. But Mike was Foster’s friend, not hers.
Foster looked irritated. “Mike’s fine.”
“And you’re a wimp.” Then she smiled at him, very sweetly, just as he’d been begging her to do all night.
Foster opened his mouth, looking offended as all get-out, ready to tell her off.
Bring it, wimp. She was so in a mood for a fight. Nothing was going her way tonight. She’d come here to blow off some steam with girlfriends, because her family had spent the entire Christmas break trying to talk her out of the one career—the one life—she wanted. Talk had turned to ultimatums she couldn’t disobey. But her friends hadn’t shown up. Her ex had. Then a stranger named Graham had rocked her world just by standing still, but the man couldn’t be less interested in her. Frustration of every kind was boiling over.