by Jo McNally
A veil went over his eyes and he stopped smiling. “New in town. And I don’t like bars.”
“You’re married.”
He stopped moving, like she’d slapped him. “I would be at home with my wife if I was married. And we wouldn’t waste time dancing. Or if we did, it would be the horizontal kind.”
Emily cleared her throat and tried to dispel the image of Stone dancing. Horizontally. “So you think we’re wasting time here?”
“Not if I do this right.” He grinned and twirled his finger in a strand of her hair like he had every right to do it.
She stared at his finger like she would cut it off, but this seemed to have no effect on him. “What don’t you like about bars?”
He was probably an alcoholic and it was too hard to be around booze. Stone was up to bat, unaware he was about to strike out.
“People. Noise.” He threw a glance in the direction of the band.
“That’s music.” She glared at him.
“If you say so.”
“Where did you learn how to dance?” For a man who hated country music, he knew his steps.
His eyes closed for a brief second. “Long story. Let’s just say it involved a dare, a G-string and a six-pack of beer. I’d rather not say any more. What about you? Looking for something? Or someone?”
“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?” Heavens, her shield had slipped.
“You’re kidding. Every guy in this place has his eye on you.”
Not possible. She whipped her head around, wondering which one of them had fooled her. Stone, at least, was obvious. “No, they don’t. I went to school with half of these guys. They only want to dance with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you. What about you? Who gave you subtlety lessons, because you should really get your money back.”
“Hey, I’m only trying to protect you. From the others.”
Emily managed to crack a smile. “My sister and I come here whenever we want to dance. That’s all.” She wanted to spell it out for him because he didn’t look like the kind of guy who was used to hearing the word no from a woman. “And do you have to look at me like that?”
“Like how?”
“Like I’m a steak and you’re not a vegetarian.” Maybe if he’d stop looking at her like she was a T-bone, she could stop sweating. Already, a trickle had slid down the inside of her thigh straight into her boot.
“True, I’m not a vegetarian. But I don’t bite unless I’ve known you for at least a month.”
Someone get her the smelling salts. “A whole month?”
“Yep,” he said with a grin as the song ended.
The longest dance in history had ended. Time to get Molly home. Besides, if Emily didn’t get out of his arms, the rest of her resolve might weaken. Maybe all she needed was one night with a man like this to help her forget the way Greg had humiliated her, and this guy would do it, no question about it.
Too bad she wasn’t that kind of girl. Rules were in place for a reason. “I need to get my sister and get her home.”
“Are you sure?” He lifted her chin so it was inches away from his lips, and his warm breath reached her.
She wasn’t sure of anything as she stared into those eyes. They were kind eyes, and not the eyes of a man on the prowl, which made him all the more confusing. She could kiss him, if she was a different woman. If she wasn’t Emily Parker, currently researching her family tree, and if she was willing to forget who she was for a second, she could. Maybe. Might even let him kiss her. In another life.
It wasn’t going to happen tonight. Emily pivoted out of his arms and turned in time to see the back of Molly’s head.
Leaving the bar with Thomas.
Copyright © 2017 by Maria F. Buscher
ISBN-13: 9781488016882
She’s Far From Hollywood
Copyright © 2017 by Jo McNally
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