by Maggie Wells
Something behind her caught his attention. “I know someone who isn’t….”
Before she could ask what he meant, a deep voice sliced through the strains of the overheated rock ballad.
“Excuse me.”
Their slow glide ground to a graceless halt, and Will turned his attention to the man beside them. “Yes?”
Greg’s scowl deepened the grooves bracketing his mouth. His nostrils flared when he cast a sidelong glance at her, but he made no move to stake a claim. At least, not physically. “This was supposed to be my dance.”
Will smirked. “Was it? I don’t know how you’d think so. I saw this beautiful woman standing all alone and I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Greg cut him off by turning to Jo and offering his hand palm up. “Wasn’t this my dance?”
The DJ’s swirling lights reflected in his dark eyes. The song reached a wailing crescendo, but she read his intent loud and clear. She also spotted a compelling sincerity burning bright in their depths. “Yes.”
