A fast song came on in the bar, along with the DJ calling out a line dance.
No more pity party. Not with a song beckoning for her to whisk Tommy to the dance floor and boogie down.
She wound through the crowd pouring off the bar stools, then zigzagged through tables en route to the dance floor, searching out Tommy and Matt as she moved. Lo and behold, they were already dancing, along with Kellan’s six-year-old goddaughter, Daisy. Matt didn’t see her, busy as he was modeling the steps to the Watermelon Crawl for the kids.
In Jenna’s experience, kids made lots of men nervous, especially those of the unattached variety, but not Matt. From the day he’d come into her family’s life to negotiate an oil rights contract, he’d gotten down to the kids’ level and played or talked with them as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Blame it on her hormones or Darwin’s theory of evolution, but seeing a man interacting with kids got her blood stirring and her imagination looking into the future. To top it off, clearly Matt could hold his own on the dance floor. He handled the kids and the steps like he did everything else in his life—with smooth, easygoing confidence and genuine enjoyment. It was this uncommon quality that had caught her attention all those months ago and dropped her deeper and deeper into longing every time they were together.
And, sweet sundae, did she long for him tonight.
She hung back, watching. Daisy didn’t give two wits whether she did the steps right, but Tommy’s tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as he watched Matt’s boots.
During the butt shimmy part of the choreography, Tommy hammed it up, and Jenna couldn’t stifle a laugh, he was so cute.
The laugh caught Tommy’s attention. “Mommy, I’m dancing! Just like we practice at home.”
She met Matt’s amused expression with a wink, then smiled at her son. “I can see that. Great job.” She scooted close to the kids and grabbed Tommy and Daisy’s hands to help them into a turn.
Matt leaned her way during a kick and weight change. “He told me you two do a lot of line dancing and two-stepping in the living room before bedtime.”
True enough. She could dance until her boots wore out and the band went home or the radio broke. It was her favorite way of letting off steam since she’d stopped raising hell in order to raise her son right.
“I can’t think of a better way to end the day.” Well, she could, but it’d been a while—too damn long, in fact—since she’d had the pleasure of indulging in that particular pastime.
They turned again. She helped Tommy line up in front of her, then got busy staring at Matt’s behind as he kicked and moved with the music. It was such a fine view, she nearly hummed her appreciation out loud.
Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the prolonged view of Matt’s posterior, but she wasn’t as worried about tomorrow as she had been for months. She’d run herself into the ground organizing every detail of the wedding and reception, and she felt great about what she’d accomplished. She deserved a little R & R tonight before the wedding-day craziness was upon them.
On the far side of the bar, she caught a glimpse of Kellan, Amy, and Rachel laughing while Vaughn told them an animated story with lots of gesturing. Her sisters and Tommy, and now Kellan and Vaughn, were her only living family, and she’d do anything to make sure they were happy.
A stab of conscience cut through her gut. That wasn’t entirely true.
She’d do anything for her sisters and brothers-in-law . . . except stay in Catcher Creek one day longer than was absolutely necessary. She shoved the unpleasant awareness from her mind. Tonight wasn’t the time to worry about that. Neither was tomorrow. After the wedding would be soon enough to deal with the coming storm.
The ending notes of “The Watermelon Crawl” blended with the beginning of a waltz. Jenna’s favorite dance.
Even so, she refused to ask Matt to dance with her or even look his way with hopeful anticipation. She was far too proud to beg for his interest if he wouldn’t give it freely. Not that he’d notice her looking. His brown leather boots seemed glued to the ground and he cracked his knuckles, his dark eyes haunted as they followed Tommy and Daisy off the floor with Daisy’s mom, Lisa.
She’d seen that shadow of a look flash over his features before in moments of unguardedness that hinted at a private fight being waged in his mind. She’d become aware of its presence two months ago, the day he’d joined their family to celebrate Tommy’s birthday with cake and ice cream at the Catcher Creek Café. And now that she was aware of it, not a night with him went by that she didn’t notice that haunted look cross his face at least once. As soon as it revealed itself, it was gone and he was back to being easygoing, happy Matt.
Talk to me, she wanted to press. What is it, and does it have to do with why you won’t let me into your life?
But she never did ask because she couldn’t get him alone no matter what she tried. She couldn’t even get him to dance with her tonight. Irritation flared, but she tamped it down. There she went, making everything complicated. Maybe interest had nothing to do with it. Maybe he didn’t know how to waltz. He’d nailed the Watermelon Crawl, but partner dancing was a whole different bale of hay.
She swished her skirt with her hands as she debated the merits of a trip to the ladies’ room to save her from standing there awkwardly for much longer. This was one of her least favorite parts of being single—never knowing if she’d have a partner for the next dance. Nothing brought her aloneness into starker focus than when she was prevented from doing the thing she loved most because she didn’t have a man in her life.
Salvation came fast on the heels of those dark thoughts in the form of a cute, young cowboy flaunting a starched red western shirt and shiny belt buckle. He was too good-ol’-boy for her taste, complete with a wad of chew puffing his cheek, but she smiled invitingly anyway. Dancing a waltz didn’t bind her to the guy for life.
“Care to dance, miss?”
Her answer was on the tip of her tongue when Matt appeared at her side, a proprietary hand sliding around her waist. Well, well, well . . . perhaps all he’d needed was a rival to remind him she wasn’t going to wait forever while he made up his mind.
“Sorry, man. She’s spoken for on this dance.”
Jenna bit back a swoon. Lord have mercy. She’d never thought she had much use for testosterone-fueled machismo, but the aggressive edge in his tone called to the feminine part of her psyche in a way she hadn’t expected.
Doing her best to turn her smile apologetic, she mouthed a sorry to the young cowboy, but he was already wandering off, scanning the crowd for another potential partner, leaving her free to concentrate on the big, solid man at her side. She ran her gaze along her shoulder, then up Matt’s body until it landed on his face. “I don’t remember you asking me to dance.”
He turned her in his arms and took her right hand in his, his eyes flashing down the length of her. “Some things don’t need to be said.”
It was the first time their hands had touched outside of a handshake. His hand was strong, with calluses she hadn’t expected to feel on a lawyer. With a motion so slow it seemed to stretch time, he dragged his thumb over the back of her fingers as though cradling her hand in his wasn’t nearly enough friction to satisfy him.
She responded with a slow crawl of her other hand up the muscles of his arm to settle into closed hold position. His body was unyielding beneath her touch—deliciously hard and male. A fantasy flashed in her mind of the two of them in her bedroom, standing together like this but without a stitch of clothing. Without any of the barriers that presently stood between them.
A corner of his mouth kicked up into a wolfish grin. “I guess we’d better get to waltzing before the song ends.”
Before she could answer, he stepped her back into the swirl of dancers and let the lilting rhythm of the music carry them away.
The lights had been dimmed to blues and purples, hushing the party crowd, while a disco ball gave life t
o the dreamy lyrics about summer love under a blanket of stars in the big old Western sky.
When they reached the far end of the dance floor, the arm at her waist pulled her nearer. His mouth dipped close to her ear. “Are you ready for Amy’s big day, Miss Wedding Planner?”
His breath lighted across her neck, igniting a tremor of sensation through her body. “I’m ready, all right, but by the skin of my teeth. I thought six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding reception. What a joke. Now I understand why people plan these things a year or more out. There was no convincing Amy and Kellan to take their time, though.”
“I’ve known Kellan going on ten years, since I was a T.A. in an oil law course he was taking, and he’s always been the jump-in-with-both-feet type.”
No wonder he and Amy were perfect for each other. Amy gave new meaning to the term full steam ahead. Jenna turned her face to meet his eyes. “But you’re not like that. You’re more of a wade-in-slowly kind of guy.” If their relationship moved much slower, they’d be going backward.
He tipped his head, considering. “I guess I am. Wasn’t always that way, but I suppose I’ve gotten more cautious with age.”
“That makes you sound old, but you’re only, what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
He guided them around a couple who looked brand-new to the world of country-western dance, staring at their legs and counting the steps aloud. “I’m thirty-three.”
“Still too young to be cautious.”
His expression turned teasing. “I know it’s taboo to mention a lady’s age, but pardon me if I have trouble taking aging advice from someone who hasn’t even hit thirty yet.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t let on that I only just turned twenty-four in June.” He got quiet, probably doing what everybody else did when they realized how young she was. She beat him to the punch. “I had Tommy when I was nineteen.”
He was gentlemanly enough to mask his shock, but not before his eyebrows flickered up.
“I know, so young.” With a flippant wave of her hand, she smiled warmly to let him know it was okay for him to be shocked. She’d been pretty darn shocked when she’d first found out too. “I guess I’m way too fertile for my own good.”
Matt’s shoulders stiffened. “Most people are.”
What an odd comeback. In all the times she’d made that same joke about her pregnancy, she’d never heard a response quite like that. She was in the process of formulating a question, when, without breaking his impeccable rhythm, Matt added pressure to the hand at her waist, her cue that they were about to get fancy with their dancing.
Bring it, she thought as he lifted the hand she held, then expertly partnered her through a triple spin into a reverse that erased the questions from her mind. She nearly laughed with the giddiness at performing the complicated steps and the deftness of his execution. Now this was how dancing was supposed to be.
Breathless, she met him in closed hold once more. His hand slipped to her back with the control of a man who’d spun a lot of women around the dance floor in his day.
She shoved the petty thought aside. After all, she’d been spun around the dance floor plenty of times by plenty of men. And she refused to hold anyone else to their pasts when she hated that she couldn’t escape her own.
“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” she said.
His cocky, lopsided smile sent a flash of heat through her. “One of my many secrets.”
Before she could respond to such a baiting remark, he spun her in a double turn that twisted into a side-by-side shadow hold. Swinging her chin over her shoulder, she met his warm, confident smile. Hot damn, this man lit her fire.
With a wink that told her he knew exactly how good a dancer he was, he launched them into windmills and reverses. A bit flashy given the prying eyes surrounding them, but it satisfied her womanly sensibilities that he was showing off for her. It would be nice for a change to have the good folks of Catcher Creek spreading rumors about her for something other than her days as a wild youth or the identity of Tommy’s missing father.
When they’d returned to closed hold, Jenna shook her hair back and pinned Matt with her most flirtatious look. “You can’t lay down a challenge like that and expect me not to take it up.”
“What challenge? Are you saying you think you could best me in a dance-off?” He scoffed. “I’d like to see the day.”
The dare had her tsking good-naturedly. “That’s not what I meant, though I have no doubt that in a dance-off, I’d shine the floor with your ass.”
Continuing with a basic one-two-three around the floor, he laughed through his nose, his eyes twinkling. “You talk a big game, darlin’. Makes me concerned about what other challenge you think I’ve laid down for you.”
The song ended and they slowed to a stop on the outer edge of the floor. People moved around them as a new song, a faster song, picked up pace. She traced the edge of his chiseled shoulder muscle below his chambray shirt. This is how it would be between them if they were a couple—smooth and romantic, like the waltz.
She moved her fingertips from his shoulder to his jaw. “Matt Roenick, one of these days you’re going to tell me all your secrets.”
He swallowed and his focus dipped to her lips, so she angled them up, parting them, closing her eyes. All he had to do was lower a few inches and she’d finally—finally—know what his mouth felt like on hers. Didn’t matter that they were surrounded by people. She’d waited eight long months for this. Come on, Matt. Kiss me already.
Chapter Two
Any guy who’d ever thought dancing was unmanly had obviously never danced a waltz with Jenna Sorentino.
All his childhood years of being forced by his parents to attend cotillion classes, the innumerable dance partners throughout his life who’d stepped on his toes, and too many late nights in loud, smoky country-western bars were all made worth it with the look Jenna gave him when she realized he knew what he was doing.
It was a breathless look of arousal that sent a surge of lust and machismo pumping thick and fast through his veins. Those same men who thought dancing was for sissies were probably the same ones who thought anything more than a hard, fast fuck was a waste of time. Their loss, his gain, because dancing with Jenna was one of the most erotic forms of foreplay he’d ever experienced.
Dangerously so. Every swish of her hips and arch of her back led him deeper into wanting. In his hand he held her delicate fingers, which ended in white-tipped nails. He could imagine those nails, those fingers, grazing him all over, wicked and hot. Her skin and hair smelled of honey and almonds, and damn, he wanted to feast on her something fierce.
He’d never danced a waltz with a hard-on before. Any dance, for that matter. Probably should’ve expected as much tonight; after all, a man didn’t want a woman for as long as he had Jenna without experiencing some sort of visceral reaction the first time he touched her body. And Jenna was, quite simply, the sexiest, most luscious creature he’d ever laid his hands on.
He should’ve never dared to dance with her.
But the alternative would’ve been that slick rodeo cowboy taking her for a spin around the floor, and there was no way in hell he was going to watch another man leading her in Matt’s favorite dance while he stood on the sidelines.
What a crazy, messed-up way of thinking. It didn’t matter how much hot-blooded testosterone pounded through his body when he was dancing with Jenna or how many nights he’d dreamed of holding her, because none of it meant shit when all the chips were down and she was standing there, pressed into him, offering her lips. He may have wanted her worse than he’d ever wanted a woman, but he still wasn’t going to kiss her.
He didn’t date single moms.
Not anymore. Not even those who were beautiful and smart and got his engine revving like Jenna did.
The policy sounded arrogant and callous. Even knowing the reasons behind it, he disgusted himself. Looking down at Jenna’s sweet, rosy lips, he knew he was the most patheti
c man in history. But precedence and fear had a way of settling priorities. After everything he’d been through the past eleven years, there were only a handful of things in the world he feared more than single moms.
Tonight, fear won out over longing.
He smoothed a fingertip along her jaw, wishing he could be what she needed, knowing it was hopeless. But how could he turn her away? This soft, clever woman who’d done nothing wrong except try to get closer to him. He rested his cheek against hers and tried to find the words.
They were standing close enough together that he felt her phone vibrate in a pocket hidden in her dress. It was the out he needed.
“Your phone,” he said lamely, cringing at the rawness of his voice.
She opened her eyes and backed her face up to regard him with disbelief. “What?”
“Your phone’s vibrating. I think you should answer it.”
Her jaw tightened and in her eyes he read pain. Hell.
“You do?”
“What if it’s important?”
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down, nodding. A ripple went through her body like she was resetting herself. “Silly me. I thought something important was going on right here.”
Giving him a look that told him exactly how much he’d hurt her, she turned on her heel and stalked across the middle of the dance floor, fishing her phone out as she went.
He stepped back, out of the way of the dancers, and inhaled sharply.
Stupid, stupid jackass.
His first instinct was to leave. He could settle the bill, say good-bye to Kellan and Amy, and get in his car. But all that was waiting for him at the end of the drive was a lonely hotel room, and besides that, he wasn’t the walk-away kind.
True, he was the leading-a-good-woman-on-and-causing-her-undue-pain kind, but running and hiding was a shade more cowardly than he was willing to stoop.
What he really needed to do was cowboy up and talk to Jenna tonight so things weren’t weird between them at the wedding. To make that happen, he needed to figure out a way to explain why they couldn’t get involved without telling her the whole, hideous truth.
How to Rope a Real Man Page 2
