Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn
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you rather dance or eat?”
Her voice was husky, he noted, at the same moment she ran the tip of her tongue across that full lower lip.
She must have heard his sharp intake of breath, because for the second time that day, their eyes locked.
Against Jeremiah’s will, his blood thickened. He fought to combat his growing passion, feeling out of control, something he despised and wouldn’t tolerate. At the moment, however, he didn’t know how to regain control.
“Neither one, but I’d like another glass of punch,” she said.
He heard the desperate note in her voice and didn’t argue. Hell, he needed another beer, too, but he wasn’t going to have one. He needed to be in full control of his faculties, or he feared he might do something he would regret for the rest of his life—like kiss her until she begged him to stop.
Seconds later, when he returned with another full cup of punch, her eyes were again on her friend, who was teaching someone to dance Texas style, or at least something he’d never seen before and assumed came from Texas.
“What are they doing?” he asked, as she took the cup from him.
Their fingers touched, and he sucked in his breath, trying to haul his unruly senses back in line.
She seemed to read his thoughts. Her face flushed, and she took a quick gulp of her punch.
“Sure looks like they’re having fun,” he added.
“I…I should go. My head suddenly feels kind of-”
She broke off, then jerked her eyes away from his.
Even though the sun had dwindled, turning to twilight, he could still see the heat as it invaded her throat, which drew his attention to her V-necked shirt, then to her breasts, making him wonder if they were flushed, as well. He cursed silently.
“Come on, let’s dance.” He knew his tone was brusque, but he didn’t give a damn. He was in bad shape.
“Why should we, Mr. Davis?”
Damned if he intended to beg! Still…“Because you flew all the way out here from Texas, you got caught up in the moment and now you’re feeling like a fool. Because you smell good, you look good, and you’re obviously not in any strut to find a man. But mainly because—”
“Oh, all right!”
He circled her arm with one hand, using his other to set the empty containers on the nearest picnic table, then guided her onto the cement floor beneath a metal roof.
At first she remained ramrod straight, looking beyond his shoulder. He wanted to shake her into compliance, but, of course, he didn’t, as everyone around would then be witness to his frustrations, not that anyone was paying attention to them.
The music was slow, and most couples were locked in embraces that were worthy of the bedroom. He smirked. Apparently the other women who’d won their men were more than happy with their situation.
Not so Bridget Martin. She was still as stiff and uncooperative as a board, even though they moved in perfect unison. Again, he couldn’t imagine what had driven her to come here, to take part in something she obviously abhorred. But the question that nagged him even more was, what had attracted her to him enough to make her bid a grand?
“Bridget, relax a little, okay?” he asked.
“I…can’t.” Her voice cracked.
For a minute he cursed himself for making her take part in something she didn’t want to. Then he thought better of it. Hell, she was a big girl. He wasn’t forcing her to remain in his arms. If she chose to leave, he couldn’t stop her.
Yet he didn’t intend to make it easy. “Normally, I’d say let your hair down, but yours is too short for that,” he muttered, noticing his voice had grown husky.
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