Restless. Kimberly Raye
to loosen up, and Jack needed an escape.
He took two steps and reached for her hand.
“W-HAT ARE YOU DOING?” Paige blurted when Jack Mission slid his arm around her waist and steered her back out onto the dance floor.
“Last I looked,” he said as he swung her into his arms and started to move, “it was called dancing, sugar.”
Paige fought to keep from stepping on his toes, her senses overloaded by so much male heat. He was too close and this was too sudden. Just what the heck did he think he was doing?
He hadn’t even asked her to dance!
“I don’t really think—”
“It ain’t about thinking, sugar. It’s about moving. You can move, can’t you?”
The way he stared down at her, one blond eyebrow arched and a twinkle in his liquid gray eyes, stirred her indignation. “Of course I can.” And she’d spent good money to make sure of it.
“Then prove it.”
She had two choices. She could pull away, which wouldn’t be easy because Jack Mission had a very strong grip on her waist, or she could calm down, concentrate and make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing herself. “What dance are we doing?”
“I’ll let you pick.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Whichever dance we do is based on the speed and tempo of the song. This is a two-step. We should be going faster.”
He tightened his arms and drew her even closer. “Feels plenty fast to me.”
“It’s too slow, and too close.” She pushed against his chest and gained a few blessed inches of distance. There. Now she could breathe. More importantly, she could think. “We need speed and distance for this particular tempo.”
“Feels like just the right amount of distance to me.”
If only. Instead, Jack Mission filled her line of vision, surrounded her with his warmth and his scent and the hard, steady feel of his heart against hers—
The thought careened to a stop as she missed her step and stomped on the toe of his boot. Dread welled inside her. “Oh no.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“I missed a step.”
“I didn’t even notice.”
“I never miss a step.”
“Never say never.”
She glared at him. “You’re throwing me off.”
“Who? Me?” He grinned, a slow, heart-stopping expression that made her heart skip and her feet stall long enough for her to stomp on his foot again.
“Doggone it.”
“Sugar, you need to relax.”
“If you’ll just tell me what dance you’re doing, then I wouldn’t be messing up.”
“Are you always this uptight?”
“I’m not uptight. I just like to know what I’m doing.”
“Darlin’, just relax and breathe.”
Breathe? Was he crazy? Dancing wasn’t about breathing. It was about counting and watching your steps and…
Her thoughts trailed off as Jack pressed his hand into the small of her back and killed the few inches of distance she’d managed to gain. Soft curves met hard muscle and the air rushed from her lungs. Her nostrils flared and she drew in a deep breath. Bad move. His scent drifted across her senses, intoxicating her and she forgot all about trying to keep the rhythm and found herself taking another long breath. And then another.
He smelled of worn leather and virile male seasoned with a touch of danger that prickled Paige’s nerve endings and sent a rush of excitement through her.
“That’s better. You were way too stiff.”
“I was in a classic dance form.”
“It looked more like you had something stuck up your—”
“Good posture,” she cut in. “That’s lesson number one.”
“Says who?”
“Earl Sharp at Earl’s Dance Extravaganza. Lesson number two—” she said, trying to pull away again, but his hold was too strong. “There should always be a good six inches between you and your partner.”
“That’s no fun.”
“But it’s the correct way to do it.”
“And not much fun. I like to have fun.”
“And I like to know what I’m doing.” Paige thrived on it. She never, ever wanted to feel out of control again, and Jack Mission definitely made her feel that way.
He winked and her heart fluttered. “You’re doing just fine,” he told her. “Maybe a little heavy on your feet, but I like the way you’re stroking my shoulder.”
Her fingers clenched as she became instantly aware of her hand moving back and forth across the soft tuxedo material covering his broad shoulder. His grin widened.
“So which rule talks about stroking, darlin’? Four or five? Or are you just improvising?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t mean…” She frowned. Explanation? She had no explanation other than the fact that Jack Mission had made her forget six weeks worth of nightly dance lessons in less than two minutes. She’d stomped on his feet twice—better make that three times—and she’d forgotten everything she’d ever learned, especially the all-important fact that Jack wasn’t her type.
Her traitorous nipples seemed to have an altogether different opinion.
As if he felt the throbbing tips press into his chest, he gave her a knowing smile and dipped his head, his lips brushing her earlobe. “You know, maybe you’re not as uptight as you look.”
“I am not uptight.”
He eyed her for a long moment. “Darlin’, you’re as uptight as they get. An uppity up if I’ve ever seen one.”
“I am not,” she insisted, forcing her thoughts away from his delicious smell and the feel of his body against hers. She managed to concentrate for the next moment, until the song finished, and she finally, finally managed to pull away. She was about to turn and walk away, then her curiosity got the best of her. “So what’s an uppity up?”
His grin was heartstopping. “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you.”
At his words, a rush of heat went through her and sent her pulse fluttering. For a brief moment, she imagined the press of his lips against her own, the whisper of his breath on her mouth, until her common sense intruded along with a healthy dose of righteous indignation. “Kiss you?” She shook her head. Was he serious? “For your information, I don’t even like you.” On that note, she turned to walk away.
His deep chuckle followed her. “Why do you think I asked you to dance?”
2
“HEY THERE, JACK. Jimmy and Deb leave you here to clean up all this by yourself?” Red Bailey clapped Jack on the back and twisted one end of his graying mustache as he waited for Jack’s mother to finish saying goodbye to Judge Baines, the man who’d officiated at the wedding ceremony.
“They left me.” Nell Ranger, the Mission housekeeper and the closest thing Jack had to family next to his mother and brother, rushed by carrying a box overflowing with trash. She wore a blue dress pinned with a crushed carnation corsage. “Those two young’uns have a lot more sense than to expect this boy to clean up after them. Why, he never picked up his underwear way back