Breaking Emily's Rules. Heatherly Bell
Emily sputtered.
“Then why were you waving your arms around like ground control?”
“I’m trying to get the attention of my boyfriend over there.” She jutted her chin in Jimmy’s direction.
He winced. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend is kissing another woman.”
“What?” Emily turned.
Jimmy was in a lip lock with Trish, who must have sneaked in at some point.
“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I guess he’s just not that into you.” He took a swallow and set his bottle down. Studied her.
She wilted in two seconds flat. A record. “Fine, he’s not my boyfriend.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really.”
“I’m here with my sister. I’m Emily.”
His navy blue eyes held an intensity which threatened to knock her figurative sword right out of her stone-cold hands. “I know.” He smiled, the naked desire never leaving his steely eyes.
“If that’s your way of introducing yourself, your momma didn’t teach you right.”
He blinked but stuck out his hand. “Stone Mcallister.”
A big hand, warm and rough. “Stone Mcallister, I don’t know what I’ve been doing in your mind, but you should know I’m not that kind of girl.” Defensive Training 101. Make light out of it, joke around. I’ve got this.
“No, you’re a liar with a fake boyfriend. I get it.” Here came that wicked smile again. It should be made illegal in all fifty states. She fervently wished he’d put it away before somebody got hurt.
Emily swallowed, suddenly feeling both parched and guilty. “I don’t usually lie, either. But you make me nervous. I’m only here to dance.”
“And what do you think I’m here to do?” He took another pull of his beer and then set it down.
Create mayhem with a woman’s body, heart and mind. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the way you’re looking at me. And you don’t look very innocent.”
“I’m not.”
“Right. But listen, I prefer to keep my clothes on in front of all these people so if you don’t mind, at least imagine me in a swimsuit.” Mentally she wore full body armor, but let him imagine her in a swimsuit. It had to be better than naked.
“All right, a swimsuit it is. One of those string bikinis.”
Not exactly what she’d had in mind. “No. Have you ever watched Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?”
“Yeah. She’s hot.” He smiled again.
“Imagine me in a skirt like the one she wears, with one of those high-neck tops that go all the way to the chin.” Emily put her hand under her chin.
“Still pretty hot.”
“Anyway, nice meeting you, Mr. Subtle.” Emily turned, but he grabbed her hand.
“I think you should dance with me.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.”
“One dance.” He put his bottle down and pulled her onto the dance floor.
For the next few minutes, he proved he could dance, strong large hands wrapped around her waist as he stayed in step. Emily danced three dances in a row with him; though, she suspected no one else dared interrupt. A couple of times Ronnie Walter approached as if he would cut in, but Stone’s glare chased him away.
When the music slowed to “Let Me Down Easy,” Stone pulled her against him. Fast tunes had played all night, which meant his hands only briefly lingered on her waist, but she couldn’t risk a slow song. She should stop the torture of a slow dance now, but she found his rock-hard chest and the way her head fit under his chin too seductive. He smelled like a man. Leather and some kind of light aftershave that didn’t make her dizzy. Not what she had planned for tonight or any night since she’d decided to be done with men.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” Emily said against his chest as she tried to pretend for one moment she might go home with this guy. Never times infinity to the tenth power. This kind of guy couldn’t be controlled.
“I haven’t been here before.” His hand lowered to the small of her back, and she might have trembled a little bit.
“Why not?”
Here was the problem, because there was a problem with every handsome man from here to Poughkeepsie. Of course he was married, probably with a wife and kid at home. She’d call that strike, one, two and three. If this guy was single, then Emily was the tooth fairy.
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