Sam was having the time of her life. The girls had welcomed her into their little group and the evening had been filled with great food, good beer, and awesome conversation on topics ranging from reality television addictions—come on, Face Off was way better than Project Runway nowadays—through gossip about nearly every one of the regulars at the bar. Yeah, enough juicy gossip that Sam was thankful she didn’t have to see most of these people every day, because wow!
Never a big fan of country music, Sam had spent most of the evening at the table, just relaxing and enjoying being social for once. The last week, minus the incident at Cœur de Lyon Enterprises, had been a much-needed change of pace from the past few months. Between spending time with Gen, going over various ideas on expanding on the sewage and water reclamation program and how to successfully implement additional solar power grids, to exploring the Village with Clara. She had even pulled out her sketchbook and begun making some tentative designs for some of the additions Clara had discussed.
Privately, she was a little worried that neither woman seemed to want to actually discuss the position in detail, what it would entail or any of the nitty gritty details such as benefits, vacation time, or even salary. Instead, they both either quickly changed the subject or suggested she speak with Rik. Since the second option was not one she wanted to pursue, since he was supposed to be the one pursuing, Sam had let them change the subject. Tonight, she was determined to not worry about any of it, and tomorrow, go confront the Rik-Beast in his lair. She was tired of waiting for him. Hell, he hadn’t even apologized for any of it! Mr. Unnatural Disaster indeed! I’ll show him a disaster when I light his short-and-curlies on fire and show him what it’s like to be a fire crotch!
The group had split when a number of rather large, burly men had come over to ask the ladies to dance. Clara had sashayed off with a long-haired Viking biker of a man, whose black t-shirt had inquired, Want to Hold my Mighty Mjolnir? Subtle, right? Gen had been claimed by a rather dashing Latino, who oozed machismo from every pore, but whose sweet smile held a boyish charm. A grinning Siobhan had ended up challenging a couple of the guys to a game of pool, and looked to be sharking her way through the bunch of them, leaving pouting bikers in her wake. Any time any of the men approached Sam, however, Bertie had rather clearly chased them off with a cold glare and a low growl of, “She’s not interested.”
After the sixth such incident, Sam had finally been rescued by a giggling Athena and an eye-rolling Raven, who had drug her out to the dance floor when the DJ started calling out line dances. Bertie had graciously allowed it, but had gotten up to stand threateningly near the wooden beams that fenced off the dance floor. With his huge arms crossed over his massive chest, with that scowling visage, Sam could oh-so-easily see his true Gargoyle nature. It was cute, in a grizzly cub armed with a flamethrower sort of way, and privately, Sam appreciated Bertie’s protectiveness. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with strange men, particularly since her body—and those heifers, the Fates—had already decided on one certain recalcitrant Frenchman.
She soon found herself in the middle of the very appropriately named line dance known as the Tush Push, trying not to cackle like a hyena high on laughing gas, with Athena and Raven flanking her and likewise wiggling their asses. Considering Athena was a toothpick, and had a flat ass, she was the source of much ribbing.
“Come on, girl,” Sam crowed, “Shake that money-maker!”
“Want some ass, sweetie? I’ve got plenty,” Raven laughed and butt-bumped Sam, “Here, Sam, pass it down!”
Giggling, Sam made to do just that when her butt was suddenly intercepted. She gasped as a large, warm hand curled around her waist and splayed over her stomach as a tall, muscular body molded itself against her back, falling into step with her smoothly. Just as she was about to elbow the jerk, a husky voice murmured warmly against her ear, “Bon nuit, Mademoiselle Kelly. May I have this dance?”
About damn time! Sam thought as her body instinctively curled into Rik’s larger one. Ducking her head to hide her sudden grin, Sam replied in a haughty tone, “Well, Mr. Leon, it’s a line dance. That sort of implies we’re supposed to be dancing on our own.”
Rik’s other hand curled around her waist, nestling her rounded ass into his groin, where it felt like a lead pipe was digging into her body. Oh my, she thought as a flutter thrummed in her stomach, and the mark that curved around her breast seemed to spark with static. Feeling her nipples harden against her bra, Sam inhaled sharply as she leaned her head back against his shoulder and let him guide her.
Rik guided her through the movements of the line dance, matching her step-for-step so that she ground her rear into his groin with every thrust of her hips, and turning the fun-loving dance into a more intimate bump-and-grind. It was nearly pornographic, and Sam had to clench her inner thighs when she heard his husky groan against the top of her head.
When the dance ended, Rik spun her in her arms so he could look down at her, keeping her curvy frame flush against his athletic one. With his white Stetson shadowing his gold-flecked jade eye and a wicked grin curving his lips, he leaned forward and whispered, “Sorry, ma petite flamme, but if you would grace me with another dance, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
Fucker, he’s using the French! That’s cheating! Sam thought, even as her hands came to rest on his rather impressive biceps. She totally now understood just why Morticia Addams went weak whenever Gomez got all linguistic. Looking into those gleaming eyes of his, Sam caught the glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her shoulder while his other large hand wrapped around hers.
“Two-stepping is easy,” Rik promised, “Just follow my lead. It’s two steps with your right, then a single step with your left.” He showed her, using his arms to gently lead her, giving her some space so she could look down and watch their feet.
Risking a glance up at him over the rim of her glasses, Sam caught her breath. He was breath-taking, a gentle smile curving his lips, his eyes fairly glowing with warmth and a healthy dose of lust as they traveled over her body. Even his aura seemed to wrap around her, the golden mist stroking tenderly over her flesh, a second embrace.
When she accidentally trod on his foot—they were huge fucking gunboats…totally not her fault—Sam tore her eyes away from him as he laughed softly, a low, deep sound. “You’re getting it,” he said huskily. “Here, let me make it a little easier.”
His large hand slid down her spine, curling around the small of her back as he nestled her against his chest. Sam bit back a moan as she felt her breasts press against the hard, hot body contained within the silk shirt, and the scent of his faint cologne—woodsy, citrusy, with a faint sweet musk that made her want to lick him—curled up inside of her senses. With a powerful thigh wedged between her legs, he half-carried her as he pulled her up against him, holding her not insignificant weight up as if she were as light as air, as he guided her around the floor.
With Sam’s cheek resting against his chest, she could hear his thunderous heartbeat racing, feel the swell of his solid pecs with every deep breath he took, and when he softly began crooning along to Brett Young’s “In Case You Didn’t Know,” she could hear the words thrumming through him and into her.
Okay, maybe country music isn’t so bad, Sam thought wistfully as she closed her eyes and swayed along with the music. Held firmly in his warm embrace, with one hand hooked on the waistband of his jeans and the other held against his heart, Sam relaxed. Her body went languid, her heartbeat synching with his as the warmth of his body seeped into hers, she lost herself in a world with just the two of them. No concerns, no worries, just two hearts melding into a single, sweet melody.
When the song drew to an end, Sam reluctantly pulled herself away from Rik’s warmth, instantly feeling a sense of loss that drove deep into her chest. Resisting the urge to shiver, she instead looked up and met his heated eyes. “Thank you…for the dance lesson.” Curse it, she could feel the blush creeping up from her breasts all the way up to her cheeks. Damn genetics!
Rik’s grip on her hand kept her from drawing away. “Please,” he whispered, “would you…” Suddenly, the arrogant prick, the billionaire known as the Big Bad Boss Man, looked uncertain, almost afraid. Of her. He cleared his throat, giving his head a quick shake, before he managed a sheepish grin. “Uh, would you sit with me for a while?” he clarified, his eyes widening and looking panicked, “And talk, just talk. I want to get to know you better, Ms. Kelly.”
Okay, she had gotten all the mileage out of that she was going to get, Sam thought ruefully as she considered his handsome face. With his white cowboy shirt, his white Stetson, his golden hair and brilliant eyes, he was the epitome of the White Knight some little girls dreamed of. Alas, she had been one of those! Finally, feeling she had tortured him enough, Sam relented, barely able to hold back a full grin as she said, “Sure, Mr. Leon. And please, call me Sam.”