CHAPTER TWELVE

I wanted to walk into the bar with stubbly legs, dirty hair, and a body that still smelled like the race track, but I didn’t. I took a hot shower and sprayed on the perfume Steele comments on daily. I shaved and put lotion on, not only the visible parts of my body but every touchable part as well. Fluffing my hair, I ignore the lengths that I’ve taken to look and smell good to have one drink with Steele Kane.

I enter the half empty bar and scan the room. The pink glittery bow wrapped around a white box sitting on a table grabs my attention. It’s pretty. My eyes tiptoe across the tabletop to strong, recognizable hands. I clench my wallet and meet Steele’s big warm smile. It draws me across the room. Please don’t make that gift be for me. I clench tighter to my wallet, ignoring the silky fabric of my dress brushing softly against my clean skin. Oh, please be for his niece or something.

When I’m nearly there, he stands up and pulls a chair out for me. Damn, his mother taught him well. “Thanks.” I sit down and scoot myself forward as he settles back into his seat.

“You look …” He pauses long enough for his eyes to skim every visible part of my body. “Beautiful.”

Why does that single word make me more aware of the thin black G-string tugging between my thighs? It’s not like he said sexy. He said beautiful.

“Thank you.” God, I hope I’m not blushing. I should comment on how good, or rather, how sexy he looks, but I’m not giving him anymore ammunition. Especially, considering, I still don’t know what’s in that damn box. I want to take another peek. I fixate on the glass of wine in front of me. “Is this for me?” I pick it up and take a sip. “Ohh, that’s good.” I take another sip.

“Cabernet Sauvignon, right?” His left brow arches.

“Yes.” I set the glass down before I finish the rest of the smooth, expensive tasting alcohol in one gulp.

“And this is for you as well.” He picks up the pretty box and places it in front of me.

Oh, shit! I rub my thumbs over the base of the wine glass. “What is it?”

“A gift.”

“I see that.” No man has given me a gift in years. My parents and Lucy always send something for my birthday, cards stuffed with a check or random gift cards. Like Lucy’s last gift, can’t forget about that one. I blame her for my current situation. Not that she’d care. She’d certainly get a laugh out of my current situation. She’d laugh herself right off a horse, and that wouldn’t be the first time at my expense. But that’s why I love her so much.

My eyes wander back to the gift, ignoring the little girl in me who wants to tear the ribbon off and rip open the box. I grin at him. “What’s in the box is what I’m asking.”

“You’ll have to open it to find out.”

That’s what I was afraid of. I press my lips together and sigh through my nose. His persistent smile says it all. I’m not getting out of this one-man audience while I open the damn box. “Okay.” I nod and start to tug on the bow as little specks of glitter fall onto the table. I open the box, reach inside, and wrap my hand around something smooth and round. I pull it out. It’s a glass globe with the Golden Gate Bridge inside. I give it a shake, and it comes alive with silver glitter. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper mesmerized by the sparkling flakes. They remind me of home after a winter storm, white snow glistening everywhere. I smile.

“Yeah,” Steele says, breaking my wintery thoughts. “I wanted you to have something to remind you that there is some beauty in my state and not everything here is, oh how did you put it?” He taps a finger over his lips. “God-awful?”

I laugh, setting the globe on the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, eyes twinkling like the beautiful globe. He picks up his drink and settles back into the chair. “So tell me something about yourself.”

I take a deep breath, preparing to play the game. “What do you want to know?”

He pulls the drink from his mouth. “How did you and your husband meet?”

“I never said that I was married.”

“Oh.” Drink lingering in his hand over the table, he arches his left brow. “I thought—”

“I know, you thought because of this.” I lift my hand with the ring Trevor gave me and smile. “We never made it to the altar.” I lower my hand into my lap, hiding it beneath the table. “He died before we could⸻” I look around the room and settle my eyes on a pair of lovers sitting close as I wait for the usual sound of pity followed by a side of compassion from Steele. I watch as the man whispers into the lady’s ear while she lovingly caresses his shoulder and neck. I wonder what he’s saying to make her eyes sparkle, to make her light up that corner of the room. Her head tilts back as the man leans in toward her …

“Would you like to dance?”

My eyes shift from the couple across the room to Steele, who’s smiling at me, not a gleam of sympathy in his dark eyes, and without the benevolence, without that uncomfortable condolence, there’s a slight crack in the shield to my emotions. His smile finds its way through that tiny crack, and with a heavy thud, it lands deep inside my empty heart.

It starts with a chuckle, then I’m laughing eye-tearing laughter that I haven’t experienced in years. I can’t stop myself, and it feels good. I don’t want to stop. For a moment, I want to feel like the lady in the corner of the room, adored and desired. For just one second, I’d like to be the center of someone’s attention. I’d like to lighten up the room, but my light’s gone. It left with Trevor. “I—” I gasp for my breath, touching my chest. “I-I can’t dance with you.” I clear my throat, trying to clear away my whimsical thoughts.

“Why?” His eyes open wide. “Don’t you know how?”

“Of course, I do.” I swipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. “But”—I point outward—“there’s no dance floor.”

“That’s okay. There’s no doors either, and clearly, that’s not stopping them.” He nudges to the couple in the corner that I was admiring now tangled in a heated, lip-locking kiss.

“Clearly.” I nod, laughter tickling the back of my throat. I envy the couple, so free and lost into themselves with not a care in the world.

“Sometimes, you must make do with what’s right in front of you, Jay.”

“Mmmhmm.” My laughter softly fades as my eyes slide back to Steele, and for the first time, I see what’s right in front of me, and my breath gets caught in my throat.

“And not worry about doors or dance floors,” he says, drowning me further into him with his calm, deep voice. His eyes speak to me, tempting me. This is what I want. Him. I can imagine us alone in the darkness, naked, together but still alone, free from the world and all its past. No danger, no Trevor, and no guilt. His eyes lull me to a safe place, to an erotic place, to a place where no other guests are allowed.

Oh, how I want to press my lips against his and feel his skin against mine.

Seconds, minutes, time gets lost in his dark, promising eyes. Oh, what he could do to me, what he could do for my hungry body—it so misses a man’s touch. I’m afraid that if I let him touch me, I’ll only miss his touch.

I barely hear time ticking by as he sets his drink on the table, stands up, and then offers me his hand. I stare at it, my eyes flashing to his.

“You’re serious?” I laugh, looking around the room, but this time, the couple in the corner can’t save me. They’re gone, no doubt, seeking some privacy behind closed doors.

“Live a little.” Holding that honest, candid smile, he motions his fingers. “Come, dance with me.” He signals for me to take a step into his world.

The moment my hand touches or, rather, melts into his, I’m hopelessly there. He pulls me up from the chair, and I’m guided over to the piano. After reaching into his pocket, he drops a few bills into the tip jar, leans over to say something to the man behind the piano, and then he provides me with his undivided attention. His hand slips to my back, and just as the first few notes from the keys on the piano hit my ears, he gently pulls me against him. I recognize the song instantly. Absorbing his masculine scent, I wrap my arms around him as my body settles into the comfort of his strong frame. His warm hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, and like the rest of him, he cradles the back of my neck. My face burrows into his upper chest as he half-hums and half-sings “Just the Way You Look Tonight” into my ear. I lower my eyelids, savoring the soft melody gently vibrating from his upper body. His hold so careful yet firm, honest yet unyielding.

“Ah, so she does know how to dance,” he whispers into my ear as his fingers lightly trace my neck.

I look up, and tender eyes twinkle down at me.

“I just didn’t want to,” I confess.

“Oh.” He pushes me from him, spins me around, and then brings me back against his body. “You should never miss a chance to dance. Especially with a proficient dancer such as myself.” He winks. Unable to hold back my laughter, it bounces around in my closed mouth. “If you but only give me a chance, you’d see I can do so many things.”

“Like?” I raise a brow.

“Hmm …” He looks up at the ceiling, coming back down with a wide smile. “I can make pancakes from scratch.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I can also build a fire, split the wood for said fire, recite a poem, do CPR, tell a good joke, sew on a button, change a diaper, and with this one little finger …” He lifts his hand and bends the digit in question. “I’ve been known to be able to make a woman … ah, squirm.”

“I don’t believe you.” I laugh.

“Oh-ho.” He pushes our bodies a few inches apart and squints down at me. “Do I detect a dare, Miss Rigsby?”

“Yes.” I laugh again, shaking my head. “Recite a poem to me.”

“Sometimes”—he twirls me around and brings my body back close to his—“dance is an art form every bit as much as poetry. Often, though, it’s just a reason to be close to someone.”

“That’s not a poem.” I laugh once more at his efforts.

“Yes. I suppose you are correct. That’s something my seventy-year-old dance instructor used to say. She was a wild one.” A soft clicking sound comes from the side of his cheek. “All right. Hmm. A poem. Okay, let me think.” The clicking noise continues for a few more seconds until his eyes lay gently upon me. “But for now,” he wraps his arms tighter around me and whispers into my ear, “let’s dance.”

“Okay, Mr. Kane.” I surrender, my muscles relax, and my body dissolves into his. Between the music and the slow-growing connection, I forfeit my caution, say goodbye to my fears, and let my soul wander a little closer to the man who holds every piece of my being within his grasp. Together, as one, we sway to the piano’s beautiful melody. This place, encased in his arms, feels so familiar and safe. Can it be that I’ve found it again? It must be a mistake, a trick, a cruel heartless trick. Steele’s embrace cannot be “my place.”

My place is halfway across the country buried six feet in the ground.

My heart races, and I stumble over his feet. Steele can’t be …

On so many levels, it’s wrong to even consider it. So wrong! I push myself from the lie, from the mean, cruel trick, and run out of the bar. I don’t stop, nor do I look back until I’m locked behind my hotel room door. I lean against it, slide to the floor, and press my shaky hands to my forehead. Dammit! Just as predicted, Steele touched me, and I ran. At any rate, I’m free from questioning what the hell I felt back there on that makeshift dance floor.

Ass on the floor for God knows how long, I try to catch my breath and stop my racing thoughts, convincing myself that I’m safe from his all over embrace, his big strong arms, manly scented flesh, and deep husky drone. Oh, that humming! It tickled me to my toes.

I refuse to fall into the world he’s opening for us. First, he teases me with his body, letting me get near enough to touch him. Even with his hands tied, he managed to pull me closer. Next, he dances with me, reminding me what a man’s embrace can do to a woman’s body …

Knock, knock, knock … I jump to my feet as the sound, like Steele’s hum, vibrates through my body. I step back from the door and touch my chest. What if it’s him? It must be him. Who else could it … Knock, knock, knock.

Shit! I glare at the door, hoping the sound will stop, and he’ll go away. I can’t trust myself with him. He reminds me of too many things. He’s got to know what he does to me, but that’s probably why he’s here. He wants to open my locked box and start yanking shit out of it.

Knock, knock, knock.

I grab the knob, swing open the door, ready to defend my box and my defenseless shit. “Listen, I’m not going to … oh,” I blink, cheeks flushing as I’m met by a young bellhop’s smile.

“Miss Rigsby?”

“Yes?” I glance to the left, then right.

“Mr. Kane wanted to be sure you got this.” He lifts the white box minus the pretty pink bow.

I stare at it, not wanting to touch it. The young man lifts the stark white box a little higher. I grab it and drop it on the desk before reaching into my wallet. I hand him his tip.

“Thanks.” His smile gets bigger, revealing two adorable dimples. “Oh”—he reaches into his nicely pressed coat jacket—“almost forgot. Here.” He hands a piece of paper to me, and I pinch it between my fingers. “Have a good night.” He bows before skirting down the hall.

Jaylyn.

I rarely see my name in cursive, so eyes fixed on it, I walk back into my room, closing the door behind me. I float over to the bed and sit down. I run a finger over the dry black ink, hesitant to unfold the paper. My body heavy but light, I feel it.

I’m falling for him.

I flip the note open.

 

Thank you for the dance,

S