“Honestly? I don’t know. I think it seems ridiculous. If someone did that to me in real life, I would just laugh.”
Jake doesn’t say a word, but across the table, his eyes darken, holding my gaze with a sudden, intense heat that makes my breath catch in my throat.
Right on cue, an upbeat country song blasts through the bar’s sound system. It’s the perfect tempo for dancing, and my pulse races in anticipation. Jake slides out of his seat without a word, walking around the perimeter of the table until he’s standing right next to me. He extends a hand, his chin tilting toward the crowded hardwood dance floor.
“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice a low rumble over the music. “Let’s see if you remember how.”
I hesitate for a split second, looking at his hand before sliding mine into it. He pulls me up, and I let him lead me into the middle of the room. Couples swirl around us, boots stomping to the beat. Jake swings me out then back into his frame, and suddenly we’re off. My feet seem to know whatto do, and the more people who head out to join us, the tighter our circle becomes.
“I’m not melting, I hope you know. This whole masculine country dance gimmick might work wonders on other girls, but I’m simply enjoying a nice dance without tripping over my own feet. Nothing more.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but I don’t think I’m sweating, so I’m pretty sure he can’t tell.
“Well, I’m glad I was able to add to your cardio routine,” he jests, coaxing me outward a few steps before spinning me under his arm one way then the other. When he pulls me back into his arms, we’re closer. Our steps still in sync because, yes, he is a strong lead. But also, there’s a rhythm happening. I don’t like it, but at the same time . . . I like it very much.
“Hmm, I don’t know if my heart rate is up enough to count this as a workout,” I say, yet one more lie in a string of the ones I’ve told.
“Oh, I see,” he says, his head falling back with a playful chuckle. His arms stiffen in a frame that holds me back from him a few extra inches, forcing my gaze on his. “If you wanted me to get your heart rate up, all you had to do was ask. I can accommodate that.”
His smug grin is annoying. I shake my head, then glance to the side.
“Pfft, I’m good. Thanks.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” he says, and my attention jerks right back to him. That’s not his line to say. My mouth hangs open but before I speak, he continues.
“Don’t get me wrong, I would enjoy the hell out of that. All I’m saying is I don’t need to get you in my bed just to get your pulse racing.” His devilish smirk lingers, and as much as I want to peel my eyes away from him again, I’m intrigued.
“What, are you going to put me through one of your workouts?” I challenge, pausing my steps and forcing him to do the same.
Couples whirl around us on the dance floor, and he drops his hands into his pockets and pushes his tongue to the side of his cheek, glancing to his right before tilting his head and lifting his gaze back to mine with a challenge in his expression.
“I bet you like a good hair pulling,” he says with a nod toward my locks of hair layered over my bare shoulder.
I huff out a breathy laugh.
“Nobody likes having their hair pulled in real life. It’s . . . I don’t know. Cheesy,” I say, giggling at the visual in my head. It all sounds very grade school playground to me. Like I’m in braids, and he’s teasing me to show he likes me.
“Wanna bet?”
His head remains angled, his eyes boring into mine with this tantalizing pull that suddenly has my palms sweating.
“Pfft, I mean . . . I guess. What, next round is on the loser?”
He shrugs and steps toward me, closing the gap between us again.
“Sure. Next round is on the loser.”
And before I can offer to shake on the deal, Jake wraps my hair around his palm, pulling it tight into his fist, and I laugh at how childish and forced it feels . . . until he pulls my head back just enough to give his tongue room to taste my throat. Suddenly, nothing about this is funny at all. It’s heated. It’s sensual. And despite the fact that we are in the middle of a bar, I’m overcome with thoughts of other places he can put his tongue.
The room is spinning, and I swallow hard, very aware of my pulse at this moment. I won’t say it’s racing, but it’sdefinitely making itself present. My heart is pumping full-blooded thunder against my chest. Jake relaxes his grip on my hair, his fingertips massaging the back of my skull for a moment before slipping down the back of my neck. His fingers weave through my hair playfully as his eyes flit from my gaze to my mouth and back again.
“I’ll take that drink now,” he says, stepping away from me and leaving me hot, bothered, and with nothing more than the memory of his smug-ass grin on his way to the bar.
THIRTEEN
JAKE
The bass from the jukebox vibrates through the soles of my boots, but my attention is locked entirely on the woman sitting across from me. Campbell thinks she’s hiding it, but I see the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. I already won our little wager on the dance floor, and I spent the rest of the night capitalizing on it, dragging her back out there a handful of times. She was a willing partner, and more than once, it was her idea that we stick around for the slow ones.
It’s that last dance that has my body still reacting to the feel of her. It was slow, dark, and entirely too close, one of those songs that preaches about giving in to urges and kissing your soul goodbye.
