Page 34 of Wild and Wanted

The round of applause at the end of her impromptu unplugged session was much more boisterous than the one earlier, and Stevie spent the next ten minutes accepting praise and thanks in equal measure as country music played over discreet speakers. John and Theresa took to the dance floor, a raised wooden platform off to the side with four sturdy corner posts providing support for a lattice ceiling through which fairy lights had been strung.

‘Your parents know how to dance,’ Stevie said to Mags, watching the older couple bust out some serious moves to ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ as several more couples joined the dance floor.

‘They do. That’s how they met.’ Mags grinned as she watched her dad spin her mom out then back in again, landing a kiss on her mouth as he did so. ‘I know as a twenty-six-year-old I’m supposed to find their PDA cringey but I kinda love how goofy they are together.’

Stevie nodded. Her parents were affectionate too if in a more subtle way, which she also loved. She’d never had to doubt the solidity of her family foundations and that wasn’t something every kid got in life. Yolly had always made gagging noises whenever she witnessed it but Stevie knew that, deep down, her sister had dug it too.

As they watched, Erica – or blonde number one as Stevie had come to think of her – stepped up on the floor with none other than Clay, and the smile that had been playing on Stevie’s mouth died an instant death. Walt and Kirby accompanied blonde two and blonde three.

Erica smiled and flicked her hair back and got in way too close as a flaming-hot arrow struck Stevie in the chest. To be fair, Clay was keeping space between them but when he laughed at something she said, all the air evaporated from her lungs.

She was jealous. Ragingly, blindingly jealous. Her vision a mist of steamy green as the song played on until it came to an end and blonde two cut in, the three guys changing partners in good humour. The second woman was slightly more circumspect but Clay was clearly enjoying himself, chatting and smiling.

He hadn’t smiled at her all damn night and she was completely, utterly, irrationally… pissed about it. Stephanie Everhart didn’t do pissed. She didn’t think in cuss words. She was amiable. She was agreeable. She was easy-going. Stephanie Everhart was nice. Everybody said so. She was famous for it.

Stevie on the other hand? Apparently Stevie had all the bad words.

She opened her mouth to ask Mags if the guys were allowed to fraternise with guests like that but an approaching Dev cut off the thought.

He was smiling at her, at least.

‘Stevie, I might look like I have two left feet but I promise I can hold my own on a dance floor.’ He held out his hand. ‘What’s say we show these cow pokes how it’s done?’

Mags folded her arms and gave a derisive snort. ‘I’m sure Stevie would rather dance with a starving grizzly.’

Stevie’s gaze slid to Mags, who was frowning huffily at the rangy, rusty-haired, blue-eyed cowboy like he was a rock in her boot. He was good looking, she realised as she took a closer look – in a boyish, twinkle-in-his-eye, class-clown kind of way. She just hadn’t noticed, Dev’s attractiveness completely obliterated by Clay’s enigmatic presence.

Completely unabashed by Mags’s put down, he waggled his fingers at Stevie. ‘Don’t listen to short stuff, she’s just jealous cos she can’t dance worth a damn.’

Stevie thought it might be a little more than that by the look of murderous intent in Mags’s eyes, and she was about to decline – really, she was. Because whatever was happening here she didn’t want to get in the middle of, but then a burst of Clay’s laughter floated towards them and the itsy-bitsy-teeny-tiny skirt worn by blonde three flared out, showcasing a pair of long, shapely, non-beanpole legs, and Stevie’s brain became a swamp of green.

An ogre swamp, heaving and roiling with dark discontent and, on a complete knee-jerk impulse, she took Dev’s hand. ‘I’d love to.’

Stevie barely registered their walk to the dance floor. She wasn’t even paying attention to the song that was playing. All she knew as she slipped into Dev’s arms, who was being an utter gentleman keeping a respectable distance between them, was that Clay’s eyes were now glued to her and she beamed at whatever Dev had just said.

Nobody observing them would think, for a moment, they were a couple, more like acquaintances – which was exactly what they were. But the way Clay’s gaze was shooting laser beams at the spot where Dev’s hand sat perfectly platonically in the centre of her back somehow soothed the raging beast inside.

Unfortunately it only lasted to the end of the song when the prickle at her nape alerted her to the loom of Clay’s presence. ‘Do you mind if I cut in, Dev?’

It wasn’t a question. It was no request, either. It was an order, and Stevie’s nipples hardened in anticipation as Dev bowed out graciously, offering his hand to Clay’s partner and laughing as she said, ‘Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water.’

They danced away then. Or at least Stevie supposed they did because all she was aware of was Clay, big and grim in front of her, his hand slipping through hers, his other hand sliding to her back in a not remotely platonic way. Low and possessive as a hot wave of longing rippled from her inner thighs to the tight points of her nipples.

As with the others, Clay kept his distance but it didn’t feel like it – the heat between them was tinder dry and so dang combustible. She stared straight ahead over his shoulder as Brookes and Dunne banged out a tune, but the clench of his jaw and the tight line of his mouth loomed in her peripheral vision.

His whole frame was rigid – biceps, abs, quads – like he was holding himself tightly in check. Too tightly, his body bristling with suppressed energy that sizzled from him to her, ruffling through Stevie’s belly so deep and low it earthed with a maddening tingle right between her legs. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the rising moan from finding an outlet.

There was no doubt in her mind right now that she was dancing with a hungry grizzly.

‘Rhinestone cowgirl, huh?’

The enquiry was polite with a forced note of humour that barely disguised the gravel in his tone, gravel that slid down her neck like a physical caress.

She gave a deprecating laugh. ‘It seemed appropriate.’ Her tone was high and breathy. Unnatural. But how was she supposed to word when every cell in her body was lighting up and melting down at the same time?

He fell silent again for several beats, which was just the reprieve Stevie needed. Her multi-tasking went to hell whenever Clay Calhoun was near.

‘Mom tells me your grandmother is improving.’