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“Respect is for you.”
At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him making moves on her.
There were several couples on the dance floor in front of the stage, moving to the easy throb of the music. Tess watched them, too flustered to carry on the conversation. This wasn’t a date, or anything like it. They were barely friends, if that. Still, she’d managed to make a fool of herself.
“How about a dance while we wait to eat?” Brock spoke without warning.
Tess’s pulse skittered. “Don’t even ask. I haven’t danced since high school. I’d only embarrass you—and myself.”
“If we embarrass ourselves, we can just sit down. Come on. I dare you. And I’ve never known the intrepid Tess Champion to turn down a dare.”
“Then you don’t know me at all. I’m just a quivering bundle of nerves.”
“I know a remedy for that. Come on, just a turn around the floor. It’s like riding a bicycle—you never forget how.” Taking her hand, he drew her gently but insistently to her feet and led her away from the table. Tess could feel her heart pounding as he turned her toward him, his hand resting at the small of her back. She was vaguely aware that she smelled like a bull and hadn’t combed her hair or put on makeup since leaving the ranch at dawn. But if Brock noticed, he didn’t seem to care.
The music was slow and mellow, the song, “I Can’t Help It if I’m Still in Love With You,” had always tugged at Tess’s emotions.
The song had nothing to do with tonight or with Brock, but Tess felt herself softening in his arms. Her body brushed against his, the light contact setting off sparks of awareness that tingled along her nerves, flowing downward to stir sensations that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since Mitch died.
Those tantalizing quivers went against everything she’d promised herself. But heaven help her, they felt good. He was solid and warm and dangerous, and as his hand tightened on her waist, she closed her eyes.
His chin, sandpapery with stubble, rested against her cheekbone. His breath whispered its way around the curves and contours of her ear. She was barely aware of her feet and the simple, shifting steps of the dance. It was like floating. But when her hips brushed the hard bulge beneath his jeans, it sent a shock wave through her body. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Time to break off, before he got the wrong idea.
But she needn’t have worried. As the music ended, Brock released her and stepped back. “See, I told you it was like riding a bicycle. You did fine.”
“Anybody can slow dance.” She took a breath, willing her pulse to decelerate. “Look, our drinks are on the table, and here comes our waiter with the nachos. Let’s eat.”
Sitting, they dug into the platter of tortilla chips drenched in cheese sauce and dotted with bits of tomato, green onion, olives, and sliced jalapeños. The nachos were hot, messy, and delicious, meant to be eaten with the fingers. Tess tried to focus on the food, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from spinning backward.
What had happened on the dance floor wasn’t worth remembering, she told herself. Brock was a man, his response fueled by the testosterone pumping through his veins. Like a breeding bull, almost any female would’ve had the same effect on him.
It was her own response that troubled her. She had never liked Brock. There had been times when she almost hated him. That he would rouse that long-buried surge of sensual heat had come as a shock.
But the dance had been no more than a diversion. Nothing had changed between them. They were still antagonists. And Brock Tolman was still a man whom no one should trust.
* * *
After they’d eaten, Brock walked her back to her truck. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her there to spend the night—in fact, he’d even offered to pay for a safe hotel room. But as expected, Tess had turned him down flat. “I’ve got a pistol, and I know how to use it,” she’d said. “I’ll be fine. Now go on back to your fancy hotel and let me get some sleep.”
Cursing her stubborn pride, Brock had made sure she was safely locked inside the truck, then walked away and drove back to his hotel. At least he’d known better than to offer her one of the two beds in his suite. After their sizzling chemistry on the dance floor, Tess would have suspected the worst of his motives.
Brock had enough past experience to know when a woman was aroused. Tess had been smoldering, if not quite on fire, and his body had responded in kind. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed sweeping her up to his hotel room and ravishing her until she purred with satisfaction.
But this was Tess—as prickly and proper as she was fierce and proud. As his business partner, she was off-limits. Crossing the line could make it a problem for them to work together. And he needed their partnership even more than she did.
For years Brock had coveted the Alamo Canyon Ranch for its beauty and for its value as an investment. Adding it to the portfolio of choice properties he owned in other parts of the state would be a crowning achievement. But with the threats to his reputation and his own ranch, he had come to view it as a backup, a safe harbor, owned and controlled by him but protected by the Champion name.
As things stood, his best chance of getting control of the Alamo Canyon Ranch lay in a friendship with Tess and her family. So far, things seemed to be going all right. But one impulsive move could change that in an instant.
And now he had a different problem—an invisible enemy with the power to topple his world. Until he knew who they were and what they wanted, all he could do was wait for them to play the next card.
* * *
Casey woke to darkness and silence. The slight hollow where Val had slept beside him was cool and empty. There was no light showing beneath the closed door, no sound of footsteps or running water. She was simply gone.
With a weary sigh, he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. His sprained ankle hurt like the blazes. Maybe he’d twisted it when he and Val were making love. That had been fine, as it always was. Afterward, they had kissed and settled into sleep. He’d assumed everything was all right between them. But now Val was gone.
His flannel robe hung over the bedpost. Balancing on one leg, he shrugged into it, then reached for his crutch. Hobbling out of the room into the dark hall, he muttered a curse. This was the first time he’d ever been disabled, and he hated it. He thought of Shane who, barring a miracle, would never walk again. How did he stand it?
