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The guy started to snarl something smart-ass in reply, then evidently thought better of it. Maybe he remembered he was dealing with a cop, or maybe the look on Eric’s face was enough to dissuade him.
“I just want to dance with her,” he mumbled sulkily.
“Well, she doesn’t want to dance with you.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Son, don’t make me shoot your ass,” Eric advised.
“You wouldn’t—”
“Yeah,” he said matter-of-factly. “I would. The paperwork would be a bitch, but it’d be worth it.” He was lying. Maybe. He wasn’t big on cops who threw their armed weight around, but he’d seen red when this asshole jerk put his hands on Jaclyn and started dragg
ing her around. Uh-oh. Jaclyn. He hadn’t looked at her since intercepting her and lover boy, and now he didn’t dare glance at her to see how she was taking this. Probably she was embarrassed that he’d caused a scene.
Tough shit.
“Fuck it,” the guy snarled. “She ain’t worth it.” He spun on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd, which had begun milling around watching them.
“I beg to differ,” Eric said to his back, then braced himself for the ass-chewing he was probably about to receive.
Instead he found Jaclyn standing there visibly trembling, her face white, and without thinking he eased her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he said, lowering his face to her hair and inhaling the scent of it. With a sudden little jerky movement she burrowed closer, as if she wanted to completely hide herself. She stood probably five-ten in her heels, but she felt fragile in his arms, her slender body shaking against him. Maybe terrified was too strong a word to use, but she’d definitely been frightened, and that made him angry all over again.
“I’m sorry,” she said against his shoulder. Her arms had slid inside his jacket and she was gripping the back of his shirt so hard he wondered whether the seams might give way under the pressure.
“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault that idiot decided to be a jerk as well as an idiot.” Soothingly he ran his hands up and down her back.
“I don’t mean that.” Her voice was muffled, but even with the band playing valiantly on, he heard her.
He figured he knew what she meant. She was apologizing for clinging to him, even though she’d been scared. He’d noticed she was a tad uptight about some things, and to her, letting him hold her after she’d said they were a no-go would be like reneging on a promise, or something.
Who cared that she was uptight. That just made it more fun when she did lose control, because it was so unexpected, like now. He hadn’t been prepared for her to curve into him the way she had, so he was caught flat-footed by the hot magic that had flared between them from the very first time he’d seen her. The feel of her against him, the smell of her, was enough to make his head spin and a heavy ache settle in his groin.
Then he felt her begin to gather herself; he knew she was going to pull away, and that wasn’t what he wanted. The way to get to Jaclyn, he thought suddenly, was to keep her off balance.
Before she could say anything, he caught one hand in his, put his free hand on her waist, and spun her around. “Let’s dance,” he said, grinning at her, and before she could recover he had them right in the middle of Bishop Delaney’s line-dancing group.
Normally Eric would rather have a root canal than dance, but in his younger, barhopping days, when “wilder” had been much more than just his name, he’d done some turns around a dance floor because that was a good way to pull the chicks. Now he clamped his arm around Jaclyn’s waist, keeping her in place, as Delaney let out a whoop of welcome and the band swung once more into “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” which was far and away their most popular number of the night, which was why they’d already played it three times.
He saw her blue eyes, wide and startled, but he ignored the expression and said, “Just follow what I do.”
Her expression changed, her head tilted, and he saw challenge enter those eyes. “Please,” she said with dripping disdain, then she pulled her suit skirt even higher above her knees and began sliding and kicking with the best of them. His heart almost quit beating at the sight of those killer legs moving in the steps. She threw herself into the dance, swinging her hips, clapping, stomping, with the fluid movements of a showgirl—or someone who had spent her own time on a dance floor. Like most of the people there, she sang along. At one point she and the groom’s mother deliberately did a hip bump that wasn’t part of the dance, both of them laughing as they got back in rhythm. Eric reeled her back in close to him, holding her so they moved in rhythm. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him, and all he could think was: God bless beer, and God bless Brooks and Dunn.
The song ended and without pause the band swung into a much slower number, designed to give the dancers a chance to catch their breaths. Eric knew an opportunity when he saw it and he simply tugged her close to him, melding them together from knee to shoulder, and began swaying with her.
Being Jaclyn, of course, she tried to ignore the obvious, which was poking her in the belly. “You can dance, Detective,” she said breathlessly.
He slid his leg between hers as they turned, his hand moving down to her hip to guide her action, which just so happened to all but grind them together. “So can you, Ms. Wilde. Drinking beer and line dancing … does your mother know the things you got up to in college?”
“Some of them,” she said, her smile and eyes still sparkling.
“Want to whisper them in my ear?”
“Not on your life.”
He smiled and kept moving. She moved with him, fluidly, her legs sliding along his, her hips cradling his. Even through her suit jacket he thought he could feel the hard points of her nipples. He could definitely feel the heat rising from their bodies, smell the heightened sweetness the dancing had brought to her overwarm skin. He wondered how he could get her alone, because if he did, he was going to be inside her before she started thinking again. Just five minutes, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers. In five minutes he could have her biting his shirt to keep from screaming. He’d much rather be naked and have her biting him, but he’d take what he could get, so long as it involved making love to her again.
Abruptly the song was interrupted by some yelling and cheering, and they jerked apart in time to watch a full-package, customized pickup truck bumping along the farm trail, decorated with shaving cream, white shoe polish, dirty sayings, and trailing a jangling line of tin cans. Jaclyn’s mouth fell open, and she blinked at the departing truck. “They left without me,” she blurted.
