Page 3 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry, man. That really does suck.” My hand stayed on his shoulder, noticing how muscular it was beneath the thin cotton of his button-down. I quickly removed it and fussed with the brim of my hat again. “So, uh… misery loves company? I guess?”

His eyes met mine and stayed for a moment. I couldn’t look away. There was something about him, even in my half-drunken haze, that made me want to stay with him, keep talking to him, keep hearing his soothing voice and inhaling that intriguing scent.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the string of texts that had been coming in for the past few hours. Everything from a neighbor’s complaint about a fence that needed patching, to my sister wanting an update on the Eden situation, to the sheriff’s nosy-ass inquiries into my personal business. I made a disgruntled noise in my throat and turned the damned thing off.

“I feel you on that,” the guy next to me said. “Turned mine off an hour ago, and that’s pretty unprecedented for me.”

“Same,” I admitted glumly. “Gonna have a lot of explaining to do when I get home.”

He studied me for a beat. “You want to dance, cowboy?” His lips widened in a lazy grin.

My stomach turned over and popped with fizzy excitement. I opened my mouth to reiterate I was straight. To remind him I didn’t know how to dance to this kind of music. To let him down as gently as all the women who’d come before him. But instead of a No, thanks, I blurted, “I’m Way. Waylon. Fletcher.”

His grin widened and made his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Nice to meet you, Waylon Fletcher. I’m Silas Concannon.”

When he stood and held out his hand, I’d had just enough liquor to take it.

It took me a while to find any kind of rhythm on the dance floor, but in my hazy, drink-drunk mind, I felt like maybe I was made to dance like this. Silas felt so damned good in my arms. Strong and solid. I didn’t worry about accidentally touching him in the wrong place or making him uncomfortable. He knew I wasn’t into men, so it wasn’t like I was going to try to cop a feel. We’d already agreed there’d be no casual encounter between us.

It was nice. Like if I’d ever been allowed to hold one of my brothers or friends this way. Comforting, and… okay, maybe in this particular case a little… exciting? For some reason. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because of the beautiful women all around us. Maybe because of the way Silas’s intense gaze seemed locked on me. Or maybe simply because of the sheer amount of alcohol I’d had.

I leaned my face into his neck to inhale. He smelled damned good. Like, summer flowers and fresh hay good. If you’d asked me how I thought citified corporate type would smell, it wouldn’t have been like home.

Silas let out a languid laugh. “Thanks. You smell good, too. It’s making me fucking crazy.”

I closed my eyes. Had I actually said that out loud? Fuck, I needed to go. I needed to call it a night.

Instead, I found myself blurting, “Why’d you say you’re not the marrying type?”

“Not looking for a picket fence like you are, cowboy,” he teased, moving a hand up my chest and pressing a finger inside the edge of my collar. My stomach tightened.

“That’s not… I don’t…”

His eyes squinted with his laugh. “You’ve got Mr. Perfect Life written all over you. Gonna find some prairie princess and settle down. Have two-point-five fillies and rope you a nice future in a white farmhouse. How’bout that?”

My stomach swooped when I realized vaguely that marrying Eden tonight would have meant I’d never have gotten a chance to dance with… to… to club music.

“My house is gray,” I said stupidly, leaning in closer to his ear so he could hear me better. “And I don’t… uh… I mean, Eden’s never been there. Nobody has, really.”

His breath was warm on my neck, but it still managed to make me shiver. “Why hasn’t Eden been there? I thought the two of you were… good friends.”

My alcohol-soaked brain was struggling to string words together. “Everyone wants a piece of me. The house is my sanctuary. The only place… I don’t have to…”

Silas’s fingers moved up into my hair. I’d tucked my hat into the back of my jeans earlier, and his other hand held it pressed securely to my lower back so it didn’t fall out while we danced. “Don’t have to what, cowboy?” he murmured against my ear.

I closed my eyes and relaxed against him. “Don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”

“It’s hard being the strong one all the time, isn’t it?” This time, it didn’t even sound like he was talking about me, but maybe about himself.

I moved closer and nodded as I tucked my nose into his neck. This dance was going to have to end soon. But before it did, I kind of wanted to know what he tasted like. The flashing neon lights made my brain feel like it was flashing, too. Everything muted and faded together in a synchronous beat that seemed like a mix of heartbeats, loud music, and crowd noise. Alcohol warmed and numbed me, and for a few moments, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

It didn’t make sense, but Silas’s body against mine remained the one thing I knew. The one place I understood. The only clear thing in a night quickly dissolving into a drunken haze.

I poked out my tongue and ran it across the tendon on the side of his neck. Prickly stubble felt strange against my lips and tongue. His breath hitched. His hands tightened around my back and one moved down to cup my ass. I arched into him, seeking more. More information, more experience, more of his sweet understanding and gentle teasing. For some reason, I just wanted more.

“We should get another drink,” he suggested low in my ear.

“Mmhm. More.”

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