Page 42 of So Close

He yielded the last bite and she slid it voluptuously off her fork. He didn’t think she was doing it on purpose, it was just the way she was about food, all in. That said, he was feeling a little jealous of that fork, which was getting the full-on treatment.

“How old were you when you started working for Carl?” he asked her, to stop himself from thinking about how her mouth would feel on him.

“Fifteen,” she said. “I worked for him every summer in high school and college, and then took a permanent job with him after college. Until I went to New York.”

She stopped.

“Patrick.”

“Yeah.”

“So—you were in New York—how long?”

“Two years.”

“That’s a long time. As long as I was married.”

“You weremarried?”

“Yeah. Couple of years. She left. Said I was a workaholic.”

That wasn’texactlywhat she’d said, but it captured the spirit well enough. Abruptly, he got up. “Let’s walk.”

They tossed their garbage and strolled together up and down the street for a bit, scoping the scene.

The street dance shut down Tierney Bay’s main drag all the way from one end of the retail zone to the other. Booths selling all kinds of food and drink—as well as arts and crafts—lined the sides. Kids blew bubbles, drew with chalk, and messed with silly string. If you walked half a block in either direction the music changed as you passed each small makeshift bandstand—bluegrass, Zydeco, country, garage rock.

It was pretty fucking charming, actually.

What happened if she succeeded? If she made him fall in love with Beachcrest?

He wasn’t going to think about that.

The band whose zone they’d just stepped into was playing “Seven Nights to Rock.”

“Iloverockabilly,” Auburn said, and started dancing.

And oh,fuck, she looked good. The shimmy of her breasts, the wiggle of her hips. He wanted to put his hands on all of her at once. Which was—

Well, there was one permissible reason to do so.

He pulled her into a dance frame—ignoring her startled look—and edged her into a passable West coast swing, dredging the moves up from the depths of his soul.

“Youdodance! You were holding out on me!” she said as they swiveled in and out and he spun her away into a turn, caught her at the apogee, and tugged her back.

She felt amazing in his arms, her smaller hand in his, his face tucked down near her ear, his lips against the soft satin of her hair. She smelled unbelievably good. Strawberry shampoo and a vanilla-and-cinnamon scent that he was pretty sure washer.

“I said Idon’tdance, not that I can’t.” He slid her down his leg, which made her giggle. When he drew her back up and turned her toward him—their faces so close he could smell the bright malt of beer on her breath, he said, “I learned for my wedding, but this is the first time it’s ever been my choice.”

Startled, she looked up at him. Her eyes were bright, her lips parted—soft and red. She licked them and he heard his breath huff out of him, but somehow, some-freaking-how, he managed not to kiss her. It felt like the world would probably end if he did, and also if he didn’t. So for now he’d take what he had, which was the softness of her curves in his arms.

“Trey—” She bit her lip, and his cock, just an inch from her thigh, twitched.

“Just—don’t,” he said. “If either of us talks, we’ll probably say something we’ll regret, don’t you think? And I’m enjoying this way too much for that.”

She opened her mouth again, then closed it. For a long moment, he was sure she was going to shut them down—and she’d be more than right to. Then she took a breath. “Do that thing again. With the—” She gestured as best she could with him still holding her hand.

He let his own held breath out in a rush. “This one?”

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