Page 6 of Between Two Thorns

“What do ya recommend?” She clambered onto a barstool to lean forward, having to shout as the song behind them hit a crescendo.

In a heartbeat, the swarm on the dance floor cleared away.The solid mass liquified and refilled the bar area. Conversations swelled as patrons grabbed their drinks or ordered more, accompanied by a mellow tune from the speakers.

“Care for a slippery nipple?” A voice said into Rose’s ear.

Panic on the Dancefloor

Rosefelttheovertflirtation as much as she heard the man over her shoulder. He had to practically press up against her to say it, and his breath was so hot against her neck it made her skin tingle in a way that she wasn’t sure she liked.

But a smile popped onto her face as she turned on reflex… even if a flash of disappointment ran through her when she saw the stranger was not Mr. Charming and In Charge or Mr. Strong but Silent.

“That an offer or a request?”

The guy snorted, and Rose smirked. Hell yes, she was funny, and she was checking him out. Tight white tank top. Hemsworth build. Couldn’t tell what his hair color was from the stupidly backwards cap.

She could work with that.

“A little forward, don’t ya think, Chad?” Ms. Bartender said, raising one of her dark eyebrows. And Rose almost turned around to stare at her. Was that…his name, or was that a joke? She thought only Fred said that kind of thing. From spending too much time on the internet.

“Course not, Ms. Bonnie.” He grinned, taking a sip of his own dark brown bottle, his arm tantalizingly close to Rose as he leaned against the bar. She could easily just brush up against that wall of muscle—“Happy to get the lady a screaming orgasm later.” Chad winked.

And Rose blushed to her flaming red roots.

“Should ask a lady to dance first,” she quipped back, priding herself on playing it cool.

Chad cocked his eyebrows and his empty bottle down with a smack. “Well, c’mon little lady.” He offered his arm.

Irritation spiked through the short redhead at once, but she chilled it again. They could establish ground rules about what she would and would not be called...after he impressed her on the dance floor. Rose nodded and slipped her arm through his impressive bicep.

A hand with long nails laid itself over Rose’s, making her turn back to the bartender with a furrowed brow. “Let me know if you want an angel shot later, honey,” she said with a sincerity that didn’t match the offer of a free drink.

It flew right over Rose’s head.

“Thanks!” the redhead called as her dance partner got impatient and tugged her forward.

Chad led Rose by the arm into the throng of writhing bodies as another beat built over the speakers.

The sound of fiddling filled the beer-drenched air, heavy with the clinging stench of alcohol, sweat, and a good time all around.

Rose had been dreaming of tearing it up on the dance floor like a real almost-twenty-something for so long, she barely had a second to worry that she couldn’t cut the rug in a real setting. Sure, she’d danced plenty on the Ranch.

But that was in front of her family, which didn’t count and probably would have found it hilarious if she resembled a hairbrush in a hurricane—it would have provoked a snorting, laughing fit from her brother, Sage.

Or the tourists, who were too old and sweet to care if she couldn’t dance, or were preteen boys that would stare an uncomfortable amount if Rose started to sweat.

No time to be anxious—the fiddling had increased in intensity. The beat was about to drop. Rose had to get out into the center of it all or be crushed by the throng of people swaying and stomping around her, eager to keep up with the song. She could handle that, no doubt.

Though Chad was more intent on handling her.

He was everywhere, touching her arms and her sides and up and down her torso. Was this what dancing with a partner was like? Basically dancing with herself up in her room. Just with more than her own hands on her hips.

Chad moved in closer to her, pressing his body against hers. Rose smiled as she could feel the way he flexed his muscles through his shirt. He squeezed so close she could feel the bass thumping in his chest as much as her own.

And, boy, the dude was showing off.

He was puffing out his chest and the bulging muscle of his arms pulled her impossibly closer, and even grinding their hips together in a way that would make a country preacher pass out from heat stroke.

It was risque; it was incredible.

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