Page 17 of Knot what I want for Christmas
Her eyes flick back up to mine again, and damn, Nash has never been so right. The girl really is pretty, especially with the neon lights from the bar falling across her smooth skin.
“Well,” I tell her, “if you want to take your mind off things, I’m always happy to help.”
Her eyes widen in shock, and I almost choke on my beer, realizing my misstep. I grin, laugh. “Geez, I didn’t mean it that way. You have a dirty little mind, sweetheart.”
She frowns at me. “You never can tell with Alphas.”
Which is fair. I could easily, so easily, have meant it that way.
“I was just meaning there’s a lot to do here in Silver Creek, especially down at the ranch. I hear you’re keen on horses.”
“I love them,” she says, that frown melting away instantly. “I love all animals. I’m a vet.”
“Are you now?” I say, because that ticks off about a billion other things I like in a woman – in an Omega. Clever, caring,good with animals. Honestly, why is Clay saying this girl is off-limits? Remind me, please.
“Yeah, well, we’re going to take you out riding then,” I tell her, “and then there’s skating down on the lake and a ride up to the top of the mountain.”
“Ah!” She nods enthusiastically.
“And also,” I say, motioning my head toward the dance floor, “there’s the good ole country pastime of line dancing. Want to try that now?”
She shakes her head. “Oh my goodness, no. I’m a horrible dancer, a really horrible dancer. I don’t have two left feet, I have two malfunctioning limbs with the inability to coordinate them at all.”
“Everyone can dance,” I tell her. “And as far as I can tell, you have a perfectly good pair of legs.”
My gaze drifts back down her legs, lingering on her ample thighs and tracking right down to those cowboy boots. She’d have a right to tell me off this time, because I definitely say it with a whole heap of flirtation.
“Not me,” she says. “I can’t dance. I never know what to do, I always feel self-conscious. I usually end up falling on my ass.”
“Yeah,” I say, swigging the last of my beer and slamming it down on the bar. “But that’s the good thing about line dancing. You just follow everyone else. There’s no free will or interpretation in it. Honestly, you’ll be just fine.”
She grimaces and glances at her best friend, who’s now completely engrossed in Travis, who seems to be taking a break from his bar duties altogether. She swings her gaze back to me.
I hold out my hand and give her my most charming smile. “Come on, you only live once,” I tell her, “and I promise,“ I lean closer toward her, “I’ll take good care of you.”
And is it my imagination, or do those words send a little shiver down her spine? She’s an Omega after all. There are certain reflexes, certain reactions, she just can’t help.
“Okay,” she says, allowing me to take her hand once again – another action that seems to have her scent spiraling up into the air. “But don’t blame me if I bruise your toes or kick your ankles.”
“Sure I’ve come across much worse with horses and cattle, sweetheart,” I tell her, pulling her closer, weaving my arm around her waist, and then leading her across to the dance floor.
For a moment we hover on the edge, waiting for the previous dance to come to an end. I keep my hand just where it is, resting on her waist, and to my delight she doesn’t wriggle away or step to one side. When the song finishes, I pull her out onto the dance floor, finding a spot for us near the back, because she clearly feels self-conscious.
“What do I do?” she hisses at me as the singer announces the name of the next song and several girls whoop from the front row.
“The steps are pretty basic,” I tell her, and run through them quickly. Her eyes widen again, this time with horror.
“What?” she says. “That was way too quick and way too complicated!”
I show her again, getting her to follow along this time. Although she protests, she picks it up pretty quick. I don’t tell her that’s only the first few steps – there’s at least twenty-odd involved – but then the music’s starting and it’s too late to back out now.
She steps through the first few confidently enough, but when everyone on the dance floor switches to the right and starts stomping in a different direction, she looks at me in alarm – like a passenger on a sinking ship who’s had the last life ring snatched from their grasp.
“It’s okay,” I say to her. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
She shakes her head again, gaze darting back to the bar as if, like a scared colt, in a minute she might make a bolt for it.
“I promised to look after you, didn’t I, Hollie?” I say.
