Michelle Celmer - Exposed - Her Undercover Millionaire

“Well, you can step on my boots all you want. It won’t bother me.” He grabbed her hand and coaxed her out of the booth. But when he tried to pull her onto the floor, she resisted. “But no one else is dancing.”

“We’ll be trendsetters. In a couple of hours it’ll be packed.”

She darted a glance around as he led her out on to the deserted dance floor. “Everyone is watching. I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”

“Relax,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She stood there stiffly, like she wasn’t sure what to do. He took her hands, placing one on his right hip and the other on his left shoulder, then he put both hands on her waist and tugged her closer. She sucked in a quiet breath as their bodies collided, and damn, she felt nice.

He started slow, just swaying gently to the music. In her heels her eyes were level with his chin, but she was petite. She had a narrow waist and delicate, finely boned hands. But there was a sturdiness about her, and enough weight behind her to make him wince when she stepped down on the toes of his left foot.

“Sorry!” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I warned you.”

The problem was, she was trying to lead. “Just relax and follow my steps.”

For the first three quarters of the song he looked at the top of her head while she watched their feet, and she was doing pretty well, but the second she looked up she stepped on him again.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay. You’re getting the hang of it. I’ll have you line dancing in no time.”

“Line dancing?” Her eyes went wide and she stumbled over his boot. He hissed out a breath as her heel ground into his big toe. “Sorry!”

“Watch my feet,” he said and she lowered her eyes again. “And yes, line dancing.”

“I definitely can’t line dance.”

“Anyone can line dance. It just takes practice.”

“I’m seriously not that coordinated.”

“You don’t have to be. It’s just simple repetitive movements.”

She glanced up again and caught him in the opposite foot with her other heel. At this rate, she really would destroy his boots.

“Sorry!”

“I have an idea,” he said. “Give me your foot.”

She frowned. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I’ll give it back.”

She bent her leg up. He reached down and grabbed her shoe, slipped it off, and tossed it under their table.

“But—”

“Other side,” he said, waiting patiently for her to lift her foot, and maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t take no for an answer because she complied. He slid it off and tossed it with its mate.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

He pulled her back into his arms. “They were getting in the way.”

“I feel like so short without them.”

She was significantly smaller with them off. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “How tall are you, anyway?”

“Five-three if I stand really straight. I’ve always wanted to be taller.”

“Why? What’s wrong with being short?”

She rolled her eyes. “Only a tall person would ask that.”

“I’m only six-one.”

“ Only. You’re ten inches taller than me!”

He grinned. “But have you noticed that since you took them off you’ve been dancing and you haven’t stumbled once?”

She blinked. “I haven’t?”

“I told you, you could do it.”

She looked so thrilled, it made him smile, and she must have been happy, too, because her eyes were bright violet. But then a faster song started, and he wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge just yet. One step at a time.

He led her back to the booth. Billie had left them fresh drinks and a set of menus.

“Think Billie is trying to tell us something?” he asked.

“I guess I am a little hungry,” she said, taking a swallow of her wine, then another. She was going to have to pace herself or he would be carrying her out to the truck.

She ordered a salad and he got his usual burger. As they waited for their food the dance floor began to fill up. He thought she might be nervous dancing around so many people, but when another slow song began she actually got up and dragged him out of the booth and onto the dance floor, in her stocking feet this time. When he pulled her close, she didn’t put up the least bit of resistance. This time she leaned in closer, and it didn’t escape him how perfectly her body seemed to fit tucked against his.

“I think I actually kind of like this,” she said, smiling up at him. She was getting better. She only stepped on his foot once through the entire song.

When their food arrived, they returned to their seats and before she sat she shrugged out of her suit jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the seat beside her. Underneath she wore a pale pink, silk shell tank that was as soft and delicate-looking as her skin. Her bust was on the small side, but perfectly proportionate to her size. Unlike Ashleigh, whose surgically enhanced chest had always been a source of mixed feelings for him. He preferred things natural. And while Ashleigh’s implants looked good, there was nothing “natural” about them. They felt exactly like what they were, sacks of fluid stuffed in her chest. But it was one of those things, a minor glitch in the relationship that he’d been willing to overlook.

He couldn’t help wondering how Paige’s would feel. What was it they used to joke about in high school? More than a mouthful was a waste? Well, it looked to him as if Paige was just right.

She ordered a fourth glass of wine with her dinner and he could tell it was going to her head. But when he tried to get her to line dance she said she was too afraid of embarrassing herself. He pointed out that she would never learn if she didn’t at least try, but that argument got him nowhere. Besides, she seemed to like slow dancing, and he liked holding her close. After glass five, she chucked the last of her inhibitions and glued her body to his, rubbing against him in a way that was honest-to-goodness torture, and she was giving off enough heat to melt the polar caps.

Since breaking his engagement, Brandon had barely looked at another woman, and he sure as hell hadn’t been ready to sleep with one. Until now. He wanted Paige. But as far as she was concerned, he was an uneducated rancher with practically nothing to his name. The question was, did she want him enough to see past that?

This would be a test, to see the kind of woman Paige Adams really was.

Though Paige knew it was wrong, and there were a couple dozen really good reasons not to get involved with a man like Brandon, she wanted him. Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that she hadn’t been with a man in a very long time, but she couldn’t seem to get close enough. She typically went for the studious type, who tended not to be so blessed physically, but Brandon’s body felt so solid and strong. And he smelled so good. She even liked the feel of his beard against her forehead when she laid her head on his chest. She’d expected it to be wiry and sharp, but in reality it was soft.

“I guess you’ve got the hang of it now,” he said. His voice had a husky quality that hadn’t been there before, and when she smiled up at him, the look in his eyes said he wanted her, too.

“I’m glad you forced me to try.”

“Me, too.” He reached up and tucked a stray hair back from her face. It had begun to work itself loose from the chignon, which under normal circumstances would have had her running to the ladies room to fix it. Tonight she didn’t care.

“Do you always wear your hair up?” he asked.

“For work I do.”

“I’ll bet it looks sexy down.” He ran the fingers of both hands through her hair, pulling the pins loose so it spilled around her shoulders.