Allison Leigh - A Weaver Wedding

“The wrong idea about what? That I like dancing with you?” His fingertips flexed again. “I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

She felt his lips against her temple. His thumb stroked against the wrist he still held captive. “Liar. Your pulse feels like it wants to jump out of your skin.”

“Anger does that, too.”

She didn’t hear the sigh he gave, but she definitely felt it.

“I wasn’t joking when I said this would be easier with your cooperation. If you want me dogging your footsteps looking like some stalker, then I will.”

She wanted to tear herself out of his arms and run far, far away. Instead, she followed his lead as he wove her around the crowded dance floor in time to the endless ballads that the band was cranking out. “I told you. I can take care of myself.”

She felt him sigh again. His jaw brushed against her cheek, the healthy five o’clock shadow he’d developed softly abrading. “Want me to tell you how that other agent’s family was killed? How they were going through their normal day, never suspecting, never knowing that—”

“Stop.” Her stomach rolled suddenly. “I don’t want the details.”

“And I don’t want to give them,” he assured her softly. “But I will if that’s what it takes to prove I’m serious.” He turned her smoothly to avoid colliding with another couple, and his voice dropped even lower. “We don’t know for certain that the order on Sloan came down from the Deuces. But it’s pretty likely, considering their trial starts next week. If you won’t go along with this for yourself, then do it for Sloan. Protecting people is one of the things I do, Tara. So let me do my job.” His deep voice was gentle.

Seductive.

And she had to brace herself against all of it.

“Then protect Sloan.”

“He’s not my assignment. You are.”

Assignments. Jobs.

His insistence had everything to do with his job and nothing to do with her, personally.

Nothing to do with the days they’d spent in each other’s arms. Certainly nothing to do with the repercussions of those hours. Repercussions of which he was blissfully unaware.

A state of secrecy she wanted to preserve more now, than ever.

A very short, very brief fling was the only thing she shared with this man. But she and her baby were a team now. She’d realized that in the two months since she’d learned she was pregnant.

She’d never be alone again.

No matter how easily she’d fallen for Axel over the course of one weekend four months ago, neither she nor the baby needed a man as unreliable as her father had been in their lives.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She finally succeeded in tugging her hands out of his and stepped away when the song finished and Hope Clay took the microphone to encourage everyone to hit the newly replenished buffet.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said loudly enough for anyone to overhear, “I have some people I’d like to say hello to.” Without waiting for him to voice the protest forming on his perfectly shaped lips, she turned and joined the mass of people moving off the dance floor in the general direction of the food.

But she didn’t join the line that was even longer now than it had been, nor did she have anyone with whom she particularly wanted to speak. Instead, she slipped through the door leading to the girl’s locker room.

Only there was no easy escape there, either, she realized at the sight of Axel’s mother standing at the row of sinks, drying her hands on a paper towel.

“Hello, Tara.” Emily Clay’s dark hair was swept up with a sparkling clip and—like half the women present—she looked Valentine-appropriate in a slender red cocktail sheath. “What a lovely dress you’re wearing.”

Feeling painfully self-conscious, Tara swished her hand down her dress. “It’s just something I grabbed.”

“You grabbed,” Emily repeated humorously. “Don’t say that around too many women or you might make more enemies than friends. Not all of us can just whip something out of the closet and look like you do.”

Tara didn’t need the long mirror that spanned the row of sinks to know that her face was turning red. “I think you’re describing yourself more than me, but, um, thank you.” She knew she wasn’t beautiful. She was short and mostly unremarkable with freckles on her nose that makeup didn’t always hide, and now she was wearing a dress designed to hide the fact that she was starting to look fat.

Emily, fortunately, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she tossed her paper towel in the trash bin and headed for the door. “Be sure and bring my errant son by our tables,” she told Tara with a wry smile as she left. “He’s obviously focused entirely on you, but I have yet to see his face since he got back to town.”

It was nearly impossible to keep her smile in place as her face flamed. She murmured something nonsensical, but it didn’t matter, because Emily moved out of the way so the giggling teens who’d manned the ticket table could enter and the door swung closed once more.

Tara returned the girls’ greetings and needlessly washed her hands. Then, instead of taking the door that led back to the gymnasium, she let herself out through the opposite side, ending up on the cold expanse of cement leading to the outdoor racquetball courts.

Her breath ringed around her head and the cold night air sent goose bumps along her limbs as she hurried along the cement. She’d walk around the building, go in the front again to retrieve her coat and car keys, and then head back home.

Simple enough.

Until she rounded the last corner and stopped short at the sight of Axel, leaning indolently against the building, her coat draped over his crossed arms.

“Forget something?” He lifted the coat with one hand. Her keys were in his other and he jingled them.

She went over to him and snatched both away, half-afraid that he’d refuse to give them to her. But he did, and she yanked her coat over her shoulders, turning toward the parking lot. “Your mother is looking for you.”

He ignored that and followed her. “I’m not going away, Tara.”

She wanted to press her hands over her ears. Instead, she quickened her steps until she was practically jogging through the rows of vehicles. Then her foot hit a patch of ice and she gasped, throwing out her hands to stop her fall. But she never made contact with the pavement.

Axel scooped her up from behind. “Easy there.” His voice was soft against her neck.

She strained against his arm, but it was immovable. “Let me go.” The words were garbled. Just as garbled as her vision thanks to the stupid tears that burned her eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He settled her carefully on her feet and muttered an oath when he saw her tears. “Ah, hell. Don’t cry. I can take most anything but you crying.”

That did not help. She felt the tears spill over her lashes and blamed the hormones pelting around inside her for her deplorable lack of control. “I’m so sorry you’re uncomfortable!” She swiped her cheeks but it was as effective as sticking her thumb in a leaking dam. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

He was silent, his expression unreadable. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Because of this story about Sloan? Nobody would make the mistake of thinking I matter to him, least of all me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him.” His voice was soft—as soft as it had been in the middle of the dance floor, but his words still seemed to echo around her.

“Well, I’m glad you do, because I don’t. Not anymore.” She tried peeling Axel’s fingers away from where they were wrapped around her waist and the bunched lapels of her coat. “And I only have your word about all of this. So—”