Allison Leigh - A Weaver Wedding

Her reflection in the ancient mirror showed flushed cheeks and too-dark eyes. She freed her hair from the clip, pulling a brush through it until it swung smooth again, and swabbed some cosmetics into place. Then she went back into the bedroom where she put on the knee-length dress.

It was black, which suited her mood, with a forgivingly swinging cut that didn’t cling anywhere except where the wide, scooped neckline hugged the points of her shoulders. She pulled on black nylons—managing to put a run in the first pair she tried—shoved her feet into shiny black pumps, added a jet-black choker and drop earrings that she’d made a few years ago, and headed to the door.

The Valentine’s dance was the last place she wanted to be, but it was still better than hovering around in the shadows of her house, watching for signs of Axel Clay.

Her coat was where she’d left it by the back door and she slipped into it before leaving the house to cross the cracked sidewalk leading to the garage.

She resolutely ignored the way her neck prickled before she reached the safety of her car and drove it out onto the street, heading back to the school.

When she arrived, the gymnasium had once again been transformed. This time into a dinner dance, complete with a live band playing with more enthusiasm than skill on the stage that had been erected at one end. Large round tables were situated along the sides of the room—most of which already looked full. Opposite the stage, several long tables had been set up as a buffet, where there was already a long line.

And of course there were the hearts. Everywhere.

She blew out a faint breath as she handed over her ticket to the teenagers manning the entry and slid out of her coat, leaving it in the area set aside for them.

There was no such thing as a coat check in Weaver, Wyoming.

The fact that her car keys were in the coat pocket niggled at her, which annoyed her to no end. If it weren’t for Axel Clay’s ridiculous claim, she wouldn’t have thought twice about them.

“Good evening, Tara.” Joe Gage greeted her within seconds after she’d passed over her ticket. “You look great.” His gaze ran down her with appreciation. Sadly, she felt none of the rippling aftereffects from his attention that she did from Axel. She didn’t look at Joe and then have foolish, romantic thoughts of happily-ever-afters twining around her better sense.

“Thanks. So do you.” The school principal did look nice, but he certainly didn’t make her mouth water. Now that she was pregnant, this was certainly no time to start encouraging him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Looks like quite a crowd here tonight.” She was probably the only one in town who’d bought a ticket with no intention of using it.

“Yeah.” His gaze was diverted by Dee Crowder who sailed past them looking pretty in a lacy red dress. “There’s a seat left at my table, though.”

“Thanks—” The word caught when she felt a warm, long-fingered hand slide over her shoulder from behind.

“Thanks, Joe,” Axel said from above her head, “but we should probably find a spot for two.” His chuckle was deep. “Not that I’d mind Tara sitting on my lap through dinner.”

She stared up at him. “What do—”

His hand squeezed her shoulder. Not hard. But definitely in warning.

The rest of her protest died in her throat.

Her cheeks warmed at the realization crossing Joe’s face when he took in Axel’s proprietary hand, and she felt even worse when Joe smiled despite the disappointment in his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind if the prettiest woman in the room had to sit on my lap for a while, either.” He looked back over the crowded tables. “Most of your family is already here. Back near the buffet tables.” He grinned. “Y’all take up more than a few tables.”

“Principal Gage.” Dee Crowder reappeared. She had a pink cocktail in her hand and curiosity in her face as she eyed Axel’s hand on Tara, too. “Mind if I take the last seat at your table?”

“Of course I don’t mind. Axel, Tara, enjoy the evening,” he told them before tucking his hand in Dee’s arm. Tara felt her chance of sitting safely well away from the Clays evaporating as Joe escorted Dee to his table.

“Come on.” Axel urged her forward, right into the melee of dancers taking up the narrow rectangle in the center of the gymnasium floor. “Let’s dance.”

It was a double-edged reprieve from being forced to go to his family’s tables. “I don’t dance.” Déjà vu accosted her as he turned her into his arms.

“Think we’ve been over that,” he murmured, flattening her curled fingers against his shoulder.

The last thing she needed was a reminder of their time in Braden. Particularly when she now had a constant reminder, courtesy of her thickening waistline. And when Axel’s hand slid around that waist, she couldn’t help but hold her breath, just waiting for him to make some comment.

But though his fingertips seemed to flex against her, all he said was a muttered “Relax.”

She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in her. Relax? “You’ve got to be kidding.”

His head lowered until his mouth was near her ear. “Honey, I’ve never been more serious.” He pulled her even closer. Until her breasts were flat against him and their legs were nearly entwined.

She could feel each one of his fingers splayed against her spine. “How do I know this isn’t all something you’ve made up, anyway? I’ve never heard of this Hollins thing you’re talking about.”

He smoothly spun her around. “Keep your voice down.”

“Nobody can hear me.” How could they when he wasn’t allowing a centimeter of breathing room between them?

“You never know who might hear what.” His lips brushed against her ear again and a shiver danced down her spine that owed nothing to memory and everything to the present. “And someday I might be curious as to why you’d think I’d make up a story like this. But for now, just know that most people never have a reason to learn about the agency. And that’s a good thing.”

She was perfectly aware that Axel’s answer hadn’t provided any proof at all to back up his claim. Nor did she feel inclined to tell him that she was used to people making up stories to suit whatever agenda they had in mind. Her father had been the absolute master at it.

She realized her cheek was feeling much too comfortable against his soft sweater. Or maybe it was the incredibly hard chest beneath the gray knit that was too comfortable.

She lifted her head, but that only put her forehead right beneath his angular chin. “Not that I believe any of this, but Sloan is notoriously overprotective.” Maybe the trait was a result of their childhood. She had her own issues that had carried over into adulthood, too. That’s what happened when you were raised by a man whose career demanded secrecy. “And I can handle my own safety.”

Axel’s hand crept an inch lower, moving dangerously near the small of her back. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She deliberately stepped on his foot and wished it were so easy to squash the memory of his lips touching that very same spot where his fingers were drifting. “Sorry.”

She caught the twitch of his lips. “You’re not. But it’s natural that you’re in a defensive mode. I’ve thrown you a curve.”

Again, she felt that hysterical bubble want to escape. If he only knew. “How…understanding of you.” She tried to wedge her hand between them to create at least a minimum of breathing space.

Instead, he just covered her hand with his, probably looking even more loverlike to anyone watching them. “You’re going to give people the wrong idea.” Her heart was pounding and she was painfully aware that he was the reason. Not what he was saying. But him.