Kimberly Raye - Restless

It was the principal of the thing. They were at a wedding. A happy occasion. She ought to be enjoying herself.

“That’s Paige Cassidy.”

“That’s nice.” He forced his attention back to Deb and away from the numerous ways he could loosen up the wholesome looking redhead. Ways that wouldn’t leave her the least bit wholesome by the time he finished with her. Even if the very last thing he needed was to touch or kiss or even think about a woman like Paige Cassidy.

No matter how much he suddenly wanted to do all three and a whole helluva lot more.

“She works at the newspaper for me.”

“That’s nice.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

His gaze narrowed. “Get those notions right out of your head, little sister.”

Deb shrugged. “What’s wrong? You don’t like girls?”

“Not that type of girl.”

“And what type would that be?”

“The marrying kind.”

“And what’s wrong with the marrying kind?”

“Not a thing. They’re just not my kind.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You like those freedom-loving singles, huh?”

“They have their finer points.”

“Yeah, they get hives just thinking about commitment.”

He grinned. “Say, has Jimmy been giving you lessons on meddling? Because you’re really good at it.”

She gave him a pleased smile. “You think so?”

“You could have been born to it.”

“Thanks, but flattery isn’t going to shut me up.” She eyed Paige. “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

He shook his head. “I plead the fifth on that one.”

“She is pretty. And she’s smart. And as nice as they come. And I think those glasses make her look sort of sexy, in a Katie Couric sort of way. Don’t you think?”

“You’re not getting anything out of me.”

“Come on, Jack.”

“No way. If I agree with you, you’ll haul me over there right now, and if I disagree, you’ll probably stomp my foot.”

“I’ll do that anyway.”

He grinned. “Either way, it spells trouble and I’ve already had more than my share.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You need to meet a nice woman.” As if she’d just realized what she’d said, she shook her head. “God, what’s happening to me? Freedom was my middle name. I’ve been married a measly five hours and already I’m the spokesperson for marital bliss.” She shook her head. “You find your own woman. Just make sure she’s nice.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And smart.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And pretty.” He gave her a knowing look and she shook her head again. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. So how long is the prodigal brother sticking around for this time?”

He arched an eyebrow. “How long until you get back from your honeymoon?”

“Two weeks.”

“Then I’d say about two weeks and an hour or so to pack.”

“Smart-ass.”

“I’m being truthful.”

“I know. That’s the problem. You don’t have to run off the second we get off the plane. You could stick around for a little while.” When he gave her a here-we-go-again look, she added, “This isn’t about getting married, it’s about settling down.”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably—”

“I’m serious,” she cut in. “You can’t keep moving around from place to place forever. You’re thirty years old.”

“I like moving around from place to place, which is why I’m out of here when you guys come home. I’ve got a job lined up in Santa Fe next month with one of the biggest ranches in the southwest. They’re breeding and breaking their own cutting horses, but their trainer’s taking a leave for personal reasons. I’ll be filling in.”

“Temporarily.”

“Yep.”

“That’s pretty far away.”

“Yep.”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Don’t you miss your family?”

“’Course I do. But Jimmy’s busy with you and his new construction business. You’re busy with your newspaper. Mom leaves tomorrow to go on the road with Red for the senior rodeo finals in Vegas.” Red Bailey was the oldest living bull rider and had nabbed the championship in his division for the past five years in a row. “I’d say my family’s pretty much occupied for the time being, so no one’s likely to worry about whether or not I’m hanging around. Say, I thought you wanted to dance?”

“We are dancing.”

“We’re talking. Now this,” he twirled her and watched her smile, “is dancing.”

The conversation ended, thankfully, and for the next thirty seconds they moved faster, spinning around the dance floor until the song played down and Deb gave him a hug.

“Thanks little brother and good luck.”

“Shouldn’t I be wishing you luck? You’re the one who just married my pigheaded brother.”

“True.” A smile tugged at her lips as she stared past him. “But I’m not the one with a dozen or so single women headed straight for me.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and murmured, “Be strong,” before dashing off in a swirl of white.

Jack turned in time to see a cluster of women headed straight for him, each of them obviously ready to claim the next dance.

He glanced down at his empty hands and contemplated a mad rush for the bar. Then his gaze hooked on a familiar redhead exiting the dance floor barely an arm’s length away.

She’s not your type, cowboy.

Damn straight. She was like all the others, frilly and feminine and out to find herself a future husband.

With one exception. Unlike all the others, she wasn’t headed his way. Why, she hadn’t even smiled at him when he’d caught her eye from across the room.

For whatever reason, it seemed as if Paige Cassidy wasn’t the least bit interested in him.

And it was a shame, a damned shame, for anybody to look so uptight on such a happy occasion. She needed to loosen up, and Jack needed an escape.

He took two steps and reached for her hand.

“W-HAT ARE YOU DOING?” Paige blurted when Jack Mission slid his arm around her waist and steered her back out onto the dance floor.

“Last I looked,” he said as he swung her into his arms and started to move, “it was called dancing, sugar.”

Paige fought to keep from stepping on his toes, her senses overloaded by so much male heat. He was too close and this was too sudden. Just what the heck did he think he was doing?

He hadn’t even asked her to dance!

“I don’t really think—”

“It ain’t about thinking, sugar. It’s about moving. You can move, can’t you?”

The way he stared down at her, one blond eyebrow arched and a twinkle in his liquid gray eyes, stirred her indignation. “Of course I can.” And she’d spent good money to make sure of it.

“Then prove it.”

She had two choices. She could pull away, which wouldn’t be easy because Jack Mission had a very strong grip on her waist, or she could calm down, concentrate and make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing herself. “What dance are we doing?”

“I’ll let you pick.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Whichever dance we do is based on the speed and tempo of the song. This is a two-step. We should be going faster.”

He tightened his arms and drew her even closer. “Feels plenty fast to me.”

“It’s too slow, and too close.” She pushed against his chest and gained a few blessed inches of distance. There. Now she could breathe. More importantly, she could think. “We need speed and distance for this particular tempo.”

“Feels like just the right amount of distance to me.”

If only. Instead, Jack Mission filled her line of vision, surrounded her with his warmth and his scent and the hard, steady feel of his heart against hers—