Carole Buck - Three-Alarm Love

“Mmm.” Lauralee shook her head, the corners of her soft mouth turning down. After a few seconds she said, “I don’t think he’s havin’ a very good time.”

“Lauralee Ophelia—”

“It was different before,” the teen persisted, undeterred by the exasperation in her father’s voice. “When they were dancin’ fast, I mean. Fridge was really into the music. But now—well, just look for yourself, Daddy! You see it, don’t you, Keezia? He’s all...stiff. It’s like he’s got a broom handle up his back or somethin’!”

Keezia glanced over her shoulder again. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her pulse gave a curious hop-skip-jump as she once again focused on Fridge and his flamboyant partner.

Maybe...maybe he did look a little uncomfortable, she conceded after a moment or two. While Fridge certainly wasn’t pulling away from his showy lady friend, he wasn’t exactly cozying up to her, either. In fact, now that she really looked...well, she had to admit that something about his posture reminded her of the way he’d held himself right after he’d pulled a bunch of muscles hauling a hysterical four-hundred-pound woman out of a burning apartment building.

And then without warning, Fridge’s gaze met and fused with hers. Keezia’s breath wedged in her throat. Her knees wobbled for an instant. She found herself lifting her hand to check her hair. The crisp texture of her dark, short-cropped curls tickled the strangely sensitized tips of her fingers.

“You know, Keezia,” she heard Lauralee say through the hammering of her heartbeat. “I’ll just bet Fridge would rather be dancin’ with you. ”

Two

“Dance with me?” Fridge asked about five minutes later.

It had taken some doing, but he’d managed to extricate himself from Bernadine Wallace’s clutches after the slow, sultry number had finally come to an end. He’d then made his way across the hall, intercepting Keezia as she headed for the door. After an exchange of greetings and some friendly chitchat—keep it cool and casual, he’d reminded himself, cool and casual—he’ d issued his invitation

Keezia tilted her head. “Dance?”

“Uh-huh.” Man, she looked prime, he thought. Even better up close than from a distance, which, sad to say, wasn’t true with a lot of women. That sweet piece of skin revealed by the modest V-neckline of the loose-fitting pullover she was wearing—mmm-mmm Talk about temptation! And the way the creamy fabric sort of...flo-o-o-owed...over her breasts? Whew! He could definitely get accustomed to looking at that.

As for the short, tight, black leather skirt she had on—well, all he could say was that it was bad, and with those long, lean legs of hers, Keezia Lorraine Carew was wearing the hell out of it.

“I’m on duty tomorrow,” she said, toying with her right earring. Although Fridge wasn’t much on women who fussed with themselves in public, something about this unthinking gesture got to him in a very elemental way. He couldn’t help but speculate about what it would feel like to have Keezia stroking him instead of the burnished metal. “I really ought to be going home.”

“One dance.” While he didn’t want to come on too strong, he didn’t want to take no for an answer too quickly, either. Although he was well aware that sweet talk tended to put Keezia’s back up, he had the distinct impression that this was one instance where she might let herself be coaxed into changing her mind. “One itty-bitty dance and I’ll have you out the door right afterward.”

“I didn’t know you did anything—” his prospective partner paused, and a hint of feminine challenge sparked in her topazcolored eyes as she lowered her hand from her earring “—ittybitty.”

“Size is a relative thing, Sister Carew,” he answered, lowering his voice a note or two and infusing it with just a lick of the resonant bass he turned loose singing gospel every Sunday. “Why, I can imagine more than a few situations when my ‘itty-bitty’ would be another man’s. mighty big.”

He recognized that his choice of words was risky. Keezia was unnerved by his size. He’d picked up on that at their first meeting, long before he’d learned the ugly history that lay behind the reaction. Still, wary as she was, she’d decided to start this back-and-forth. He could only hope that she wouldn’t decide to end it by reiterating her initial excuse and taking her leave.

For a moment, he was certain that was exactly what she was going to do. Keezia’s expression went blank. She seemed to turn inward on herself. Retreating. Remembering. But then she surprised him. Maybe herself, too. The animation returned to her expressive face in a rush. Her richly colored lips parted in a smile that caused his breath to jam somewhere in his chest.

“Mighty big doesn’t do a man much more good than itty-bitty if he doesn’t know what to do with it,” she declared dulcetly. “But let’s leave that be, all right? Because if you’re serious about dancing with me—”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he managed to affirm.

“Well then, Brother Randall, you’d better get me out on the floor right now. The song for our one dance just started playing.”

The song that allowed Ralph Booker Randall to take Keezia Lorraine Carew into his arms had an insinuating beat, the kind of syncopated rhythm that snuck into a man’s bloodstream and started stirring things up. The lyrics had the same sort of sensual hook to them.

Although the urge to pull his partner close was throbbing through Fridge before the end of the tune’s first chorus, he disciplined himself not to give in to it. He kept his hold loose, his touch light. While he’d been encouraged by the sexy banter that had preceded Keezia’s acceptance of his invitation, he knew his proximity made her uneasy. He could feel it in the rigidity of her normally supple spine. He could hear it in the shallow irregularity of her breathing pattern.

Trust me, baby, he urged silently, stroking gently at the small of her back. Please. Trust me. I’m not that bastard Tyrel Babcock. I’d never hurt you.

Gradually, Keezia began to relax within the circle of his embrace. The tension in her slim, sleekly muscled body eased. Her breathing slowed and deepened. The distance between them got smaller and smaller and smaller, then disappeared.

Her hands slid up his forearms and along his shoulders, linking at the back of his neck. The touch of her fingertips against his nape shocked Fridge clear down to the soles of his feet. His nervous system started humming like an electrified power grid.

She didn’t plaster herself against him the bold way his previous partner had. She sort of snuggled up close instead, establishing the fit of their bodies by yielding increments. The process was an exquisite form of torture for Fridge, but he endured it without complaint. He was ready to go through much, much worse if it would help Keezia exorcise her demons.

“I was afraid you weren’t goin’ to make it tonight,” he murmured, inhaling the musk-spice scent of her café-au-lait-colored skin.

“Why’s that?” There was a hint of huskiness in her voice.

“Well, when the party’d been rollin’ for more than an hour and you still hadn’t walked in...”

Keezia shifted a little, raising her head and looking up at him. Her expression was difficult to interpret. There was suspicion in it, but it was mixed up with a lot of other emotions.

“You were watching out for me?” she asked after a fractional pause.

He flashed back on that sizzling moment when his eyes had met hers while he’d been slow-dancing with Bernadine. He held Keezia’s gaze for a few beats, willing her to remember—and acknowledge—the moment, too. A sudden flaring of her delicately shaped nostrils told him that she had.