Barbara Boswell - The Engagement Party

“Hannah knows the Wyndhams,” Blaine continued. “Her family socializes with them. The Farleys are up there, too, you know.”

Matthew scowled at his frustration. He was not here to discuss the Farleys!

“You wouldn’t catch the Wyndhams or the Farleys at a party at the Clover Street Boardinghouse. Of course, Hannah is nothing like the rest of the Farleys.”

“Because she chooses to socialize with you earthbound peasants?”

Blaine laughed good-naturedly. “Hannah can mix with anyone. Say, would you like me to introduce you to her? She’ll probably dance with you if you ask. She’s very gracious.”

“Just a little Carolina belle brimming with Southern hospitality?” Matthew remembered their contentious meeting upstairs when she’d been far from gracious or hospitable. He watched her now, flirting with every guy at the party, and his face hardened. “I think I’ll pass on the privilege of doing the shag with Hannah Farley, but thanks for offering, Biff.”

“Blaine.”

Matthew took a deep breath. “Whatever.”

From the corner of her eye, Hannah watched Matthew Granger talking to Blaine Spencer as the two men stood together watching the dancers. She had known the exact moment that Matthew had set foot in the living room, as if she possessed some kind of psychic radar that attuned her to his presence. She was acutely aware of him every second, knowing when he was watching her—which was almost constantly, except for those moments when he’d turned his eyes on the others.

She’d known the instant he looked at Maureen Fitzgerald, Sean’s cousin, a striking, sexy redhead whom Hannah had always liked. Until she’d watched Matthew Granger smile slightly at Maureen. Then she’d felt a disgraceful urge to dunk the other woman’s head in the punch bowl!

Hannah continued to dance and laugh and flirt, her nerves tingly and taut. She realized that she was overdoing it; her dancing, her flirting, her laughter had an almost desperate edge.

Matthew disapproved of her behavior, Hannah was certain of that. Cold fire burned in his onyx eyes. She pretended to ignore him, taking care not to glance in his direction except very covertly. He would never know that she had seen his every move, gauged his every response. His reaction to the compulsively genial Blaine Spencer almost made her laugh out loud. Matthew stood there, dark and surly and brooding, while Blaine nattered on, his smile never wavering.

“I think it’s time to announce the winners of the contest,” Katie said, lifting the needle from the record player, thus ending the music. “The best shaggers in Clover are—”

“Abby Long and Ben Harper, of course,” Hannah cried, grabbing Abby’s left arm and Ben’s right and holding them high in the air.

Everybody clapped and cheered.

“Well, hey, if you can’t win the shag contest at your own engagement party, when can you?” Blaine exclaimed happily.

He turned to Matthew, who was surveying the scene, his arms folded across his chest, the only person in the room who wasn’t clapping or laughing or even smiling.

“It was generous of Hannah to name Abby and Ben the winners,” Blaine murmured confidentially to Matthew. “Of course, we all know Hannah is really the best dancer of them all.”

“So does she,” Matthew growled. “She is fully aware that she is the most fascinating woman in this room.”

Blaine raised his brows but made no comment.

“As the official contest winners, we’d like our prize to be a slow dance,” Ben announced, pulling Abby close.

“Aren’t you even going to wait for the music?” Hannah teased.

Matthew glowered. The little flirt was irrepressible. She was even batting those long lashes at the prospective groom! And if the pretty bride-to-be didn’t seem to mind, well, Matthew minded for her!

“Hannah!” Blaine called and waved. “Come over here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A newcomer to our fair city.”

Blaine kept waving and calling and would not be ignored. Reluctantly, Hannah responded to the summons and joined him and Matthew, who had retreated to a dark corner of the living room. In his black clothes, he blended into the dim recess like some kind of otherworldly shadow prince. Or perhaps a gun-toting cat burglar who read about serial killers for entertainment.

To Matthew and Hannah’s mutual dismay, Blaine proceeded to introduce them to each other.

“I hope I’m not telling tales out of school but Matt was riveted by your shagging talent, Hannah,” Blaine exclaimed merrily. “You didn’t learn to dance that way at Miss Perkins’s ballroom dancing cotillion classes, did you?” he teased.

Hannah smiled weakly. Matthew scowled.

“Now I’m going to make a suggestion.” Blaine forged ahead, clearly enjoying his role as matchmaker. “Hannah, why don’t you do Matt the honor of welcoming him to Clover with a dance?”

At that moment, music sounded through the speakers, this time a romantic ballad, another classic from an earlier era. Couples began to pair up. Abby and Ben were already clinging and swaying in the middle of the floor.

Hannah and Matthew stood facing each other.

“Go on, you two, dance with each other! Don’t be shy!” Blaine insisted jovially.

Matthew caught Hannah’s hand. “Let’s get this over with.” He pulled her against him, close, very close.

Too close. Hannah gasped as he fastened his arms around her, linking them tightly around her waist. She had no choice but to raise her arms and rest them on his shoulders. ”You’re holding me too tight!” she grated.

“You mean this isn’t the way you learned to dance at Miss Pennypacker’s Ballroom Academy for Proper Young Ladies and Gentlemen?” He didn’t loosen his hold.

Hannah’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “No, we didn’t dance like this in Miss Perkins’s cotillion classes. Poor old Miss Perkins would’ve burst an aneurysm.”

Matthew made no response. He was not in the mood for light banter.

Hannah gulped, her every nerve wired and tingling with sensual electricity. She hadn’t felt this nervous slow dancing with a male since her days at Miss Perkins’s cotillion classes. And not even then, not really. Even as a young girl, she had been socially confident, self-assured in her dealings with the opposite sex.

But being in Matthew Granger’s arms, pressed tightly against his hard body evoked a vulnerability she never dreamed she possessed. She felt intensely feminine in contrast to his unyielding masculinity. She was aware of his superior male strength in a way she’d never been before.

She had never met a man she couldn’t manage; she could charm, cajole, guide or boss every male she’d ever known. But she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to handle Matthew Granger. He seemed to be the one doing all the handling—of her!

“Relax,” he growled against her ear. “You’re wound tight as a spring.”

“That’s because you’re holding me so close you’re practically suffocating me.” Hannah was flushed and breathless and resented him for it.

He was so close that his heartbeat seemed to echo in her own chest. Against the burgeoning pressure of his thighs, her legs felt supple and boneless, her knees weakening so quickly she wondered if they would support her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened into taut buds. They were excruciatingly sensitive and she knew a wild, wanton urge to rub them against the muscular wall of his chest to seek relief. And to heighten the stimulation.

She could feel his breath against her hair, his big hands moving slowly over her back. His touch was strong and possessive. Her skin felt damp and feverish, and she knew that the warm June night and energetic bout of shagging had nothing to do with it.