Restless

“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—

The thought careened to a stop as she missed her step and stomped on the toe of his boot. Dread welled inside her. “Oh no.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“I missed a step.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“I never miss a step.”

“Never say never.”

She glared at him. “You’re throwing me off.”

“Who? Me?” He grinned, a slow, heart-stopping expression that made her heart skip and her feet stall long enough for her to stomp on his foot again.

“Doggone it.”

“Sugar, you need to relax.”

“If you’ll just tell me what dance you’re doing, then I wouldn’t be messing up.”

“Are you always this uptight?”

“I’m not uptight. I just like to know what I’m doing.”

“Darlin’, just relax and breathe.”

Breathe? Was he crazy? Dancing wasn’t about breathing. It was about counting and watching your steps and…

Her thoughts trailed off as Jack pressed his hand into the small of her back and killed the few inches of distance she’d managed to gain. Soft curves met hard muscle and the air rushed from her lungs. Her nostrils flared and she drew in a deep breath. Bad move. His scent drifted across her senses, intoxicating her and she forgot all about trying to keep the rhythm and found herself taking another long breath. And then another.

He smelled of worn leather and virile male seasoned with a touch of danger that prickled Paige’s nerve endings and sent a rush of excitement through her.