his goblet. “Here’s to kissing.”
She smiled, clinked glasses, then sipped. “You play dirty,”
she commented, glancing around.
“Uh-huh,” was al he could think of to say.
Celine Dion’s wildly romantic “I Love You” began, and Brandon grabbed her glass and set it and his down on the coffee table. “This is my favorite song. Dance with me?”
“Oh, no! I can’t dance.”
“Then let me teach you.”
“I don’t think—” she began, even as he tugged her to the center of the room.
The boat was rocking softly, almost in tune with the music, and Brandon pulled Laura into his arms. “It’s easy. Just let the rhythm of the song take over.”
He put her hands on his shoulders and lightly grasped her waist. “Just so you know, you’re al owed to put your head on my chest.”
She stared up at him. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it feels good.”
He began swaying to the music, and after a few seconds she relaxed and found her rhythm. And little did she know, she had great rhythm. Before long she tentatively laid her cheek against his chest, and Brandon rested his chin atop her head. He started humming to the music in an effort to distract himself from the fact that holding her was doing wild things to his body.
He felt her chuckle against his chest. “What?” he asked.
She looked up. “This is wonderful. I can feel your heartbeat.”
Which was probably racing. Oh, Lord, he wanted to kiss that mouth. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to lower his head and capture her lips. “Would I steer you wrong?”
he said, his voice a little hoarse.
She rested her cheek against his chest before answering, so he had to strain to hear her. “Wel , you haven’t so far.”
Of their own accord, his hands began gliding up her waist and down to her hips. And up again. She had wonderfully enticing curves. And her hair smel ed fantastic. “Can I ask you something?”
“Maybe,” she mumbled, without looking up.
“What happened to you to make you so leery of men?”
“My husband was a jerk.”
Brandon immediately stopped dancing. “Your what?” he said, grasping her upper arms and holding her away from him so he could look in her eyes.
She made a protesting sound, as if he’d taken away her teddy bear or something, but looked up. Her eyes switched from dreamy to ornery in a mil isecond. “You heard me.”
“You were married?”
“Unfortunately.”
He searched her face. “Did he hurt you?”
Her jaw tensed. “Not in the way you think. He didn’t hit me or anything.”
Brandon could understand that. The guy wouldn’t dare, unless he had a death wish. “Then how was he a jerk?”
“I guess my expectations were a little high,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I expected him to work for a living.”
The Celine Dion song had ended, so Brandon led her to the couch. “Tel me about him.”
“I’d rather dance.”
“We have al night to dance. Tel me about your husband.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m interested.”
Laura sighed. “He was my first boyfriend. Secret, that is. My father had insisted I couldn’t date until after I graduated from high school.”
“What was his name?”
“David. David Connor.” She heaved a sigh again. “He was handsome and charming, and boy, could he talk a good game.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he was a con artist. He and I used to take walks in the woods and talk about how we were going to make our break out of Red Dog—”
“You lived in a town cal ed Red Dog?” Brandon asked, suppressing a grin.
“You got a problem with that?”
“Not me,” he said fast, shaking his head.
“Anyway, we dreamed about getting out. We were going to get married as soon as we graduated, then move to New York.
He wanted to be an actor.”
“Uh-oh.”
She peered at Brandon closely. “You know, he was good-looking, but not one-tenth as good-looking as you. You ever wanted to
She smiled, clinked glasses, then sipped. “You play dirty,”
she commented, glancing around.
“Uh-huh,” was al he could think of to say.
Celine Dion’s wildly romantic “I Love You” began, and Brandon grabbed her glass and set it and his down on the coffee table. “This is my favorite song. Dance with me?”
“Oh, no! I can’t dance.”
“Then let me teach you.”
“I don’t think—” she began, even as he tugged her to the center of the room.
The boat was rocking softly, almost in tune with the music, and Brandon pulled Laura into his arms. “It’s easy. Just let the rhythm of the song take over.”
He put her hands on his shoulders and lightly grasped her waist. “Just so you know, you’re al owed to put your head on my chest.”
She stared up at him. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it feels good.”
He began swaying to the music, and after a few seconds she relaxed and found her rhythm. And little did she know, she had great rhythm. Before long she tentatively laid her cheek against his chest, and Brandon rested his chin atop her head. He started humming to the music in an effort to distract himself from the fact that holding her was doing wild things to his body.
He felt her chuckle against his chest. “What?” he asked.
She looked up. “This is wonderful. I can feel your heartbeat.”
Which was probably racing. Oh, Lord, he wanted to kiss that mouth. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to lower his head and capture her lips. “Would I steer you wrong?”
he said, his voice a little hoarse.
She rested her cheek against his chest before answering, so he had to strain to hear her. “Wel , you haven’t so far.”
Of their own accord, his hands began gliding up her waist and down to her hips. And up again. She had wonderfully enticing curves. And her hair smel ed fantastic. “Can I ask you something?”
“Maybe,” she mumbled, without looking up.
“What happened to you to make you so leery of men?”
“My husband was a jerk.”
Brandon immediately stopped dancing. “Your what?” he said, grasping her upper arms and holding her away from him so he could look in her eyes.
She made a protesting sound, as if he’d taken away her teddy bear or something, but looked up. Her eyes switched from dreamy to ornery in a mil isecond. “You heard me.”
“You were married?”
“Unfortunately.”
He searched her face. “Did he hurt you?”
Her jaw tensed. “Not in the way you think. He didn’t hit me or anything.”
Brandon could understand that. The guy wouldn’t dare, unless he had a death wish. “Then how was he a jerk?”
“I guess my expectations were a little high,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I expected him to work for a living.”
The Celine Dion song had ended, so Brandon led her to the couch. “Tel me about him.”
“I’d rather dance.”
“We have al night to dance. Tel me about your husband.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’m interested.”
Laura sighed. “He was my first boyfriend. Secret, that is. My father had insisted I couldn’t date until after I graduated from high school.”
“What was his name?”
“David. David Connor.” She heaved a sigh again. “He was handsome and charming, and boy, could he talk a good game.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he was a con artist. He and I used to take walks in the woods and talk about how we were going to make our break out of Red Dog—”
“You lived in a town cal ed Red Dog?” Brandon asked, suppressing a grin.
“You got a problem with that?”
“Not me,” he said fast, shaking his head.
“Anyway, we dreamed about getting out. We were going to get married as soon as we graduated, then move to New York.
He wanted to be an actor.”
“Uh-oh.”
She peered at Brandon closely. “You know, he was good-looking, but not one-tenth as good-looking as you. You ever wanted to
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