Before I can reply Brittney leans closer to my ear and whispers, “We need to talk—in private.”
I glance at Kinsley, and the expression on her face makes my blood feel like fire for entirely different reasons. Her blue eyes have gone ice-cold, and there's a set to her mouth that says she's about two seconds away from introducing Brittney to the business end of her temper. It’s kind of hot.
I remove Brittney's arm from around my shoulders; my movements deliberate and firm. "I'm here with my girl tonight." I put an edge of warning in my voice. I mean it, I don’t want her coming over again.
I stand and take Kinsley's hand, pulling her to her feet with the kind of possessive gesture that should make my intentions crystal clear to anyone watching. "Let's dance."
Kinsley doesn't miss a beat. She hooks one arm around my neck and runs her other hand down my jawline in a touch that's pure claiming. The contact sends heat straight through me and I've already forgotten what's-her-name.
Jake whistles low, raising his arm to signal the waitress. "We're gonna need some drinks over here, because these two are heating up the place."
I don't look back at Brittney as I lead Kinsley toward the dance floor. Don't need to. The message was delivered, received, and understood.
The band's playing something slow and sweet.
I draw Kinsley into my arms, one hand settling at her waist while the other captures her fingers. She fits against me like she was made for this, her body warm and pliant.
“Wyatt?” she asks while avoiding my gaze. “How well do youknowher?”
I do not want to talk about this. “She won the date with a cowboy when I was the cowboy. We went to dinner and I dropped her off at the front of her hotel. She seems to think it was more than that.”
“The fans are relentless, huh?” she jokes. There’s something in her tone that’s not quite right and I want to fix it.
“She shouldn’t bother us again,” I reassure her.
“I’m not upset at you sending RodeoBrittney running.” She tilts her head, mischief gleaming in her blue eyes. "But, I don't remember agreeing to be your girl."
The challenge in her voice makes me grin. So that’s what she’s worried about? "No?" I pull her close, and my hand settles at the small of her back, fingers spread wide against the silk of her blouse, and when I apply just the slightestpressure to guide her into the next step, she responds like we're sharing the same skin.
"Nope." She draws the word out, playing with me. "Pretty sure that's the kind of thing a woman should be asked about."
I spin her out gently, then reel her back in until we're chest to chest, her breath mingling with mine. "You want me to ask?"
The tempo shifts before she can answer—the band kicking into something faster, more playful. Kinsley spins out of my arms with a laugh, not answering my question, and suddenly we're moving together in a way that makes everything else in the bar fade to background noise.
This woman can dance.
"Where have you been hiding these moves?" I murmur as I spin her again. Her skirt flares, and when I draw her back to me, she comes willingly, her palm settling over my heart.
"Oh, you like my moves?" The challenge in her voice makes my blood run hot.
"Like?" I slide my arm around her waist and lift her, slow and deliberate. "Girl, I'm obsessed with your moves."
Without hesitation, she hooks her leg over my hip, the movement sending electricity straight through my veins. I lower her slowly, letting her body slide against mine until her boots touch the floor again.
We're tangling and untangling in this wild, almost wicked dance—spinning apart only to come crashing back together. There's only her heat against me, the silk of her skin under my hands, and the way she moves like she was born to be in my arms.
The song winds down, and I bring her back against mejust as the last notes fade. She's breathing hard, cheeks flushed.
"That," she says, still catching her breath, "was not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
She laughs easily. "Honestly? I figured you'd be one of those guys who just shuffles around and calls it dancing."
I laugh, pulling her close as the band starts another slow song. "Sweetheart, my mama didn't raise me to embarrass myself on a dance floor."
We dance through three more songs, each one better than the last. By the time the band takes a break, we're both grinning like fools.