I gaze down at her. The distance between my mouth and hers isn’t too much. I've spent most of my adult life being reasonable and cautious, but right now I want to kiss her so badly it hurts. I want to lean down and take that mouth right here on the dance floor. I want to keep taking it until her knees give out and I have to carry her out of this building and down the path to my cabin. Then I’ll find out what my name sounds like as she screams it, my face buried between her thighs, her fists in my hair.
But I just sway.
Turns out I am very,verygood at swaying.
The song ends, the last note hanging in the rafters.
Lark doesn't step back from me right away. She lingers, her hand still on my chest, her body close.
Then some kid in a cheap straw hat materializes at her elbow with a grin I want to knock off his face.
"Could I have this dance, ma’am?"
He's maybe in his early twenties. Good-looking, I guess. How would I know?
Lark flicks those lights blue eyes up at me.
I step back and give her a nod, since we’re done here.
"Sure," she says to the kid.
I walk back to my corner post like a man moving through water, pick up one of the beers I abandoned and pretend to watch the band.
But, of course, I watch her.
The kid's got two left feet and too much hand. His palm is wheremypalm was and something dark and possessive runs through me. I set my jaw so hard I'll feel it tomorrow.
He spins her, then grabs her waist.
I see red…and all I can think is,that's mine.
Which is insane—she's not mine, she's a guest that walked into my forge a few hours ago and has no idea what she's done to me.
Her eyes find me again.
She’s letting that kid dance with her and she’s watching meburnfor it, and I am burning, like a goddamn forest fire.
I down both of my beers in seconds, then toss the bottles in the bin on the way out.
I need to get out of here before I break something….or someone.
CHAPTER 3
LARK
I’m not thinking about him.
I’m thinking about this delicious coffee while I watch the steam curl out of the mug and into the early sunbeams. I’m listening to the rocker under me squeak like an old tomcat and smelling the morning Hill Country air—green and clean and a little peppery, like sage and flowers blooming in the distance.
I’m not thinking about big weathered hands on an anvil…or on the small of my back while we sway to a slow waltz.
"How'd you sleep, Larkie?" Lyla asks, beside me.
She knows I hate when she calls me that. I should never have told her it made me want to claw my eyes out. Gotta love friends.
"Like a baby."
"Mm, really?" She smiles into her coffee. "You seemed to toss an awful lot for someone who slept like a baby."