Girl Least Likely to Marry. Amy Andrews

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      She found it hard enough co-ordinating her hands and feet with some space between her and her dancing partners. She was going to do some damage to his feet for sure.

      And she did not trust herself too close to him.

      ‘Sure you can. Just hold on,’ he said, taking her resisting hands and placing them on his pecs, ‘and shuffle your feet a little. There ain’t no dance police here tonight.’

      Cassie didn’t hear his crack about dance police. Her palms were filled with hard firm muscle as the fabric seemed to melt away. The music melted away too—as did the people crowding around them.

      She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of her hands on his chest.

      Tuck smiled to himself. ‘There you go—see.’ He took a step closer, his chin brushing the top of her head. He slipped his hands lightly onto her waist. There was definite curve there and he snuggled his palm into it. ‘I don’t bite.’

      Cassie fought through the fog, dragging her eyes away from how small her hands looked in comparison to his broadness. She looked up. Way up. He was tall. And close. A hand-width away, she guessed.

      Before tonight she would have been able to assess the distance accurately, but she simply couldn’t think straight at the moment. He was radiating heat and energy and those damn pheromones, totally scrambling her usual focus. His hands at her waist were burning a tract right down to her middle.

      He smiled at her, his starburst eyes showering their effervescence all over her. She looked down, but that was a mistake also as his chest filled her vision, the knot of his tie swaying hypnotically in front of her with every movement of his body. And all the time an insistent whisper played in her head, swarmed through her blood in time with the swing of him.

      Smell him, lick him, touch him.

      She dragged her gaze upwards, desperate to stop the pull of the hypnotic rhythm. It snagged on the slow, steady bound of his carotid, his growth of whiskers not able to conceal the thick thud of it. She wondered what he’d smell like there. What he’d taste like.

      Her nostrils flared. Her breath grew thick. She dug her fingers into the flat of his chest as she battled the urge to take a step closer.

      Dear God, she was growing dumber by the second.

      Shocked and dazed, she dragged her gaze down. Way down. Down to their feet. Down to the hole she wished would open up.

      Tuck also looked down, frowning at how rigid she felt in his arms. As if she was going to shatter at any moment. Or going to bolt at any second. No woman had ever been so reluctant to be in his company. Or so keen to be away from it.

      She could give a man a complex.

      One thing was for sure. She needed to relax or she was going to have a seizure. ‘So…Cassiopeia? That’s not a name you hear every day. Is that a family tradition?’

      Cassie looked up. His eyes flashed at her and she lost her breath for a moment. Were they closer? He seemed nearer. More potent. His chest was closer.

      ‘Cassie?’

      She blinked. What? Oh, yes. Talking. That was good. She was good at talking. Usually…

      ‘My mum…she named me. After the constellation.’ She paused. Did he even know what that was? ‘That’s a group of stars,’ she clarified.

      Tuck chuckled. This woman was going to give him a complex. Who’d have thought he’d be interested in such a little snob? The endearing thing was she seemed oblivious to it all. ‘Like the Zodiac?’ he enquired, purposefully broadening his accent again.

      Cassie gaped at him. How could she possibly want to lick the neck of a man with a pea-sized intellect?

      There was just no accounting for biology.

      ‘No, not like the Zodiac.’

      He feigned a frown. ‘Ain’t you into astrology?’

      ‘Astronomy,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘A-stron-omy.’

      ‘So, that’s not like…Sagittarius and stuff?’

      ‘No,’ she said primly. ‘It’s the study of celestial objects. It’s science. Not voodoo.’

      Tuck laughed again. He liked it when she got all passionate and fired up. There was a spark in those blue-grey eyes, a glitter. Would they get like that when she was all passionate and fired up in bed?

      Suddenly it seemed like something he wouldn’t mind knowing.

      The song ended and the pace picked up a little. A couple behind them bumped into Cassie and she stumbled and stood on his foot. ‘Oh, God, sorry,’ she gasped, pulling away as her front collided with his.

      His broad, muscular front.

      ‘Hey, there, it’s okay,’ Tuck said, steadying her under her elbows, holding on as she tried to pull away, keeping her close. Their bodies were almost—but not quite—touching. ‘No harm done,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Why don’t you just lay your head here on my chest and stay awhile longer?’

      She should tell him to go to hell. But her nostrils flared again as something primal inside her recognised him as male. And he smelled so damn good.

      A whisper ran through her head. Do it.

      Lay your head down. Shut your eyes. Press your nose into his chest.

      Cassie fought against the powerful urge as long as she could but she was losing fast. Each sway of his body bathed her in his eau-du-male scent and before she knew it her cheek had brushed against the fabric of his jacket and was angled slightly, her nose pressed into his lapel.

      She inhaled. Deep and long. Every cell was filled with him. Every tastebud went into rapture. Every brain synapse went into a frenzy.

      It was so damn good she never wanted to exhale.

      It was only the dizzying approach of hypoxia that forced her hand. She quickly breathed out, then took in another huge greedy gulp of him. His scent seduced her senses, stroked along her belly, unfurled through her bloodstream.

      She pressed herself a little closer and her eyes rolled back in her head as his heat flooded all round her.

      Tuck was surprised when Cassie’s body moved flush against his after her standoffishness. But he liked the way she fitted, her body moulding against his, her head tucked in under his chin nicely. And she let him lead, which was a novelty. Most women he danced with weren’t so passive in his arms.

      They danced all flirty and dirty and sexy.

      Not that Tuck had anything against flirty, dirty or sexy. He was all for them. But too often it felt like an act. As if the women he dated felt they had to gyrate and shimmy and generally carry on like a B-grade porn star to attract or keep his attention.

      Okay, he’d never had a reputation for longevity—his two-year marriage was a sure sign of that—but he was, at his most basic, a guy. And just being female was enough to keep his attention.

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