A Weaver Wedding. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ covered her shoulder with his hand and she went still before realizing he was merely moving her aside again for another passing waitress. “His loss is my gain. Let’s grab a table.”

      She was unbearably tempted, though she tried not to be. “I don’t think there are any left.” The one she’d abandoned had already been claimed.

      “Then, we’ll dance.” Before she could protest, he’d grabbed her hand and led her to the crowded, minuscule dance floor.

      Digging in her heels did no good. She was caught in his storm surge, and that was all there was to it. Then he was turning her into his arms and she felt like she was going under for the last time.

      “I don’t dance,” she warned, having to practically yell to be heard over the loud music. Jukebox. No live DJ or band for the Suds-n-Grill.

      He settled her left hand on his shoulder and took her waist. “All beautiful women dance.”

      She was a far cry from beautiful, but whether it was his words or his hand on her waist, she felt fresh heat streaming from her face to her toes. Delectably filling in every nook and cranny along the way.

      The music pulsed around them while some rumblingvoiced singer lamented unfulfilled desires. She could feel the imprint of every one of Axel’s fingertips against her waist, right through her tomato-red tunic. Maybe it was her imagination that those fingertips seemed to subtly flex against her, like the sheathed claws of some big, golden cat kneading against his soft prey.

      She’d lived in Weaver for five years. But she’d never gotten personally involved with anyone there. Hadn’t gotten involved with anyone even before that. Not since her brief, unsuccessful marriage about a million years ago.

      Somewhere inside her dim brain, she remembered that a dance did not qualify as involvement. She moistened her dry lips. “You, um, you didn’t come here to meet someone?”

      His head angled toward her and his voice seemed to whisper over her ear. “I got stood up, too.”

      “Who would stand you up?” The words came without thought, and her face went hot all over again.

      His lips tilted. “At the moment, I’m having a hard time remembering because I didn’t expect to enjoy myself at all. And yet—” he said as he drew her closer “—here we are.”

      Her head swirled again, only this time it wasn’t the least bit unpleasant.

      And those fingertips of his were pressing more insistently into her waist. His thumb, where their hands were joined, slowly dragged across her palm.

      Liquid fire drenched her veins. He might as well have pressed his mouth against hers she was so transfixed.

      “It’s my birthday,” she said stupidly.

      His gaze was steady on her face. That faint, not really amused, quirk still on his sculpted lips. “Did you blow out the candles and make a wish?”

      She’d had a wish. To see the only family she had left for the first time in too many years. Given the fact that she had no way of reaching Sloan—he’d left her the surprising message—she’d thought that was something her brother had wanted, too. Now she knew better.

      “No cake,” she told Axel. “No candles.”

      His thumb slid down her palm again. “Ah, now, that just ain’t right. Birthdays always come with a cake and candles where my family is concerned.”

      She wasn’t surprised. There wasn’t a soul who lived in Weaver who could be unaware of what a tight-knit clan the Clays were. From all appearances, his family was the complete antithesis of hers.

      “When it’s just one of you, cake and candles leem a snittle—” she explained, then frowned and marshaled her tongue with some deliberation “—seem a little unnecessary.”

      “Well, it’s not just one of you tonight, anymore.” His gaze became even more hooded. His thumb wasn’t stroking any longer. It was situated, dead center, against her palm where it felt as if an electric current was passing directly through to her heart. He turned his head slightly as if he was studying their hands pressed together, and her blood seemed to rush to her head. “Feels like there’re two of us to me,” he murmured.

      Her heart bounced around. Her skin felt tight, her nerve endings wanting suddenly to burst free. “Okay.” The word came out more like a breath, but his mouth still slid into a slow, satisfied curve.

      He linked his fingers through hers and before she knew it, she felt the cold rush of October night air across her hot face as he pulled her right out the front door.

      It vaguely dawned on her that she’d forgotten her jacket, but then it didn’t matter because there, just out of the light of the entrance, he slid his arms around her shoulders, turned her boldly into his arms, and covered her mouth with his.

      Sensation blasted through her with all the warmth of a summer afternoon and her head fell back, her mouth opening beneath his.

      His hand—oh, it was so warm, so gentle, so strong—covered the base of her neck. Slowly slid along her throat until it reached her jaw.

      “Dude. Get a room.” A laughing male voice said from behind them, followed by a trill of female giggles.

      Axel lifted his head, but he didn’t even look back at the snickering couple entering the bar behind them. His gaze stayed on her face, but his hand cradled her throat where she felt certain he could feel her thundering pulse. “Wishes aside for the moment, what do you want for your birthday, Tara Browning?”

      She moistened her lips and tasted him on them. “You.” The word escaped. Bald. Husky. The blush that hit her face was scorching. “Sorry. Blame that on the margaritas.”

      “I was hoping I had something to do with it.” His fingers splayed against her spine, and he nudged her even closer until not even Wyoming cold could get between them.

      She inhaled. Everywhere that she was soft and giving, he was…not.

      Then his head ducked close to hers, but his lips merely grazed the point of her chin and followed the line of her jaw toward her ear. “Having me is the easy part.”

      She shivered and it had nothing to do with the night air. Her fingers latched onto the butter-soft leather jacket covering his wide shoulders.

      “But first,” he said as he lifted his head with a devilish grin in place, “some celebrating is still in order.”

      She would have swayed again if not for his steadying hold. “Celebrating?”

      “Cake and candles at the very least.” He let go of her and in one smooth motion pulled off his jacket and slid it around her shoulders.

      The leather hung heavily around her and smelled of him. She managed not to slide into a puddle at his feet and clutched the front of the coat together with one hand. He took the other and pulled her steadily through the dimly lit parking lot, stopping only when they reached the passenger side of a big, dark pickup truck. “If we find a cake at this hour, I’ll eat my hat,” she told him, trying to curtail the excitement racing through her.

      “There СКАЧАТЬ