She suddenly stopped still.‘Stop it.Please…’
Her pleading tone made him pause as he looked around the gathered crowd.This wasn’t the time or the place.
But he also felt the shift… It wasn’t him who Amara was fighting—not the banter, not the rules on some damn list.It was this.The ball.
The atmosphere had brought a change in her.
If he had to hazard a guess, it was the weight of this kind of world where she’d once belonged.
What kind of woman had a ballgown tucked away in a box, with a matching bag, shoes, and tiara?Not some simple farmer’s daughter, or some outback cop, that’s for sure.
No, this ball was a reminder that Amara was someone who’d been raised among the elites.While he grew up on footy, meat pies, and speedway—she was playing polo, nicknamedthe sport of kings.She played on horses worth more than his car, where the riders weren’t just competitors, but part of a world where family names carried weight, along with a load of dollar signs behind them.
And Amara?She’d been one of them.
Now, in this setting, where there might be people who knew the Montrose name and history, she was on guard.Shoulders squared, posture too perfect, with a look in her eyes that said she was bracing for something.
Porter adjusted his grip on her arm, firming his touch just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone in this.He wasn’t some slick guy trying to drag her back into a world she’d left behind—he was her partner tonight.And damn if he wasn’t going to make her feel at ease as the perfect gentleman.
As they reached the table, he pulled out her chair, the way he’d seen done a hundred times by men in finer suits than his.
But he’d never pretended to be like them.Not when he was just Porter.
Amara stiffly settled into her seat.Her eyes flickered to his for the briefest moment, but it was enough to decide—date or not—he was proud to just be beside her.Even if she only ever saw him as the blue-collar cop, when she deserved more.
Then, across the room, he saw her…
Tess.
The long-legged seductress in a slinky dress and a knowing smirk.The woman he’d once made a fool of himself over—the one who’d nearly cost him his job, and all his self-respect.
A cold weight settled in his gut as that familiar mantra rose against the burn in his chest:
His one and only rule:Never fall in love with someone who could never love you back.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
And brother, didn’t it help him flick that switch and shut it all down now, because Amara was right—this wasn’t a date.
No way was he going to make that mistake again.
No siree.
Not when he’d finally got his life back on track, just the way he liked it.The job, the house, the hunting and fishing weekends with good friends.Why put all that hard work in jeopardy, especially over a woman who had already said no.
She had her rules.
He had his.Built from the wreckage—where breaking them once had left him clawing his way back to who he was.And he’d be damned if he’d ever risk that again.
Twenty-six
‘May I have this dance, Duchess?’Stone held out his hand, even half-bowing with a grin that should’ve come with a warning label.
Amara stayed firmly anchored at the table with all the Stock Squad members, and their partners in tow.Even Marcus had his wife Wren tucked at his side, and Tanisha had brought the fabulous Felix, who was somehow holding court with half the room, while Craig was busy dancing with his wife, Izzy.
The only one without a date was Finn—but he didn’t need one.Finn was too busy leaning against the outdoor bar, with sleeves rolled up and collared shirt open, showing off his heavy ink, talking to stockmen like he belonged there.
Undercover cop, she reminded herself.That was what Finn did so well—he fit in.Sliding into conversations like it was nothing.
