God, I’m going to combust on this dance floor.
“I should go home,” I whisper, pressing my palms flat against his chest. I can feel the hard slabs of his pecs under the cotton. The heat of his skin burning through. Not pushing him away. Just… placing my hands there. Like a boundary, I don’t actually want.
Beau stops moving but doesn’t step back. He looks down at me. His molten gold eyes. Half-lidded. Hungry. His full lips parted. His jaw, tight. Up close like this, I can see the pulse ticking in his neck. Fast. He’s not as calm as he looks.
“Let me drive you.”
That voice. Low and scraped raw, like the words cost him something. The heat in his eyes. The promise of everything he’s not saying.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think…”
“Please, Ina.”
My name in his mouth. Every time. Every goddamn time it undoes me. The way his deep voice wraps around the two syllables like he’s holding something precious in his teeth. My knees go soft.
“I… let me say bye to Tanya.”
Something shifts in his jaw. A muscle flexing. He nods once and lets me go. Slowly. His fingers trailing off my hip, dragging across the fabric of my jeans, the last point of contact his fingertips ghosting over my thigh before falling away.
I walk back to the table on legs made of rubber. Tanya’s sitting there with her arms crossed and her eyebrows somewhere near her hairline.
“So,” she says.
“I’m gonna head out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He offered to drive me home.”
“Home,” she says it flat. Like she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“Yes. Home. My home. Where I live. Alone.”
Tanya picks up her drink, takes a long sip, and sets it down. “Babe, I’ve been married fourteen years. I know what ‘he’s driving me home’ means. And it does not mean home.”
I groan. “Tanya…”
She holds up a hand. “Go. Have fun. Be safe. Text me tomorrow with every single detail, or I’m coming to your ranch with chocolate and handcuffs.”
“That’s not…”
“GO.” She shoos me with both hands, grinning so wide I can see her back teeth. “And tell that man I said he better be good to you, I know where his daddy lives.”
I hug her. Quick and tight. She squeezes back and whispers in my ear, “You deserve this, Ina. Let yourself have it.”
My throat tightens. I pull back before she sees my eyes go glassy.
Outside, the air is cooler. Quieter. The music and laughter fade as the door swings shut. Crickets and moonlight and the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears.
Then Beau’s next to me. His big body filling the space next to mine. His arm brushing my shoulder as we walk. Even that …just the brush of his bare forearm against my skin…sends heat racing up my neck. I’m hyperaware of him. The way he shortens his long stride to match mine. The way his hand hovers near the small of my back, not quite touching. The way he smells in the night air…leather and cedar, sharper in the cool, mixing with something warm and smoky from the bar.
I dig in my purse and pull out my keys. My hands are trembling. I hold them out, and Beau takes them. His rough fingers brush mine during the handoff, and I feel it in my chest.
He doesn’t say a word. Just opens the passenger door of my SUV and waits for me to climb in. His hand finds my elbow as I step up …steadying me, guiding me…his palm is warm and firm on the bare skin of my arm. A shiver rolls through me. He notices. His golden eyes flick to mine in the dark. Holds for a beat. Then he closes the door.
He folds himself behind the wheel, adjusts the seat back to make room for his legs…long, spread wide, his thick thighs straining his jeans…and starts the engine. My SUV suddenly feels too small. Too warm. His body fills the whole space; his broad shoulders take up half the cab. His big hand wraps around my steering wheel, and I watch his forearm flex, the tendons shifting under tanned skin, and think about that hand wrapped around my hip on the dance floor. Between my thighs in the bullpen. Inside me on my porch.
I press my knees together and look out the window.
