“Why not?”
“I have to travel too much for my job.”
“What kind of work do you do?” he asked.
“Boring work.” She set aside her own beer and took his hand. “Want to dance?” The jukebox was playing a fast country song.
He allowed her to lead him onto the dance floor. He was a competent dancer, relaxed and considerate—no wild dips or gyrations, just a light touch at her back and a gentle squeeze of her hand to guide them around the dance floor.
She smiled up at him, enjoying the feel of being close to him. He struck her as smart. Sincere but guarded. A man who was able to see two sides of an argument, which could be a good or a bad thing.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” he asked.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.
“Why?”
“People interest me. You interest me.”
“I’m not that interesting. I like skiing and my dog. There’s not a lot more to me.”
“Oh, I think there’s a lot more.”
She hadn’t meant to put so much heat behind her words but couldn’t help herself. Connor was a sexy guy, and he made her feel sexy, too.
He looked away and the song ended. They returned to the bar, though they had to stand closer together now. He ordered another round for them both, and she turned to survey the crowd once more.
A group of people entered, three men and a woman. They scowled, and their gazes darted over the crowd. They struck Stacy as furtive.
“They look like trouble,” Connor said, his voice low, close to her ear. “Want to go somewhere else?”
“Let’s stay and see what happens,” Stacy said.
They moved toward the other end of the bar, but before they reached the bartender, one of them nudged the others and nodded toward Connor and Stacy. She held her breath as they approached.
“You work for SkyCrest?” the tallest man, with dark hair and hooded eyes, his voice deep and rough, asked.
“I do,” Connor said.
“How do you stand to work for those people?” the woman asked. She had a high-pitched, nasal voice.
“I have to eat like everyone else,” Connor said.
“Not if it means selling your soul to a group that’s going to wreck the environment,” the dark-haired man said.
“It’s not like they’re strip-mining the place,” Connor said.
“Just stealing from the rest of us to make a playground for rich folks,” a pasty-faced blond said. “Those are the only ones who can afford lift tickets these days.”
Connor looked away.
The blond shoved him.
“Hey!” Stacy said. “Back off.”
Connor put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “The man’s got a right to his opinion.”
“It’s not just my opinion,” the blond said. “Lots of people think that way.”
