His hand trailed down her back. “You catch a man’s eye.”
She grabbed his hand before it could get any lower and pushed it back up and away from its intended trajectory. “Whoa!”
The guy laughed. “I’m just being friendly.”
His “friendly” was about to get him kneed in the groin! She opened her mouth to tell him so, pulling back from him at the same time, when Hunter appeared at their side.
“I’m cuttin’ in,” he said.
Zoey wanted to scream. And to make it worse, she wasn’t sure who she was more mad at: Mr. Cop-a-Feel, or Hunter. She didn’t need him to rescue her.
Mr. Cop-a-Feel tightened his grip on Zoey’s arm, pulling her closer to his chest at the same time he shouldered Hunter back. “She’s with me.” He lifted her off her feet and swung her away.
Zoey had had enough. Lifting her heel, she aimed a sharp kick into the man’s instep. He dropped her, and they both stumbled back. Being off the ground like she was, she knew she hadn’t hurt him that bad.
He confirmed that by smirking at her. “Got some fire in you,” he said.
Hunter placed a hand on the man’s arm. “She doesn’t want to dance with you.” His tone oozed warning. The threat was clear, and unlike with all the other fights Zoey had unwittingly started, Hunter’s tone startled her.
“Back off,” Mr. Cop-a-Feel said, shrugging Hunter’s hand off. He turned to Hunter, and his face fell. “It’s you. You’re the guy who bought my horse out from under me.”
Hunter shook his head. “Look, we don’t want trouble …”
“You may have gotten the horse, but you won’t get the girl.” He pointed at Zoey.
What the heck?
Zoey stepped forward and wedged herself between the men, hands going to both their chests as she pushed out. “Thegirlis right here, and she has a mind of her own.” She glanced at Hunter. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.” Then she turned to the other guy. “And you. You’re a pig. Just because a woman says yes to a dance doesn’t mean you can feel her up. It’s called manners—learn them.”
The guy startled, but then his face twisted in amusement. “I was just giving you a taste of what it’s like to dance with a real man—and not some lazy scoundrel horse thief who can only get what he wants by throwing his money around.”
Zoey blinked in surprise at the accusations this man leveled at Hunter like he knew him. And they did know each other, that was clear, but how well?
At the back of her mind, a small tinge of shame that she’d said yes to the guy when Hunter had warned her not to was rapidly and forcefully eclipsed by a burning rage that made it hard for her to even see straight.
She clenched her fists and stepped into the guy’s personal space, jabbing a finger into his chest and feeling a surge of pride when he flinched back. He was bigger than her, yes, but she was no waif-like flower. She was tall, and strong, and madder than a harpy. “He’s the most honest, hardworking man I’ve ever known. I doubt he even knows the definition of lazy. And whatever money he has, he’s worked for. And as for being a real man, I can understand how you’d be confused as to what that looks like because you’ve assumed it’s what you’ve been seeing in the mirror every morning—but I assure you Hunter’s twice the man you’ll ever be.”
The man blinked at her. She spun on her heel and faced Hunter, and before she could think, change her mind, or balk, she went up on her toes, wrapped an arm around Hunter’s neck, and kissed him.
She felt his body tense against her, could imagine his eyes going wide in surprise, but she didn’t open her eyes to check. She was mad. Fuming. Raging. And taking it out in a kiss. Instead of pulling away at Hunter’s reaction, she kissed him more fervently, more insistently.
She’d show Mr. Cop-a-Feel what a woman like her thought of a man like Hunter. She’d leave no doubt in his or anyone’s mind.
Hunter’s hands wrapped around her, and he dipped his head to give her better access, and then he was kissing her back with everything in him. With equal fervor, but of a different kind than hers. Hers was anger. His was passion.
In that instant, her world shifted, and everything narrowed to Hunter. Whatever she’d been thinking about faded in the sensation of his soft lips moving against hers, of heat coursing through her, of the way her body seemed to mold perfectly with his—like cider and cinnamon—the feel of his silky hair under her palms, the line of buttons down the front of his shirt, and his warm breath across her cheek.
He pulled away first, and she groaned in protest. “Zoey,” he said almost reverently, sending a fresh row of delicious shivers down her spine. “People are watching.”
That snapped her out of it, and she stepped back and out of his embrace. The room filled with music again, a cross breeze brushed across her arms, and people came into view, some dancing, others sending knowing smiles in their direction.
“I—” She’d been about to say she was sorry, but she didn’t want to, because she wasn’t.
“You what?” he asked.
“I’m not sorry.”
He chuckled. “I think I just took a ride on the Zoey-train.”
Any use of the phrase “Zoey-train” in her life had irked her to no end, but she liked the way Hunter said it, like he’d been party to it and not bulldozed over by it like her brothers implied. And she liked the heated expression on Hunter’s face when he said it. She liked that she’d made this man—this smart, hardworking, funny man who challenged her but never made her feel like she was incapable—feel like that from her kisses.
She smiled, though she felt a little queasy too as her body flooded with nerves at the realization of what she’d just done. This wasn’t just any guy she’d met at school or out dancing who she messed with but never took seriously. This was Hunter Westbrook, and she was starting to take him far more seriously than she’d ever planned.
“Night, Hunter.” She gave him a little wink, then turned to leave, all the while remembering the dating advice her mother had given her years before: always leave them wanting more.
