Just One (Dangerously Dimpled) Read Free

my heart beat quicken.
    “Not married.”
    His dimples deepen. “Good, because if you
were married, I couldn’t ask you for a dance.”
    My insides jump. The thought of dancing
with him, the idea of feeling his strong arms surrounding me, has me all hot
and bothered. Well, hotter and bothered, anyway. “That’s awful sweet of you but
I don’t think my feet could take it.” I lift a leg and wiggle my fancy shoe at
Alex. His eyes roam across the smooth expanse of skin from ankle to thigh.
Suddenly, the damn thing feels as heavy as a tree trunk.
    Alex reaches and grabs my calf, pulling
my foot into his lap. “How about,” he says, his fingers working the tiny clasp
at the ankle, “we save you from another possible disaster and get rid of these
things before you do some real damage?”
    His hand is warm against the arch of my
foot as he slides the shoe off. My toes curl when he brushes past my calf
sending another power surge straight through me. When he guides my shoeless
foot to the floor, and rubs his palm against the back of my leg, my heartbeat
leaves my chest and travels south. Auntie Brook warned me about this. “Any man with an ounce of charm and a clear
conviction record is capable of making your heart skip a beat. It’s the ones that
make your vagina jump you need to keep an eye on.”
    Alex reaches for my other leg and I don’t
resist. He works the other shoe off, again brushing his hand along my leg. I
salivate, his touch stirring up lusty feelings. I grab the sweet tea and down
the rest in one go.
      He watches, a contemplative look in his
eyes. “Dance with me, Charlie?” He extends his hand and stands.
    “But…there isn’t any music.”
    “So?”
    His relaxed smile and cool patience make
me feel a little stupid for bringing it up.
    “C’mon, Charlie. One dance won’t kill
you.”
    “Just one?” I ask.
    “Just one.”
    I twiddle my fingers nervously. What’s
the harm in one little dance with a guy who, let’s face it, doesn’t exactly run
in my social circle? I somehow don’t see Alex Ramirez waltzing into The Cavern
for dollar draft night.
      I let him help me to my feet. Without the
shoes I’m significantly shorter, and I have to crane my neck backward to look
in his eyes. “Good Lord, you’re a tall one,” I say, allowing my internal
trailer park to lead the conversation.
    Alex chuckles and pulls me forward. “I’ll
lean over.”
    We come to a stop near the middle of the
garden’s grassy floor. The spongy Kentucky blue feels like kitten fur against
my sore soles. It’s a good thing he removed the stilettos. I would’ve sunk like
quicksand trying to dance on this lawn.
    Alex brings me in close, his free hand
rests low on my hip. I allow him to guide me, to tug me forward until our
bodies make contact. It’s like getting zapped with a stun gun. I turn my head
toward his chest and am faced with the open collar of his button down shirt.
His skin is smooth and I can feel the hard ridge of muscle beneath his clothes.
I follow his lead, my hips moving side to side, my brain about to short circuit
from the friction between us.
    “Are you headed home tonight or are you
staying at the hotel?”
    I’ve been so focused on the pressure of
his hand against my back, his voice startles me. “I’m, uh, staying overnight.
Paige got me a room.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “Don’t be so sure. If I know my baby
sister at all, it’s part of her master plan to get me out of Harlow.”
    “How so?”
    Alex’s breath tickles the top of my head.
I’m afraid to look up because I know the only thing keeping my lips off those
dimples is simple geography. “She’s got some crazy notion I’m too good for that
place. Her mission is to sway me toward greener pastures by showing me how the
other half lives.”
    “I take it you remain unconvinced?” The
hand holding me to him draws me nearer. His fingers tap out a melody against
the small of my back, and two years of pent-up sexual frustration