6. Marnie

I was on the dance team in high school. And for a time, in college, too.

I know a good dancer when I see one.

Dusty is good.

He’s graceful and sure.

If you’ve got someone who can lead, you don’t need to know the steps.

He’s tall. I feel a little like a tiny bird caught in a lion’s paws. And damn if I don’t like the way his hand feels on my back. A whisper of a touch, but dominant. Confident I’ll follow where he leads.

He’s right about that.

I’m in his spell, this stranger from Silver Bend.

Maybe life took pity on me.

After all the shit I’ve been through, maybe I’ve earned a little gift.

I’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m going to take care of business and split. My real life is waiting for me back in Lincoln. I’ll just have to sort through the ashes to find it.

I’m not looking to start anything here in this town, but for just a little while, it’s nice to find comfort in a stranger’s arms.

Reeling closer, I rest my cheek on his chest, letting my right hand slip down from his shoulder to curve around his back. The muscles in his back are like twin branches, springing up from slim hips. Everything about this man is hard. He radiates strength and athleticism. And his smell. Would it be too obvious if I buried my nose in his shirt?

I resist the urge, electing to take a slow, quiet inhale. He smells like outside. And crisp soap. And sweat. But it’s a good smell, masculine and honest.

He’s still holding my left hand in his callused palm. His thumb slides along the back of my hand and I feel my entire core start to warm up.

Outside, the song shifts from a mid-paced country waltz to a good old-fashioned ballad. It’s a sad song about old love and a long life lived together.

For a brief moment, I indulge in the fantasy that the song is about us.

He places my hand on his shoulder and slips both hands around my waist. I’m already resting my head on his chest, but those strong hands pull me closer, fusing our hips together. Sometimes, it takes a few seconds to find a common rhythm, but we’re instantly in step. I like the way his jeans and hips feel against the thin fabric of my skirt. Hard and powerful against my soft tummy. And I am melting, fitting into the hard edges of his body.

I’ve got that cagey feeling, that understanding that this isn’t going to stop at a few kisses.

It won’t be over until we’ve taken things to the edge and sailed right over. It feels inevitable and a greedy hunger is growing in me. I want more from him.

What’s it going to take to get this guy to kiss me?

Turns out, all I had to do was tip my head.

I tilt my chin, glancing up at him through fanned eyelashes, and he’s waiting to bend down. His lips brush against mine. A gentle question.

I answer him by sliding my hands over his chest and fisting his shirt in my fingers. His hands splay across my back, dragging me ever closer, and his lips press into mine.

The touch sends a strange, shimmering feeling through me, and I make a small sound of surprise in my throat that only seems to entice him. He draws his tongue along my lower lip, tasting it, savoring it. I part my lips for him, and he delves inside, taking his time.

No one has ever kissed me like this.

Like it’s the main event.

Like my mouth is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

His tongue sails deeper, gliding along mine, gentle but commanding.

Those hips press into my belly, and I feel a not-so-subtle bulge pressing against his jeans.

It’s a good thing he has such a strong hold on my hips because I’m losing control of my knees. Lust, like a bewitching spell, fills my body from the place where my fingertips graze his shoulders right down to my toes.

I can’t decide what I like better, the way he’s possessing my mouth, or the way he holds me firmly to his body. He’s a take charge kind of guy and I love it. I don’t have to worry about what comes next or where I need to put my hands, because he’s the kind of guy who knows how to lead.