Читать книгу Restless - Kimberly Raye, Kimberly Raye - Страница 8

SOME MEN WERE JUST made for sex.

The thought struck Paige Cassidy the moment she spotted the man through the lens of her video camera at the crowded wedding reception.

It wasn’t so much the way he looked, though he was handsome enough to make even devout manhater Imajean Strickner adjust her bifocals and smooth her heavy-duty girdle.

Tall and muscular and tanned, he stood just over six feet tall, his broad shoulders filling out the black tuxedo jacket to mouthwatering perfection. His ragged sun-streaked blonde hair caught the light and his strong jaw, sensuous lips and rugged air made her think of open prairie, wild horses and hot nights beneath a stardusted sky.

But it was more than his appearance that screamed HOT STUD ALERT!

It was the way he moved.

She blinked and adjusted her focus, her gaze fixed on his lean tanned fingers stroking up and down the long neck of his beer bottle. Up and down, slow and steady, again and again in a sensuous stroke she could practically feel along her spine.

And the way he smiled.

She watched as he leaned toward the blonde, blue-eyed woman standing next to him at the bar. She whispered something in his ear. His lips tilted at the corners, lifting in an enticing, suggestive grin that made Paige’s heart shift into overdrive.

And the way his liquid gray eyes seemed to deepen when his gaze snagged hers and—

He was looking at her.

Her hands went limp on the camera and she would have dropped it had she not been wearing the safety strap around her neck. He’d already turned back to the blonde, leaving Paige to wonder if she’d only imagined that brief, heart-stopping moment of eye contact. The intensity of his gaze, the heat…

“Say, there, Paige, how about cuttin’ up the dance floor with me?”

The voice came from behind her and she turned to find Shelby Hoover standing there, his straw hat in hand. He stared at the worn tips of his Justin boots peeking from beneath the hem of a pair of starched Wrangler jeans and rubbed a hand over the top of his burred black hair. His black mustache twitched at the corners as he chewed his bottom lip and waited for her answer.

Unfortunately Shelby didn’t rouse her hormones into an orgasmic frenzy, but the man did know his left foot from his right. What’s more, he was ready to settle down. And he didn’t go around flirting outrageously with pretty blondes.

Shelby wanted more. He wanted a house and kids and forever.

Just like Paige.

She glanced down at the bridal bouquet she’d caught and smiled. In Paige’s mind, she and Shelby were a perfect match, even if he hadn’t yet worked up his nerve to ask her out on a date. She wasn’t giving up hope. Shelby was just quiet. Shy. Insecure.

Qualities Paige had known all too well. Up until six months ago when she’d walked away from Cadillac, Texas, and a failed marriage. She’d headed straight for Inspiration and a brand-new improved life.

She’d been determined, but scared. Until she’d met Deb Strickland, the owner and editor of the town’s only newspaper and now, the prettiest bride Paige had ever seen.

She shifted her attention to Deb who stood across the room beside her new husband. The woman had given her a job and some much-needed help, which was why Paige had been more than willing to use her newly learned video skills to record her friend’s wedding to Jimmy Mission, the most handsome man in the county.

Unwillingly, Paige’s attention shifted back to the bar. Better make that one of the most handsome men in the county. Jimmy definitely had some competition for the title since his younger brother had rolled back into town, and straight into Paige’s line of vision.

She would have known Jack Mission anywhere. He was a legend in town. The cool, elusive drifter who wandered into Inspiration on occasion and then right back out. According to Deb, who knew everything about everyone in town thanks to her gossip columnist, Dolores Guiness, Jack was a legendary heartbreaker and not a man Paige should be wasting her thoughts on.

Her mind should be on Deb and making the best wedding she could. The woman had helped her so much. With Deb’s encouragement, Paige had managed to trade her shyness for a little sass, her quiet demeanor for a more outspoken one, and her insecurity for some much needed self-confidence. Deb had been one of the few people to help her when her sorry ex-husband had walked out on her, leaving her the new girl in a small, close-knit town.

Woodrow. His name popped into her head and before she could stop herself, she lifted a self-conscious hand to check for any wayward strands of hair. Woodrow had always hated her flyaway mane. It had always been too long or too short. Too straight or too curly. Too…wrong.

Her gaze collided with a pair of liquid gray eyes and her hand stopped a heartbeat shy of making contact. Heat bolted through her, pushing aside a lifetime of insecurity, until she felt only the beat of her own pulse and a fierce expectancy in the pit of her stomach.

He was so handsome. Those eyes and those lips…slightly large for a man, but just right for kiss—

“Paige?” Shelby’s voice drew her back around and heat rushed to her cheeks. She’d forgotten all about him! “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.” He eyed her. “Maybe we should just forget the dancing and try it some other—”

“No,” she blurted. Flushed or not, she wasn’t about to discourage Shelby when he’d finally worked up his nerve to ask her to dance.

“Don’t be silly.” She put on her brightest smile. “I’m just tired of lugging around this video camera. I’d love to dance. It’ll give me a chance to ditch this thing for a little while.” She dropped the camera onto a nearby table and, with the bouquet clutched in one hand, took Shelby’s with her other, determined to ignore the pull of the man who stood several feet away.

A few seconds later, she was moving across the dance floor as if she’d been born to it. Ironic considering she’d been the worst dancer in two counties up until a month ago when she’d enrolled in Earl Sharp’s Dancing for Beginners.

Paige Cassidy had been the worst at everything.

It’s all in the past.

She’d turned over a new leaf, started a new chapter of her life, and she wasn’t looking back. She had been naive and clueless way back when, but she was changing things. She was rising above her background and bettering herself by taking several self-improvement classes.

The past was over and done with and Paige was looking toward the future.

Her gaze strayed of its own volition to the handsome man standing at the bar before she gave herself a great big mental kick in the butt.

Men like Mr. Made For Sex had only one thing on their minds when it came to women, and it wasn’t the future. While he might be good for a wild, hot romp in bed, he wasn’t a forever kind of guy, and that’s the only kind Paige was interested in at this point. She’d fallen for his type before and found nothing but a world of heartache.

The next time she slid between the sheets, it was going to be with someone who would be there the morning after and the morning after that. Someone who wouldn’t take the best years of her life, then roll out of town one day with MaryJean Wallaby, the customer service clerk from the Piggly Wiggly with the biggest pair of boobs in the county.

Not a notorious love ‘em and leave ‘em type like Jack Mission.

No matter how her heart pounded every time she glanced his way.

AFTER THIRTY YEARS of living, there were only two things in life Jack made it a point never to do.

He didn’t stand within stomping distance of a newly broken horse, even one that appeared as calm as the Gulf on a hot summer afternoon.

And he didn’t dance.

Of course, it wasn’t the dancing itself he had a problem with. That was the fun part. Bodies touching. Rubbing. Feeling.

His gaze went to the redhead two-stepping her way around the dance floor, a full arm’s length of space between her and her partner, and he couldn’t help but smile. The way he moved to a sultry George Strait tune involved two bodies getting to know each other, but not everyone seemed to have the same notion.

She danced the same way she did everything else—prim and proper. Like the way she’d held the video camera, her back stiff and straight, a serious look on her face as if she were filming a late breaking news story rather than a wedding reception. Or the way she’d held her back so stiff and straight when she’d caught the bridal bouquet. Or even the way she’d eaten her slice of wedding cake—her napkin on her lap, her mouth firmly closed after each mouthful, not a crumb falling on her cover-everything-up floral print dress.

His gaze roved from her shoulders down to her waist—where there would have been a waist if the dress had been a little more flattering. It wasn’t. It hung like a sack, making her look shapeless from her shoulders to her trim ankles. His gaze snagged on the ankle bracelet glistening below her calf and his fingers itched to trace the path the gold followed.

Crazy. She wasn’t his type. She was like all the other women here who’d practically fallen over each other to catch his new sister-in-law’s bouquet. Marriage-minded. Every single one of them.

And dancing with such a woman, especially in a small town like Inspiration, was like courting. One led to two. Two to three. Next came dating and before he knew it, he’d find himself trussed up in another monkey suit, only he wouldn’t be standing in as best man this time. He’d be taking the vows himself.

He’d made that mistake before. He’d never make it again.

“How about it?” An attractive blonde motioned to the dance floor. “You want to prove you know how to use those boots you’re wearing?”

“I really appreciate the invite.” He smiled and held up his bottle. “But I’m still nursing this beer, sugar.” He touched the rim to his lips and downed a minimal swallow of the gold liquid.

“Later then?”

The refusal was there on the tip of his lips, but she looked so hopeful. Before he could stop himself, he nodded. “Later.”

He watched as she walked back to the cluster of women who hovered near the cake table, at least half of whom had already asked him to dance.

His gaze went to his beer. He had all of three swallows before later arrived and he had to make good on his word to all of them. Then again, if he took small sips, he could stretch it out to a good six or seven.

“Come on, stud. Let’s dance.”

“Sorry, darlin’, but I’m still working on this—” The words died as Jack turned to find his new sister-in-law smiling up at him, looking every bit as beautiful in white as he’d imagined when he’d gotten word that Jimmy was finally tying the knot. She had long, dark hair, bright blue eyes and a figure that had undoubtedly lured his brother like a bee to honey. But Jack had no doubt it had been her intelligence and the sympathetic glimmer in her gaze that had caught ole Jimmy for good.

“It’s a law,” Deb told him. “You have to dance with the bride, particularly if the groom is busy talking new breeding techniques with his new stepdad at the bar.”

Jack’s gaze went to the trio standing a few feet away—Jimmy, his mother and an older man with a gray handlebar mustache. The man slid his arm around Jack’s mother and she smiled.

“She’s had a permanent smile on her face since the two of them walked down the aisle a few months back. She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Deb asked, her gaze following Jack’s.

“Very.” A welcome sight because the last time he’d seen his mother, she’d been dressed in black, a tear-dampened handkerchief clutched in her hand as she’d watched his father’s casket lowered into the ground. A heart attack had taken the elder Mission several years ago while he’d been out riding fence. His mother had taken it hard, but just as his dad would have wanted, she’d eventually started to live again. He smiled. He couldn’t think of anyone who deserved a little happiness after so much heartache. “Red seems like a good man.”

“He is, and speaking of men, I’ve danced with everyone here with an X chromosome, except Jupiter Daniels, and word is down at the VFW that his X is questionable. That leaves my new brother-in-law.”

“So I’m a last resort, am I?”

“Maybe I saved the best for last.” She took the bottle from his hand and downed the last few swallows with one gulp. “Now you’re all done. Let’s go.”

“Nice wedding,” he murmured once they were moving around the dance floor. He caught the faint scent of apples and cinnamon and half-turned, only to see the redhead a few feet away, a serious expression on her face, her full lips moving as if she were counting each step. She was so stiff, he had the insane urge to haul her into his arms just to see if he could loosen her up.

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that she had the fullest, softest looking lips he’d ever seen. And it certainly wasn’t because he actually wanted to feel those lips against his own.

It was the principal of the thing. They were at a wedding. A happy occasion. She ought to be enjoying herself.

“That’s Paige Cassidy.”

“That’s nice.” He forced his attention back to Deb and away from the numerous ways he could loosen up the wholesome looking redhead. Ways that wouldn’t leave her the least bit wholesome by the time he finished with her. Even if the very last thing he needed was to touch or kiss or even think about a woman like Paige Cassidy.

No matter how much he suddenly wanted to do all three and a whole helluva lot more.

“She works at the newspaper for me.”

“That’s nice.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

His gaze narrowed. “Get those notions right out of your head, little sister.”

Deb shrugged. “What’s wrong? You don’t like girls?”

“Not that type of girl.”

“And what type would that be?”

“The marrying kind.”

“And what’s wrong with the marrying kind?”

“Not a thing. They’re just not my kind.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You like those freedom-loving singles, huh?”

“They have their finer points.”

“Yeah, they get hives just thinking about commitment.”

He grinned. “Say, has Jimmy been giving you lessons on meddling? Because you’re really good at it.”

She gave him a pleased smile. “You think so?”

“You could have been born to it.”

“Thanks, but flattery isn’t going to shut me up.” She eyed Paige. “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

He shook his head. “I plead the fifth on that one.”

“She is pretty. And she’s smart. And as nice as they come. And I think those glasses make her look sort of sexy, in a Katie Couric sort of way. Don’t you think?”

“You’re not getting anything out of me.”

“Come on, Jack.”

“No way. If I agree with you, you’ll haul me over there right now, and if I disagree, you’ll probably stomp my foot.”

“I’ll do that anyway.”

He grinned. “Either way, it spells trouble and I’ve already had more than my share.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You need to meet a nice woman.” As if she’d just realized what she’d said, she shook her head. “God, what’s happening to me? Freedom was my middle name. I’ve been married a measly five hours and already I’m the spokesperson for marital bliss.” She shook her head. “You find your own woman. Just make sure she’s nice.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And smart.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And pretty.” He gave her a knowing look and she shook her head again. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. So how long is the prodigal brother sticking around for this time?”

He arched an eyebrow. “How long until you get back from your honeymoon?”

“Two weeks.”

“Then I’d say about two weeks and an hour or so to pack.”

“Smart-ass.”

“I’m being truthful.”

“I know. That’s the problem. You don’t have to run off the second we get off the plane. You could stick around for a little while.” When he gave her a here-we-go-again look, she added, “This isn’t about getting married, it’s about settling down.”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably—”

“I’m serious,” she cut in. “You can’t keep moving around from place to place forever. You’re thirty years old.”

“I like moving around from place to place, which is why I’m out of here when you guys come home. I’ve got a job lined up in Santa Fe next month with one of the biggest ranches in the southwest. They’re breeding and breaking their own cutting horses, but their trainer’s taking a leave for personal reasons. I’ll be filling in.”

“Temporarily.”

“Yep.”

“That’s pretty far away.”

“Yep.”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Don’t you miss your family?”

“’Course I do. But Jimmy’s busy with you and his new construction business. You’re busy with your newspaper. Mom leaves tomorrow to go on the road with Red for the senior rodeo finals in Vegas.” Red Bailey was the oldest living bull rider and had nabbed the championship in his division for the past five years in a row. “I’d say my family’s pretty much occupied for the time being, so no one’s likely to worry about whether or not I’m hanging around. Say, I thought you wanted to dance?”

“We are dancing.”

“We’re talking. Now this,” he twirled her and watched her smile, “is dancing.”

The conversation ended, thankfully, and for the next thirty seconds they moved faster, spinning around the dance floor until the song played down and Deb gave him a hug.

“Thanks little brother and good luck.”

“Shouldn’t I be wishing you luck? You’re the one who just married my pigheaded brother.”

“True.” A smile tugged at her lips as she stared past him. “But I’m not the one with a dozen or so single women headed straight for me.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and murmured, “Be strong,” before dashing off in a swirl of white.

Jack turned in time to see a cluster of women headed straight for him, each of them obviously ready to claim the next dance.

He glanced down at his empty hands and contemplated a mad rush for the bar. Then his gaze hooked on a familiar redhead exiting the dance floor barely an arm’s length away.

She’s not your type, cowboy.

Damn straight. She was like all the others, frilly and feminine and out to find herself a future husband.

With one exception. Unlike all the others, she wasn’t headed his way. Why, she hadn’t even smiled at him when he’d caught her eye from across the room.

For whatever reason, it seemed as if Paige Cassidy wasn’t the least bit interested in him.

And it was a shame, a damned shame, for anybody to look so uptight on such a happy occasion. She needed to loosen up, and Jack needed an escape.

He took two steps and reached for her hand.

“W-HAT ARE YOU DOING?” Paige blurted when Jack Mission slid his arm around her waist and steered her back out onto the dance floor.

“Last I looked,” he said as he swung her into his arms and started to move, “it was called dancing, sugar.”

Paige fought to keep from stepping on his toes, her senses overloaded by so much male heat. He was too close and this was too sudden. Just what the heck did he think he was doing?

He hadn’t even asked her to dance!

“I don’t really think—”

“It ain’t about thinking, sugar. It’s about moving. You can move, can’t you?”

The way he stared down at her, one blond eyebrow arched and a twinkle in his liquid gray eyes, stirred her indignation. “Of course I can.” And she’d spent good money to make sure of it.

“Then prove it.”

She had two choices. She could pull away, which wouldn’t be easy because Jack Mission had a very strong grip on her waist, or she could calm down, concentrate and make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing herself. “What dance are we doing?”

“I’ll let you pick.”

“It doesn’t work that way. Whichever dance we do is based on the speed and tempo of the song. This is a two-step. We should be going faster.”

He tightened his arms and drew her even closer. “Feels plenty fast to me.”

“It’s too slow, and too close.” She pushed against his chest and gained a few blessed inches of distance. There. Now she could breathe. More importantly, she could think. “We need speed and distance for this particular tempo.”

“Feels like just the right amount of distance to me.”

If only. Instead, Jack Mission filled her line of vision, surrounded her with his warmth and his scent and the hard, steady feel of his heart against hers—

The thought careened to a stop as she missed her step and stomped on the toe of his boot. Dread welled inside her. “Oh no.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“I missed a step.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

“I never miss a step.”

“Never say never.”

She glared at him. “You’re throwing me off.”

“Who? Me?” He grinned, a slow, heart-stopping expression that made her heart skip and her feet stall long enough for her to stomp on his foot again.

“Doggone it.”

“Sugar, you need to relax.”

“If you’ll just tell me what dance you’re doing, then I wouldn’t be messing up.”

“Are you always this uptight?”

“I’m not uptight. I just like to know what I’m doing.”

“Darlin’, just relax and breathe.”

Breathe? Was he crazy? Dancing wasn’t about breathing. It was about counting and watching your steps and…

Her thoughts trailed off as Jack pressed his hand into the small of her back and killed the few inches of distance she’d managed to gain. Soft curves met hard muscle and the air rushed from her lungs. Her nostrils flared and she drew in a deep breath. Bad move. His scent drifted across her senses, intoxicating her and she forgot all about trying to keep the rhythm and found herself taking another long breath. And then another.

He smelled of worn leather and virile male seasoned with a touch of danger that prickled Paige’s nerve endings and sent a rush of excitement through her.

“That’s better. You were way too stiff.”

“I was in a classic dance form.”

“It looked more like you had something stuck up your—”

“Good posture,” she cut in. “That’s lesson number one.”

“Says who?”

“Earl Sharp at Earl’s Dance Extravaganza. Lesson number two—” she said, trying to pull away again, but his hold was too strong. “There should always be a good six inches between you and your partner.”

“That’s no fun.”

“But it’s the correct way to do it.”

“And not much fun. I like to have fun.”

“And I like to know what I’m doing.” Paige thrived on it. She never, ever wanted to feel out of control again, and Jack Mission definitely made her feel that way.

He winked and her heart fluttered. “You’re doing just fine,” he told her. “Maybe a little heavy on your feet, but I like the way you’re stroking my shoulder.”

Her fingers clenched as she became instantly aware of her hand moving back and forth across the soft tuxedo material covering his broad shoulder. His grin widened.

“So which rule talks about stroking, darlin’? Four or five? Or are you just improvising?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t mean…” She frowned. Explanation? She had no explanation other than the fact that Jack Mission had made her forget six weeks worth of nightly dance lessons in less than two minutes. She’d stomped on his feet twice—better make that three times—and she’d forgotten everything she’d ever learned, especially the all-important fact that Jack wasn’t her type.

Her traitorous nipples seemed to have an altogether different opinion.

As if he felt the throbbing tips press into his chest, he gave her a knowing smile and dipped his head, his lips brushing her earlobe. “You know, maybe you’re not as uptight as you look.”

“I am not uptight.”

He eyed her for a long moment. “Darlin’, you’re as uptight as they get. An uppity up if I’ve ever seen one.”

“I am not,” she insisted, forcing her thoughts away from his delicious smell and the feel of his body against hers. She managed to concentrate for the next moment, until the song finished, and she finally, finally managed to pull away. She was about to turn and walk away, then her curiosity got the best of her. “So what’s an uppity up?”

His grin was heartstopping. “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you.”

At his words, a rush of heat went through her and sent her pulse fluttering. For a brief moment, she imagined the press of his lips against her own, the whisper of his breath on her mouth, until her common sense intruded along with a healthy dose of righteous indignation. “Kiss you?” She shook her head. Was he serious? “For your information, I don’t even like you.” On that note, she turned to walk away.

His deep chuckle followed her. “Why do you think I asked you to dance?”