A Hero to Dance With Me
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© 2014 Marteeka Karland
Editor: Katriena Knights
Prrofer: Pat Sager
Cover Art: Marteeka Karland
Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.
Jezelle (Elle) Temple is a favorite employee at the Wildcat Roadhouse. Not only is she sassy and spunky, she’s sexy as hell with her innocence and girl-next-door looks. When she dances...well. Badass SEAL, Steve Carver never has a chance.
While Elle isn’t the type of girl to take just any man to her bed, there’s something about the brooding SEAL that draws her like a moth to a flame. If anyone needs her bubbly personality, it's Steve Carver. Unfortunately, one night seems to be all Steve is interested in, leaving Elle with a broken heart.
Knowing he royally screwed up, that he left behind the one thing in his life besides his family that was pure and good, Steve returns to Elle. Unfortunately, his sweet little dancer is no longer soft toward him. If anything, she looks at him with indifference, her disillusion obvious. Unable to let her go, Steve still pursues her, thinking that if he won her once, he can do it again.
But Jezelle isn't the type of girl to give second chances unless they're earned, and Steve has to prove he's the man for her. Who knew one little dancer could change his life forever? Who expected that, this was the SEAL who was only too glad to use all his considerable training to win back the heart of the one woman he's ever wanted to keep?
Contents
Summer heat sweltered in the Bluegrass state near the end of August. Jezelle Temple wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the high temperatures, but it meant a continuing influx of tourists for the restaurant where she worked. The Wildcat Roadhouse sported a bar, dance floor, great food, and an atmosphere that was to die for. Had she been able to work anywhere she wanted, Jezelle would have picked the locally owned restaurant over anything she could imagine. Simply put, she loved her job.
“Hurry, Elle! It’s almost time for the line dance!” Florence, her best friend and coworker, prodded her none too gently. “You’ve got to lead it.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Jezelle gave herself one last look in the mirror, fluffing her hair slightly before following her friend back into the bar. The most skilled—or most enthusiastic—dancers were required to participate every hour. Jezelle had her own dance each night. It was what she loved most about her job, even more than the social interaction. Dancing made her feel free, like her body was lighter than air. Especially the honky-tonk style at the Roadhouse—which was usually laced liberally with stomping and hopping and skipping. It was almost like a pagan joy blooming within her whenever the music flowed through her while she danced at the Roadhouse.
The music gained in volume as everyone took the floor. For one minute, the very best servers danced to a rousing rendition of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” played with gusto by the live band. The single minute allowed for entertainment without taking away servers from the tables too long, keeping customers satisfied. As usual when she was there, Jezelle took the lead, setting the tone for the entire dance with her bright smile and enthusiastic movements. There was no place she felt more at home than on the dance floor.
Catcalls, whistles, and cheers met the dancers. Some patrons joined in the familiar dance, while most everyone else either clapped in time to the music or yelled out encouragements. Jezelle put on her best smile and waved to all, playing to the crowd she’d soon be mingling with. The more she interacted with patrons, the better tips she got. Plus, she just liked doing it.
As the dance progressed, she lost herself in the joy of the cheers of the crowd as well as the fellow dancers. The simple pleasure of moving her body to the beat was nearly overwhelming. Jezelle closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the drums hammer inside her. Carefree as a girl, she twirled, stomped, clapped, and swished her hips in time with the music. The Daisy Duke cut-offs she wore, like most of the women who worked there, molded her ass and hips like a lover. With the Kentucky blue T-shirt hugging her breasts and knotted at the side to show just the slightest amount of midriff, she knew she looked damned good.
These hourly dances were an expected event. Sometimes, patrons joined in the fun, other times it was just the staff. Jezelle was always there. It was the part of her job she loved most. She was good at it and, no matter how many times life knocked her down, she was always free when she danced. As the dance ended, she gave one last graceful twirl, taking a bow and waving to the crowd.
“I’m almost sorry to leave tonight,” Anne, a pretty, petite blonde with bright green eyes and an engaging smile said in a rush. She turned over her tables to Jezelle with a smile and a wink. “Table six just got the Carver brothers plus one.” Anne smiled as she shrugged into her coat and glanced over her shoulder at the group of four men and one woman in question. “Lucky you, Elle. Tips are always nice from that bunch.” She threw Jezelle a cheery smile as she breezed out the door to her waiting boyfriend. Jezelle watched the lanky dark-haired young man swung Anne up in his arms before the door to the restaurant closed, shutting them out and Jezelle in.
With a happy sigh, Jezelle tied on her apron with its pouches neatly stocked with straws, pens, and her order pad. She approached the Carver table with a smile. Introductions weren’t really necessary. She knew all of them but one man. He looked enough like the other three for her to realize he had to be the elusive fourth brother. Out of habit, she still introduced herself before taking their drink orders.
“That was some dance,” the pretty woman, Melanie, commented. Melanie looked so contented securely tucked under her husband's shoulder, Jezelle found herself envying the other woman. Chase and Melanie Carver were regulars. Jezelle was just surprised their spunky daughter, Abigail, wasn’t with them. “You were wonderful! As always.”
Jezelle nodded her head in acknowledgement. “I love dancing. It’s one of the many reasons I work here. Where else can you go to work and get to dance spontaneously?” She laughed.
“Well, you always make it look fun,” Melanie remarked. “I think you know everyone. Chase…” She noted the man who sat with his arm draped so possessively over her shoulder. “Rick…” The biggest of the bunch with his shiny dark hair cut in a high and tight grinned, extending a hand to her. “Mike,” the big man shot her a grin as he, too, extended his hand in greeting. He was older than the others, sporting a bit of gray at his temples with more sprinkled lightly throughout his dark locks. Though they frequented the place, Elle appreciated the refresher on their names. “Steve, however, hasn’t been here in a while. You may not know him.”
This “Steve” had a mean set to his jaw. Though he grinned at her, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Elle had heard the term “brooding male” before, but had never quite appreciated what it meant until now. Despite his nearly devastating good looks, that man had a mean streak obvious for all to see. It was those deep blue eyes of his. Cold. Flat. He looked like he could kill a man and not even blink. His facial features were nearly perfect, except for one scar on his cheek. Oddly, the imperfection only gave him character instead of detracting from his looks. The observation that “chicks love scars” certainly applied to her. At least where this man was concerned. Add jet-black hair and piercing sapphire eyes and she could stare at him for days. If she weren’t afraid he’d bite her. And not necessarily in a good way. No. Steve Carver wasn’t a man she needed to encourage. Get in. Get the tip. Get out. It was her daily mantra when faced with difficult customers.
“So glad to see you all again,” Elle said brightly. “Just call me Elle. My Mama thought Jezelle was pretty, but it’s too stiff and formal. Makes me itch.” Everyone laughed. Except Steve. He simply leveled her with that steady, assessing gaze. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back with your drinks. Let me know if you need anything.”
As she left, she couldn’t help but glance at Steve one more time. There was something about the menacing-looking man that drew her like a moth to a flame. Wouldn’t you know it, he was watching her like a hungry cat might eye a rabbit.
*****
Had he ever seen a woman so…enticing? Steve doubted it. Though every single woman working here wore the exact same outfit, Elle made it look like an invitation for hot, sweaty sex. There was nothing overt about her. She didn’t flirt or show more skin than the outfit called for, but she was unconsciously sexy. Which was a huge turn-on for Steve since most women took one look at him and his brothers and generally fawned over them all. Not this woman. She was polite, energetic, talkative even, but all in a professional manner he sensed was designed to put people at ease. Perfect for a waitress.
He followed her with his gaze, watching as she stopped by various tables introducing herself and taking orders before returning to his table with their drinks. As she continued to chat lightly, taking their food orders and offering her opinion–when asked–about certain items on the menu, he was further charmed by her. She gave Melanie the most attention, commenting how the color of her blouse complemented her skin tone. Though she was polite to everyone, she didn’t flirt or give excessive attention to any of the men. Including him. Which displeased him.
“Is everything okay?” Elle asked her question with a raised eyebrow, looking straight at Steve. That’s when he realized he was scowling at her.
“Fine. But I’m paying and will be the one tipping you. You should shower me with attention. Not Melanie.”
Chuckles from his brothers made his face heat. Well, except for Chase who guffawed loudly. To Steve’s consternation, the lovely Elle only grinned.
“Feeling a little left out, big guy?”
“Damned straight.” If he was going to do this, he would do it right. “But you’d go a long way toward making up with me if you saved me the next dance.”
Her already sunny smile brightened.“Happy to.” Then it turned mischievous. “But you have to participate with the group.”
“Oh, no, darlin’,” he drawled. “I want a slow dance. “
She shrugged. “It’s the line dance or nothing, sweets. Sorry, but that’s house rules.” Her grin said she was anything but sorry. “I’ll make sure to come get you before we get ready to start.” Then she turned, and with a swish of her rounded ass sashayed away.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“I’ll say,” Mike observed. “You? Line dancing? Can’t wait to let your team know about this.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Steve growled, then immediately threw an apologetic look at Melanie. The little wench had her hand covering her mouth. No doubt to hide a smile.
“He’s got a point, Steve,” Mike mused, looking as if he were seriously contemplating what would happen when his SEAL team found out he was line dancing with a chick. “Could get rough.”
“I think we’ve reached that point,” Rick said gravely. The bastard even looked like he cared deeply about Steve’s safety. When Steve refused to ask “what point,” Rick continued without prompting. “You know. That point where you ask yourself is the cake worth the bake.”
Steve did his best to keep his expression neutral, but his brothers must have seen something there anyway because they continued to snicker. Then he had to go and ruin the effect by muttering under his breath, “Just call me Betty fucking Crocker,” before he could stop himself.
“Wow. Is the cold-hearted SEAL finally falling for a woman? And on first sight too,” Mike said, grinning.
“What part of ‘shut the fuck up’ did you not understand?” There was no way he was going to live this down. But goddamnit, when the little vixen swished her hips in his direction at the end of their meal, Steve found himself rising to take her hand as she led him to the dance floor. For a fucking line dance.
