Betting Hearts (15 page)

“I guess my present should be lead underwear.” She took a bite of lettuce. One small piece of lettuce instead of the three with a cucumber and a cherry tomato at the tip she was used to.
Good girl.

“So, what do you do for fun, Harry?”

Burke wondered if his fictional character
could
have fun. “I make castles out of cards and read mathematical journals.”

“Ah, a real wild man, huh?”

“Most definitely. What do you do, Miss Belulah?”

“For fun? Oh, I go out to the Barn Dance and pick my teeth with hay.”

“I’ve heard square dancing can be exhausting.” He watched her serve a mid-sized amount of fettuccine. Not a spill, nor was it enough to raise any eyebrows. It wouldn’t fill her up, either, but she could always snack at home after the wedding.

“No, but cow-tipping sure is tiring.”

Her over the top wink had him laughing into his napkin. “What do you think it says about us that we’ve picked probably the two most boring people on earth to portray?”

“We like to set ourselves some high standards to top in real life?” She took a bite of her pasta and refrained from the orgasmic moan she usually made with this dish. She still made the face, though. Something to work on, but hardly a crime. “This place makes delicious food. I’ll have to get the name of the chef and see if he does catering.”

“Throwing a party soon?” he asked, tearing off a piece of bread and lightly buttering it for her.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. A victory party. A friend is going to win a bet in a week and she’s going to invite the whole town to congratulate her.”

He’d have frowned, but the imp was teasing. At least, she better be. “Well, I wouldn’t make any plans. You never know what might happen where bets are concerned.”

“Think I’m overconfident?”

“Yes.” Her face lost a little of its glow and he felt like kicking himself. “Not to say she can’t win, but she needs to keep her goal in mind, not the win.”

She shrugged, picking at her food, the enthusiasm she had earlier now missing. Burke ate a few more bites, none of which had the flavor of the first.

“Would you like to dance?”

Her eyes darted to his, nervousness coloring her cheeks quickly. “But we’re still eating.”

“People do stop eating to dance at weddings.”

“Okay.” She picked up her napkin, dabbed at the corners of her mouth and set it to the left of her plate. He stood and circled the table while she waited in her seat for him to offer his hand. Those movies had seriously helped; he hadn’t even thought to teach her that.

She slipped her hand into his firmly. Cass didn’t do things halfway, easily giving herself into his care. It was enough to make him feel proud of himself, but he wasn’t particularly sure why. She would do the same if anyone else asked her to dance.

“You okay? You look ready to kill someone.” Her voice interrupted thoughts he hadn’t realized were black.

He nodded. “Yeah, fine, just trying to remember where I put the CD remote.”

“On the table where it always is.” She pointed for good measure. It was lined up next to the TV and VCR remote on the corner of the small oak coffee table. As usual.

“Thanks.” What else could he say
? I’m sorry, I was mentally kicking the shit out of some guy who might ask you to dance?
She’d ask why.

A few moments later he had soft country music playing, ready to sacrifice his feet for friendship. He extended his arms, watched Cass step close to him, tentatively put her hand on his shoulder and fit her palm to his. His free hand went to her waist, right above the sloping curve of her hip where it was always supposed to go when doing this kind of thing. He firmly reminded himself it had nothing at all to do with attraction.

He just wasn’t sure he believed it.

Cass stood in the last place on earth she ever imagined she could be—in Burke Halifax’s arms. Her fingers itched to slide from his stiff shoulder to the dark curls at his nape. It wasn’t often he dressed up, but he could steal any girl’s breath when he did. Tonight, in his crisp white dress shirt and dark gray dress slacks, she wondered if he’d meant to steal hers.

The warmth of his big hand on her hip made her heartbeat do all kinds of squirrelly things, not one of which could be labeled regular. She thought the feel of his fingertips on her spine did weird things to her, but this awkward swaying they were doing with a foot and a half between them oddly was more disconcerting.

“Don’t people dance closer than this?” she asked, looking down at their feet.

“Generally.”
Why don’t you just grunt?

“We aren’t because?”

“Safer this way.” He turned her, nearly twisting her wrist in the process.

She yanked it out of his grasp before it could crack. “This isn’t going to work, Burke, and it’s definitely not safe.”

He stopped swaying, his mouth in that hard line with the white at the corners again. “How do you want to try this?”

Good question. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly where arms and legs went in most of those movies. The trouble with classics was when they danced they were usually doing something complicated. She was no Cyd Charisse. She wasn’t even Audrey Hepburn trying to keep up with Fred Astaire by sitting and looking cute on a chair in
Funny Face
.

Sad, since the plot wasn’t far from the mess her life had become. At least Audrey had the option of becoming a famous supermodel, to say nothing of falling madly in love with the man who changed her over. If that were her own fate, she’d be falling in love with Lola Velasquez.

Smiling because she knew she was making too much fuss over a simple thing like touching, she took Burke’s heavy arm and wrapped it around herself until his wide hand covered the small of her back completely. She indulged a little by letting her own hand do exactly what it wanted to his nape and pressing herself up against his broad chest. She had to bite back the delicious little moan that tried to form. He’d never let her lean her head on his chest, but oh how she wanted to. His big, warm body fit hers perfectly.

His eyes widened, which she could easily see since their faces were now only a few inches apart. Fitting her hand to his, she moved her hips back into the sway they had been doing earlier.

“There, now we’ll look like everyone else on the floor.”

“S-sure.”

This was definitely better. She could feel each subtle movement of his hips, the shift of his legs next to hers. She didn’t moan, but she did sigh. Giving in, she lay her cheek over his heart, the steady beat reassuring and strong. Telling him wouldn’t be wise, but when Burke held her like this, she understood why so many women would follow wherever he went.

“I don’t get why you were nervous about this. We’re not maiming each other. I think we’re doing pretty good actually.” She breathed deep of his cologne, picking up the woodsy scent she liked best.

“Because we’re not going anywhere. We’re swaying.”

“So move us around.” She picked up her head to give him her best challenging look.

“You can’t impress anyone with broken feet, Cassie.”

“Come on,
Harry
, I dare you.”

A flicker of indignation lit the dark blue in his gaze before his mouth quirked into a rakish grin. Before she could taunt him again, he splayed his fingers across her back and whirled them around three or four times. A breathless second later she was nearly on the floor, dipped neatly over his arm, their bodies pressed so close she could feel his lungs expand.

She looked up at him incredulously. “Well, who would have guessed Harry was a dancer?”

“Not Harry, that’s for damn sure.” He looked relieved, but he didn’t make any move to let either of them up. In fact, he had that look on his face again. The hungry one. “When did you start wearing vanilla perfume?”

She blinked at him. She’d be confused if he wasn’t holding her as if he wasn’t going to let her go. “A-Alice said it fit me.”

“She’s right.”

“I’ll tell her you thought so.”

“Good.”

Still not getting up. Still not wanting to either. His eyes focused on her mouth. Could gazes really burn? Because his felt like it was. Her lips tingled while she waited for him to do something. Anything. Finally, oh God, finally, he moved forward.

Her heart stopped. Her eyelids lowered and she let her skin tell her when his warmth came close enough to whisper across her lips.

All her life, she thought Burke had a hard mouth. A chiseled piece of flesh, made out of stone. But it wasn’t. His mouth was soft, warm and firm as it found its way over hers. She sighed, feeling the entire world shift as he increased the pressure, bettered the fit. He took that as some sort of invitation, she guessed, because he guided her mouth open and she felt the first touch of his tongue against hers.

The music faded away to nothing when he tasted her mouth as if he might hurt her. He dipped again, this time less tentatively. Deeper, laving over her own tongue, teasing her. Inviting her…

So
this
is what this kind of kiss was supposed to be like. Warm, turning your blood into honey. Cass found herself smiling into him, copying the motions of his mouth while clutching the fabric of his shirt at the shoulders.

He groaned, making her belly ripple and heat with something she’d never felt before. His hand tugged her closer still, hazily proving she was back on her own two feet. She leaned in, as he wanted, winding her arms around his neck. Closer was better. Much better.

He stopped being gentle, drinking from her mouth and making her blood rush in her ears so hard it sounded as if someone were pounding on her head.

Or was that the door?

She pulled away at the same time as Burke, staring up at him in shock.

“Hey, what are you guys doing in there?”

Chapter Seven

Burke stared into Cass’s wide green eyes and swallowed. Her face was flushed, but he couldn’t tell if it was from what had happened between them or from what was
about
to happen to them once Hayne figured out why his sister’s make-up was smeared all over
his
face. As if slapped with cold water, Burke released his hold on Cass and took a step back.

“That wasn’t us.” It wasn’t. They were friends.
Friends Don’t Let Friends Have Sex
, dammit. “It was Harry and Belulah.”

“Harry and Belulah?” Her voice, almost whispery, was flat with disbelief.

Yeah, he didn’t quite buy it either. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that a minute longer of kissing her and he would have another pair of her garters to add to his collection. But he wasn’t being honest with either of them and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be honest with Hayne.

“Go to the kitchen, I’ll handle this.”

She blinked at him as if he were speaking an alien language or something.

“Hey, come on, let me in! This isn’t funny. It’s cold out here!” Hayne whined, pounding again.

“Go!”

Flinching, Cass jumped and ran to the kitchen. God help him if she turned on the CD player…

Burke rubbed his cuff over his mouth, then swung open the door and found Hayne looking grumpy on the porch with an open beer in one hand and some wilted flowers in the other. His red cheeks could have been from the nippy spring night, but Burke doubted it.
Why do the Bishops get drunk and come to
my
house?

“Took you long enough.” Hayne stomped in the open doorway, shoving the crumpled violets and pink things against Burke’s chest for him to catch or drop. “These are for you.”

Burke closed the door, rolling his eyes. “I’m touched.”

“You should be. I spent forty bucks on those flowers.” Hayne dumped his sorry hide on the couch, slumping in his lambskin coat, looking more pathetic than usual.

“You own the nursery, Hayne. I think you’ll live.”

“Not after tonight I won’t. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so screwed over in my life.”

Ahhh, another glitch in the enduring saga of Hayne Bishop’s love life. Was it another waitress? Another waify girl who stole his heart as she hitchhiked her way to LA? No, this one had “damsel in distress” written all over her.

“How much are you out this time?”

“I’m not out anything but the flowers.”

Hmmm, maybe
not
the D.I.D. type.
“What’d she do?”

“She came into the nursery looking for flowers for a wedding. How was I supposed to know it was
her
wedding?”

Burke restrained himself from pointing out that anyone with blood in his head instead of other regions might have figured it out easily.

“She’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Gorgeous with these blue eyes that sparkle when she laughs. Curly blonde hair and a figure that could make you
beg
, Burke, seriously.”

So far, Hayne had described four of his last five girlfriends.

“Quiet like a mouse, though, and so shy it took an hour to get her to do more than whisper to me.” Hayne sank back into the pillows, smiling off into nowhere.