Harlequin American Romance November 2014 Box Set: The SEAL's Holiday Babies\The Texan's Christmas\Cowboy for Hire\The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (46 page)

Finn was already drawing her to her feet, away from the table where she'd left her near empty bottle of beer. “Sure you can.”

Connie shook her head. “I'm serious, Finn. I don't dance.” She had two left feet, and she knew it.

But Finn obviously wasn't accepting excuses. “Don't? Or won't?”

“I won't because I don't,” she insisted. With every word, he was drawing her further away from any small comfort zone she'd hoped to stake out and closer to the dance floor.

He laughed at the sentence she'd just uttered. “Practice saying that three times fast,” he told her, all the while drawing her closer and closer to the area in the saloon that had been cleared for dancing.

She did
not
want to make a fool of herself in front of him.

“Finn, no, really. I'm going to wind up stepping all over your feet,” she warned him.

Her excuse made no impression on him whatsoever. “They can take it. Besides, you're light, how much damage can you do? Don't worry, I'll teach you a few steps. You'll look like a natural,” he promised.

Famous last words, she couldn't help thinking. Finn had no idea what he was getting into—but she did, and it was up to her to stop him before it was too late.

“Others have tried and failed miserably,” she warned him.

“‘Others' weren't me,” he told her with a confidence that was neither cocky nor self-indulgent; it merely
was.
He took one of her hands in his and pressed his other hand against the small of her back.

“It's a slow song,” he said, bringing her attention to it. “All you have to do is sway with the music and follow my lead.”

All.
Ha! The man had no idea what he was asking of her.

“I have no rhythm,” Connie protested. She wasn't proud of it, but there it was. Connie Carmichael had less rhythm in her body than the average rock.

But Finn was obviously not accepting excuses tonight. “Everyone has rhythm, Connie,” he countered easily. “You just have to not be afraid to let it come out. Now, c'mon,” he coaxed, “let yourself feel the music. Close your eyes,” he urged, “and just
feel
it,” he stressed, gently guiding her movements.

This was an experiment that was doomed to fail from the very start, didn't he realize that? “You're going to be sorry,” Connie warned him, even as she allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder.

“I really doubt that,” he assured her, his voice low, a whisper only she could hear despite the general din in the room.

A moment later, her eyes flew open.

She could actually feel it. Not just the rhythm, the way Finn had promised her that she would, but she slowly felt the effects of the music as it seemed to seep into her.

Or was that her reaction to the way his body was pressed ever so gently—and incredibly seductively—against hers?

Connie wasn't quite sure, but she could definitely feel herself reacting to the music—as well as to the man.

Her heart got into the act, revving up its pace.

When the music stopped, Connie was almost sorry to hear the notes fade away.

Raising her head from his shoulder, she realized that Finn was still swaying, still moving his feet to a beat that was no longer there.

“Song's over,” she told him, whispering the words into his ear.

“Shh,” he responded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “There'll be another one to take its place in a second.”

And then Liam, looking his way, struck up another slow song with his band. Couples around them began dancing again.

“See?” Finn said. “What did I tell you?”

“I should have never doubted you,” she told him with a laugh.

“No,” Finn agreed, looking far more serious than she would have thought the moment warranted, “you shouldn't have.”

* * *

S
HE
WASN
'
T
SURE
just how long she and Finn danced like that. Three, four songs came and went, all surprisingly slow in tempo. For her, it felt like just one long, timeless melody that went on.

“I haven't stepped on your foot yet,” she marveled when she finally realized that she was
really
dancing and not just keeping time with her hips.

His laughter, soft and warm, ruffled her hair ever so slightly. Ruffled her soul a great deal more.

“The evening's still young,” Finn told her. “You'll have more opportunities to live up to that threat if you really want to.”

She liked what was happening now. It couldn't continue and she knew it, but just for now, she was content to pretend that it would.

“Actually, I kind of like the fact that I haven't yet,” she told him. “How do you do it?” she marveled quietly.

“Do what?” he asked as he whirled her around ever so gently. The movement was so subtle, he had a feeling she didn't even know she executed it.

“How do you get me to move this way?” she asked, mimicking him step for step. “I'm usually completely uncoordinated.”

“Magic,” he said, whispering the word into her ear. “I do it with magic.”

A warm, tantalizing shiver shimmied up and down her spine, instantly spreading out to all parts of her. Claiming her.

Just the same way that the man did.

She knew that Finn was just putting her on with that answer. The funny thing was, though, just for a moment or two there, she could have sworn that it actually
felt
like magic.

Or, at the very least, she was more than willing to pretend that it
was
magic.

Chapter Thirteen

Living under her father's roof, Connie had hosted more than her share of parties and so-called casual get-togethers, all to the very best of her ability.

Initially, she'd imagined that she fell woefully below the standard that her late mother had set. Victoria Carmichael had a charming, outgoing personality and the ability to make each person she spoke with feel as if they were the only person in the room. In addition, Victoria had a way of lighting up any room she entered. While Connie knew that her father had never said as much to her mother, after Victoria's death he was always quick to point out how incredibly short of the mark she fell each time he ordered her to take over her mother's role as hostess.

Eventually, through sheer perseverance, Connie grew into the role and became more at ease with the part she had to play. However, she'd never enjoyed herself during any of those gatherings the way she was enjoying herself tonight, here in the small, jam-packed bar, talking with people her father would have been quick to judge, cut off and summarily dismiss as being beneath him.

She began the evening as an outsider and was certain she would remain that way throughout the entire night, but she hadn't counted on Finn taking her in hand, hadn't taken into account the character of the people attending this engagement party.

She'd just assumed that they would regard her as an intruder and laugh about how she didn't fit in behind her back. Instead, to a person, they all went out of their way to make her feel welcome.

She thought perhaps this was because of Finn, that this was somehow his idea, and he had found a way to convey his wishes to the others attending the party. But she never saw him signal anyone, never saw him indicate to the people around them that he wanted them to treat her with kid gloves.

In a way, the opposite of the latter happened because as the evening wore on, she was being teased and kidded, all in such a way that she took no offense and found herself responding lightheartedly.

By evening's end, she came away with the feeling that the people she worked with, the people who essentially worked
for
her, actually
liked
her. Liked the fact that she had come out of her trailer after hours to meet them on their own ground and celebrate that two of their own were getting married.

Each time someone proposed a toast, she was right there with them, lifting her own glass and adding her voice to the well-wishers. And each and every time she did, she was aware of Finn beside her, smiling at her and approving the way she conducted herself.

For the most part, she had lived without approval for a very long time.

As she finished her glass of champagne in what felt like an umpteenth toast, laughter bubbled up within her as she leaned into Finn and whispered, “You were right.”

Turning to look at Connie, he nodded. “Of course I was— About what, specifically?” Finn tagged on after a beat.

Her smile was wide and totally uninhibited. She must have looked like that as a child, Finn couldn't help thinking. “I am having fun.”

“Yes, you are,” he agreed with a laugh.

He noted that she was all but completely effervescent at this point. Connie leaned back a little too far, and he quickly put his arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off her stool. Finn gently took the empty glass from her hand and placed it on the first flat surface he saw on the bar, thinking that was safer than having her accidentally drop it. He knew that once this evening was behind her, she wouldn't appreciate being allowed to look foolish—or tipsy.

“Possibly just a tad too much fun,” he speculated.

“There's no such thing as too much fun,” Connie murmured. Standing up, she nearly went straight down, feeling as if her legs had mysteriously turned into tapioca pudding right beneath her. “Whoops.” She grabbed hold of Finn by his shirt to keep from sinking to the floor. “I swear I only had one drink. Was there something special in it?” she asked, punctuating her question with a laugh that was mingled with a giggle.

“Nothing that wasn't in all the others,” he assured her. And then he took a closer look at her. All her features had definitely mellowed. There was only one thing that could accomplish that to such a degree at this point. “How many have you had?” he asked her.

Finn hadn't bothered keeping track of the alcohol she consumed, but then, he hadn't thought he had to. Since she was so straitlaced, he assumed she'd keep track of herself.

Apparently, he was wrong, he realized.

“Just one,” Connie said. “That's usually enough....”

She appeared so serious, it was hard for him not to laugh. “You're a cheap date.”
Not that this is a date,
Finn added silently.

But he knew she'd be self-conscious later when she realized she'd been slightly tipsy, or even cutting loose. He took better hold of her arm to escort her out of the saloon.

Brett saw them leaving just as the couple reached the massive front door. Excusing himself from the people he was talking to, he quickly made his way over to them.

“Everything okay?” Brett asked, coming up behind the pair.

“Everything's wonderful,” Connie answered in a gush before Finn could. “You throw a very mean party,” she told the oldest Murphy brother.

“Actually, Finn here and Liam threw it,” he gently corrected, “but on their behalf, thank you,” Brett responded with a smile as he looked at her. Raising his eyes to Finn, he asked, “Are you taking her out for some air?”

“And then home,” Finn added.

Connie whirled around to look at him. “You're taking me to your home?” she asked, visibly beaming. “Good, I've missed it.”

Her comment took both men by surprise, especially since her stay at the ranch house had been limited to a single day.

“She's not going to remember saying that in the morning,” Finn told his brother.

The latter nodded. Finn had cut her off just in time. “You need any help?” he asked Finn.

Finn smiled as he slanted a glance at the petite woman. “She's a live wire, but I can always tuck her under my arm if I have to.”

“Good luck,” Brett said before he turned back to the party.

“Why do you need luck?” Connie asked as Finn took her outside. And then she suddenly grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I get it. You're looking to get lucky. Why didn't you say so?” she asked with a laugh.

“Because I'm not looking to get lucky,” he told her patiently, although the idea of getting lucky with her had more than a little to recommend it. He forced himself not to think about it. He'd only be torturing himself. “I'm just looking to get you home.”

“Where you'll have your way with me,” she concluded with a nod of her head, as if it were already a foregone conclusion.

Finn watched as she got into the passenger side of his vehicle. “I'm not looking for that, either,” he told her matter-of-factly, doing his best to bury the fact that this new uninhibited version of her was beginning to stir him.

“Why not?” she asked, confusion highlighting her expression. “Why don't you want to have your way with me? Don't you think I'm pretty?”

They were driving now, and Finn stepped down harder on the gas pedal, going faster than the posted speed limit, but just this once. He figured he could be forgiven for that. There was no one else out on the streets and the entire sheriff's department was back at
Murphy's,
anyway. He needed to get Connie back to her trailer before his restraint dissolved just like soap bubbles in the spring air.

Because she was staring at him, waiting for an answer, Finn finally said, “Yes, I think you're pretty. Beautiful, actually,” he amended.

“But you don't want me,” she concluded sadly.

She was making it very, very difficult for him. “You're my boss,” he told her, hoping that would be the end of it.

“I know that, but you can still want me,” she insisted.

He could almost
feel
his defenses crumbling. “Okay, I want you. But that still doesn't mean I'm going to do anything. It wouldn't be right,” he informed her firmly.

He put his truck into Park. They'd arrived at her trailer none too soon, he thought, because he was quickly losing this battle of good intentions allied with restraint. She kept leaning into him, despite the seat belt that should have kept her on her side of the cab. Her hair was seductively brushing against his neck and cheek, making him yearn for her.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Finn quickly got out of the driver's seat and rounded the hood of his truck to get to Connie's side.

She was fumbling with her belt when he opened her door.

She raised her head and he'd never seen her look so vulnerable. “It won't open,” she complained.

Finn reached over and uncoupled the seat belt, freeing her. The second he did, she all but slid into him as she got off the seat and out of the truck.

Looking up into his face, she declared, “I give you permission.”

“Permission?” he echoed. Very carefully, he made sure she could stand, then removed his hands from her waist. “Permission for what?”

She stepped in closer again, as if there was a magnetic charge between her body and his. “Permission to do something about wanting me.”

Oh, God, if only...
He caught himself thinking before he shut down his thoughts.

“Connie, you're a little tipsy. Maybe this isn't the right time,” he began, desperately trying to do the right thing. But the ground beneath his feet was swiftly eroding.

“I know exactly what I'm saying,” she corrected. “What I don't have the courage to say during regular hours.”

Finn told himself not to listen, and he tried to get her to go into the trailer. Instead, she whirled around, made a funny little noise about how dizzy that made her feel. Then, before he knew what was happening, she had anchored her arms around his neck, pushed herself up as high as she could and before he could stop her, she'd managed to press her lips against his.

At first, it was just the excitement of making contact that zipped through him like static electricity. But as she pulled herself up a little higher and pressed her lips against his a little more forcefully, all sorts of tantalizing things began happening all through his body.

And not just his body, he realized a second later because the woman on the other side of her all-but-death grip was definitely responding to him. He could feel her body, soft and pliant, against his. Could feel her lips against his, no longer just a target, a passive receiver, but most definitely in the game.

All
the way in the game.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself responding to Connie.
Wanting
Connie with a level of desire that took him completely by surprise and totally threw him off his game.

He enfolded her in his arms, deepening the kiss she had begun even as it took him prisoner.

And then, as a sliver of common sense returned, pricking at his conscience, Finn forced himself to stop kissing her. Forced himself to put some distance, however minuscule, between them.

Taking hold of both her arms—to keep himself at bay as well as her—he gently pushed Connie back and said, “You don't want to do this.”

There was a very strange light in her eyes, mixing in with the definite glimmer of mischief.

“Guess again,” she said in a low, husky voice just before she retargeted his mouth again, sealing hers to it.

Finn knew damn well that he was supposed to be the sane one here, the one who was supposed to push her away again for her own good and keep pushing until she finally stopped coming at him. But he had used up his small supply of nobility quickly and she had refused to listen, refused to back away the way he'd told her to.

And damn, he'd been wanting this since the first time he'd turned around and saw her out there on the ranch, standing next to her less-than-useful sports car, looking at him as if she'd never seen a bare-chested man sweating in the hot sun before. She had generated a strong wave of desire within him then, and that wave had never really subsided, never receded so much as an iota.

Instead, it had remained suspended, waiting to be released.

Waiting for an opportunity like this.

Before he knew what he was doing and could discover a way to talk himself out of it, he swept Connie up into his arms. Then, pushing his shoulder against the trailer door to open it, Finn carried her inside.

The second the door was closed—and even before—Connie was all over him—marking his total undoing.

He could hardly keep up with her.

Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his clothing, skimming along his body, coaxing him to let go of his last thread of sanity and come to her.

And then he did.

He remembered the whole scenario taking place in what amounted to a hot haze, a frenzy of activity. A strange wildness had seized him as he found himself wanting her so very badly that it actually physically
hurt.
Wanting her and waiting for even an instant hurt in such a way that it felt as if it almost turned the air in his lungs to a solid substance.

* * *

S
HE
WAS
GOING
to regret this, a little voice in her head told her over and over, taunting her. Pointing out obvious things.

The actual deed couldn't possibly live up to the expectations she had built up in her head. She was just setting herself up for a fall.

And worst of all, he was going to brag about this to his friends, tell them that she was an easy mark and not really worth the effort in the end.

He'd disappoint her and she him.

All these things raced through her mind at top speed, repeating themselves over and over again. They should have stopped her.

On some level, she knew that.

But even so, her body was begging her not to listen to anything but its own rhythms, its own demands. All along, if she was being honest with herself, she had known that this man was going to be her downfall and yet she'd still hired him, still kept him around. Still allowed his presence to fuel her dreams at night, when her guard was so woefully down.