Two-Step Temptation (2 page)

“Uphill.” And she’d have to smell him and feel his muscles move and remember. “I can make it.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and must have seen her desperation for this all to go away, because he nodded. “You can lean on me if you want.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said again, but each step sent a twinge through her. So she held on to Jill.

“Dummy,” Jill muttered. “I would have ridden that all the way home.”

Eric’s breath caught in his throat when Haven walked into the dining room—not limping, thank God—of the inn a few hours later. He hoped no one was watching him because he was pretty sure his tongue was hanging out. Her simple black dress had a swath of fabric that looped around her neck, leaving her shoulders bare except for the brush of her long dark hair against it. Jesus, just the idea of her hair brushing his skin tightened his groin. He’d itched to get his hands on her, well, for eight months, but especially since he’d seen her this morning, fresh out of bed and so gorgeous she took his breath away. The brief touch he’d managed out on the hiking trail had him fantasizing about her riding his back the rest of the afternoon.

She scanned the room, her gaze glancing over him, then she smiled at someone behind him and lifted her hand in acknowledgement.

He twisted around and saw a nice-looking guy return the gesture.

Well, hell, that had not been something he’d taken into consideration, that she’d be with someone else. Of course, months had passed. Why wouldn’t she be with someone else?

The idea irritated the shit out of him, the thought of another man touching her, another man hearing her soft sighs, breathing in her scent. Still, she didn’t approach the guy. Instead she crossed the oak-floored open room, lit with rustic iron chandeliers, and joined a huddle of females near a table with a beautiful flower arrangement. Haven rested her hand Christine’s shoulder. All the women inclined their heads to look at Haven’s foot, clad in shiny high-heeled sandals. She lifted her leg, flexing her foot, and Eric was mesmerized with the play of muscles in her calf.

He was at fault for the guards she’d erected again, more impenetrable than ever. Eight months ago, he’d been fascinated by the combination of adventure and stability she’d shown, an elementary school principal who loved camping and travel, appealing to both sides of himself. She’d armored herself pretty well, was good at it, but he was too intrigued not to pry underneath—he was an anthropologist, right, and lived for mystery. Once he’d found her soft, gooey center, he was trapped.

Then he’d had to leave, though he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

The dinner began and Haven took a seat at one of the other round tables, out of his line of sight behind a floral centerpiece. He wondered if that was on purpose. Eric thought about moving so he could keep an eye on her, but he’d give her this reprieve, since the rest of the weekend he intended to be relentless. At least she’d never approached that guy she’d waved to, or any guy. So she was here alone. That could be used to his advantage.

Wine and conversation flowed freely, but Eric grew restless, wanting a glimpse of Haven. Every now and then her laugh carried down the table, and his gut tightened in anticipation. He’d made her laugh on the picnic, a good sign, but he wanted to hear her laugh just for him.

Christine’s father, Mr. Padalecki, stood at the head of the table and called for attention. “We’ve arranged for the band to come in tonight and work with you on some of the dances for tomorrow. I know not all of you are lucky to be Texan, and I don’t want you to embarrass yourselves out on the dance floor. So grab your partners and come this way.”

Eric rose and glanced at Haven. She sat still for a moment, then looked up when he approached, hand extended.

“I think that means us.” Had Christine told her about the change in the lineup?

Again she hesitated and a blush tinted her cheeks. That small reaction she couldn’t hide sent a pulse of hope through him. She straightened her shoulders and rose, stepping around his proffered hand.

Respecting her wish to play it cool, he let his arm fall to his side. He could study other cultures and understand the whys and wherefores, but God help him when it came to women. He gestured to her ankle. “Good to see you recovered.”

“Yeah, thanks. You were right. The ice helped.”

“Had a twisted ankle or two in my time. Never recovered enough to wear heels the same day, though.”

Her dark-eyed gaze lifted to his, startled, and he grinned. She relaxed marginally, a half-smile of her own curving her generous mouth, and turned away. He followed her into the reception hall making a conscious effort not to look at her ass.

The room was identical to the dining room, only without the tables, and with wide French doors opening onto a balcony overlooking the Pedernales River. Eric joined the others in a semicircle on the dance floor and folded his arms as he watched Christine’s parents join together to demonstrate the “Cotton-Eyed Joe”, the schottische, the “Boot-Scootin’ Boogie” and a cumbia, with the help from the band. When it was time to join in, Haven kept her distance for the line dances, but he was fine with that. Watching him screw up might be fun for her, but he wasn’t sure his ego could take it on the heels of her cold shoulder.

Then Mr. Padalecki swung his wife into his arms for a Texas two-step. Aw, that looked easy enough. Others in the bridal party, those who had been married or dating for a bit, including the bride and groom, partnered up quickly and joined the Padaleckis. Eric sought Haven over the top of his friend Gabe’s head. She didn’t meet his gaze as he approached, not until the last minute when he took her hand. Anxiety lined her face, and he didn’t think it was worry about the dance. Was she thinking about the last time they danced? He sure as hell was. They’d turned each other on so much, she’d given him a blowjob in the car on the way back to her house. Christ, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever known. Unable to wait to touch her, he tucked his other hand at her waist, pulling her closer than was probably wise since he had no idea what he was doing. He was going to stomp all over her pretty toes. Then she really wouldn’t be able to walk down the aisle.

Okay, he knew how to dance, but not a dance with particular steps. He knew how to use it as foreplay, and had with Haven, more than once. He’d wanted his hands on her any way he could and she’d been willing. Jesus, had she been willing.

“You smell good,” he murmured. “Different.”

Something flashed in her eyes, a kind of vulnerability, but she covered it quickly.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” She curved her fingers over his shoulder.

“Not at all. You?”

She tossed that pretty dark hair back to look up at him, and this time he recognized the gleam of pride in her eyes. “I’ve lived in Texas all my life. What do you think?”

He gave in to the urge to smooth his palm over the curve of her hip, just above her ass. She drew in a little gasp through those rosy lips that he wanted to taste, and he knew she could feel his cock grow against her belly. Yeah, he needed to stop thinking like that, or someone besides Haven was going to notice his hard-on.

“Show me,” he said.

“Start on your left foot.” Her hand on his shoulder drew him forward a bit, as if he’d forgotten which was his left side. “It’s quick-quick, slow-slow. Ready? Quick-quick—ow!” She jumped back and rubbed her offended toe.

Mr. Padalecki appeared beside them and pressed his flattened palms between them. “It’ll work better if you have some space between you as you’re learning. It’s quick-quick, slow-pause, slow-pause. Don’t be trying to flirt here, Eric,” he chided the younger man. “Listen to the music and count in your head. You can make time later.” He winked.

“No, he can’t,” Haven muttered as the older man moved away.

“What are you so prickly about?” Eric asked as he slid his hand around her waist, bringing her a little closer than Mr. Padalecki had suggested, but not as close as he wanted. “That I showed up? That I left? You knew I couldn’t call. I thought that was what you wanted.”

“It was. It is.” She bit her lower lip, then released it and met his gaze. “You being here just—caught me by surprise.”

“Ah. Not a fan of surprises, as I recall.”

A small smile curved her lips. “Not so much.”

He eased her a little closer, ignoring the steps of the dance altogether. “So should I have called?”

“When you left, we agreed it wasn’t necessary.”

Something in her tone, the softness of it, an almost wistful quality, alerted him. “Did something change?”

She looked up sharply. “No. What would have changed?”

But the guarded look in her eyes made him think otherwise.

“Eric and Haven! You’re not even trying,” Mr. Padalecki scolded from the other side of the dance floor.

But now that he’d gotten Haven to loosen up a bit, Eric found himself able to move better. He focused on the roll of her hip beneath his palm, the heat of her breath against the open collar of his shirt, the scent of her, heightened by the heat rolling off her body with their exertions, since Mr. Padalecki ran them through several different songs with different tempos. Approval lightened her eyes as he caught on to the rhythm and guided her about the wooden floor with confidence, his hand at the small of her back like an old pro.

“Come with me,” he said, breaking away from her as the music ended.

“Eric.”

His name was a protest, but he thought he heard a longing too. Of course, she knew he was aroused. “Just out there. I just—I want to talk.” Liar. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her body move against his, to know he had a chance.

She edged away, not toward the terrace doors where he wished she’d go, but the door to the lobby, escape clearly her goal.

But Jill hurried forward and grabbed Haven’s arm. “Torture’s over. We’re heading to the bar.” She turned to Eric and tilted her head in an invitation beyond the trip to the bar. “Let’s go, handsome.”

Haven opened her door with a shaking hand. She’d moderated her drinking, and her attraction to Eric while they’d celebrated, but neither had been easy. God, why had he come here? Why was he so focused on her?

How was she going to resist him for the next forty-eight hours?

She walked into the luxurious room, dominated by a king-sized bed made of raw pine and piled with a thick duvet and pillows in a deep crimson. Perfect for rolling around with Eric as the moon shone in the huge arched window. Shaking off the thought, she stripped off her dress and stood before the mirror for a moment. She considered taking the edge off herself, but knew she’d only fantasize about Eric making love to her, as she’d done the past eight months.

If only she could move forward. No other man had shared the same intimacies with her. They’d essentially lived together those two weeks after the engagement party. Eric had no place of his own and was waiting for funding for his trip to Costa Rica. She’d been on summer vacation from her job as elementary school principal. They’d made love in every way imaginable, yes, but had woken up together, gone to bed together, done everything in-between together. She hadn’t expected the mundane tasks like grocery shopping with a man could be fun. Favorite brands of deodorant and aversions to baked chips were things she had never cared to know about another man. No wonder Eric had gotten under her skin.

With a sigh, she turned from the mirror and picked up the robe from the end of the bed. She wrapped it around her and ducked into the bathroom to remove her makeup. Another shower would wash the sweat from her skin. Wash the scent of him from her skin.

She’d just finished removing her eye shadow and mascara when a knock sounded at the door. She padded across the plush carpet and turned the knob.

Her heart bounced hard off her ribs when she saw Eric standing there.

“No.” She stepped back, her hand on the edge of the door. “You have to go.”

“Haven.” He cupped her cheek, his touch so familiar, bringing all her desires to the surface. “Let me in.”

Voices carried up the stairwell. Jill. Haven reached out to yank Eric into the room. He stumbled past her and she closed the door, not wanting to have to explain why Eric was visiting her. She faced him and folded her arms over her robe, conscious that she wore nothing beneath it. Could he tell? She pulled the neckline higher and tried not to shiver. Eric was in her room, the bed only a few feet away. “What do you want?”

“You.”

The one word kicked up her pulse and she pressed her back to the door. “We agreed it was over eight months ago.”

He stepped closer. “You’re here, I’m here. We know what each other likes. We know everything about each other’s bodies.”

The pictures he drew in her mind were too enticing, and she wished she could close her eyes to erase it. That would reveal too much. “How long since you’ve had sex?” She lifted her chin, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He angled his head and smiled. “You tell me. Eight months?”

She couldn’t stop the quick intake of breath. Eric Viera, sex on legs, hadn’t had sex since he’d been with her? What the hell was she supposed to make of that information? And why did it make her so happy?

“You?” he asked softly, taking another step.

“Same,” she admitted.

A smug smile curved his lips. “Then?”

His fingers twined in the ends of her hair. Did he remember how much she loved that, the play of his fingers and her hair against her skin? She parted her lips and he took it for an invitation, covering her mouth with his.

This was something she couldn’t reenact. She could touch herself and imagine his mouth between her legs. She could fire up her vibrator and imagine him fucking her. But nothing could duplicate his kiss, the skilled play of his lips and tongue that seemed to remember all her favorite moves. His fingers trailed from her hair, down her throat to her shoulder and back, drawing her against him. Did he realize she wore nothing underneath the robe? He would, soon, because her legs parted of their own volition, letting his hips nudge closer to hers. Already she grew slick and swollen, and she barely stopped herself from tilting her hips to rub against him. How could her body betray her so fully?