Page 68 of The Desperate Warrior

Her eyebrows shot up.

“I can,” he insisted. “I’m a fun guy.”

“Prove it.”

“Oh, you want proof?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay then.” He sprang to his feet with the nimble lightness of a panther.

She giggled as he launched into a goofy dance that had Steve Urkel written all over it. This was a new side of Brock. She rather liked it. She pursed her lips. “You know, I thought Tippin had the market cornered on idiocy, but you’re running a close second.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “You don’t like my dancing?”

She laughed harder, tears forming in her eyes. “It’s awful.”

“Okay, then dance with me.”

“Not when I’m still recovering from an injury.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

His expression shifted to something more tender. “We’ll take it slow.”

“There’s no music.”

“We’ve got the rhythm of the rain.” He leaned forward and extended his hand, adventure sparkling in his dark eyes. “Come on. You might even enjoy it.”

Before her brain could process what she was doing, she slipped her hand into his.

He pulled her to her feet and then into his arms.

“Careful with the shoulder,” she warned.

His eyes moved over her in a slow caress that warmed her blood. “You’re in good hands.” As promised, he held her with care, one arm firmly around her waist, the other guiding herhand as they moved slowly. They weren’t really dancing but swaying. But something about the experience—his warmth, his fresh, clean scent—had her heart pounding to a hypnotic beat.

“How’s this?” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

“It’s a good start,” she uttered hoarsely.

Even though she would most likely regret this in the morning, she rested her head against his muscled chest and allowed herself to get lost in the moment. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man—well, except for the part about him breaking her heart.

A critical question pinged through her, demanding to be voiced. Finally, she pulled back and peered up at him. “Brock, what are we going to do?”

“About Steve Randall?”

“No … about us.”

Time stood still as he gave her a measured look.

In the depths of his dark eyes, she saw both agony and hope.

“I guess that depends on you. Do you think you could give me another chance?”

She swallowed. “I want to … but I’m scared.” He didn’t realize how much it took for her to broach this topic—to show her vulnerability. In the bright light of day, she might not have worked up the nerve. But here, in the comfort of this dim lighting, with the storm raging outside, an opportunity had been provided.

The corners of his jaw flicked. “Okay, I’ll take that. For now.”

She nodded in relief, grateful that he wasn’t going to press her. “Let’s not make any promises. But live in the moment.”

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