Page 66 of Make Me Yours
She tilted her head. “You’ve been hiding behind your bike long enough. Maybe it’s time to let someone climb on.”
Before I could answer, the song ended. Applause rippled, laughter rose, and Monique stepped back, giving me that patient look that saidnow or never.
So I went for it.
I walked straight up to Emma.
“Dance with me?” I asked.
She hesitated just long enough to make me sweat, then set her glass down and took my hand.
Her skin was warm, and her grip was soft but sure. “Who was that woman?” she asked as we started to sway.
“Monique,” I said. “Sawyer’s counselor.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never met her before, but Lilly thinks the world of her.”
I looked around, scanning the crowd, but Monique was nowhere in sight.
“Well,” I said slowly, “maybe she just showed up to make sure the last cowboy didn’t get left behind.”
Emma smiled at that—a real smile, small and secretive.
“Lady Luck, huh?” she teased.
“Something like that.”
The band slid into a slower tune, and we moved together like we’d done this a thousand times. Her laughter brushed against my throat, soft as breath, and I didn’t feel like the odd man out for the first time today.
Emma fit against me perfectly—too perfectly. Every slow sway of her hips dragged heat through me, a steady ache I hadn’t felt in far too long. Her perfume was all summer and sweetness, the kind of scent that messed with a man’s self-control.
“Relax,” she murmured, her voice teasing. “You’re holding me like I might bolt.”
“Maybe I should,” I said low against her ear. “You could get me into a lot of—ah, trouble.”
“Funny,” she said, looking up with a grin that wrecked me. “You look like you think you can handle it.”
“Guess we’re both gamblers,” I said, my thumb brushing along the bare edge of her back. Her skin was warm, and it did dangerous things to my pulse.
“Don’t get cocky, cowboy.”
“Too late,” I murmured.
The song stretched out longer than I expected—thank God—and by the time it faded, I was half-drunk on her laughter and the feel of her body moving with mine.
When the music stopped, I didn’t let go right away. Neither did she.
I cleared my throat. “You doing anything after this?”
She arched a brow. “Define ‘anything.’”
“I was thinking of a ride. It’s been a while since my bike had a co-pilot.”
She glanced down at her silk dress. “And you think this is proper motorcycle attire?”
I grinned. “I’ve seen worse.”
She laughed, that low, easy sound that always made my chest feel too tight. “Alright,” she said. “But if the wind ruins my hair, you’re buying dinner.”
