Page 34 of Gatling
His hands flexed at his side and he looked…uncomfortable. Uncertain. Like a twitchy, cornered animal who wanted to bolt for the exit and run, run, run.
“Would you…?” he faltered and cleared his throat, gesturing to the dance floor.
It took a split second for my brain to catch on to what Ryker wanted to say.
“Are you asking me to…dance?”
Ryker clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders squared, looking more like a soldier than the biker I’d come to know.
“I’m no good at it, and I’ll probably step on your toes—”
Before he’d finished speaking, I was out of my chair. The flicker of a smile touched the corner of Ryker’s mouth as he held out his palm to me. I placed my hand in his. A bubble of giddiness welled up in my chest as he led me to the dance floor.
“What made you change your mind?” I asked.
Ryker turned to face me, curving his hand around my waist. I blushed as his gaze slowly panned over me, lingering in places he would never dare look if my brother was around. He was so handsome in his dress uniform that I couldn’t help staring too.
“As long as that stalker is on the loose,” he said. “I figured I should probably stay close. As a precaution.”
“There hasn’t been any sign of my stalker though,” I pointed out.
“It’s called an excuse, sunshine. Roll with it.”
Sunshine.
God, I loved it when he called me that. I beamed as I slid my arms around Ryker’s neck, swaying in place to the slow, dreamy rhythm of the music.
Noah used nicknames for me all the time—Kels, butterbean, kiddo, little sis.
But Ryker never did. Even though I liked the grit in his voice when he used my name, there was something personal, somethingintimate, about finally being crowned with a nickname by him.
I could feel the heat of his palms at my waist through the fabric of my dress. I wished there weren’t so many couples clustered around us on the dance floor. I wished we could be alone again, like that night we spent together in the cabin. I wished we didn’t have to wear these restrictive, stifling clothes.
But I had to be content with this.
I glanced up to meet Ryker’s gaze—a hunter’s gaze, cold and steely, controlled, unfeeling. When he looked at me though, I could have sworn his eyes softened. Just a little.
All too soon, the song was over. An announcement was made that the baked goods fundraiser would begin after a ten minute break for refreshments.
Ryker and I had no excuse to be standing so close together anymore. He took my hand for a heartbreaking moment, sweeping his thumb over my knuckles. Then he pulled away and melted into the cluster of people on the edge of the dance floor.
My stomach twisted as I stood there alone. A fresh wave of nausea washed over me. What little food I’d managed to eat today boiled at the base of my throat. I tried to swallow it down and compose myself, but deep breathing didn’t seem to help.
The room felt oppressively hot and stuffy. Shouldering a path to one of the side exits, I plunged outside seconds before I emptied my stomach into the gutter. My throat burned.
Gulping at the air, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth.
Probably just residual nerves from putting together the Gala.
Or that pesky bug I’d picked up from the road trip with Noah, still hanging on.
Then an answer popped into my mind like a daisy, clear and bright and…
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
I did a quick mental calculation and, sure enough, I was late by over a month. I hadn’t really given it much thought before now, chalking it up to the extreme changes in my daily routine, my eating habits, my sleep. Between the stalker, my feelings for Ryker, and then disappearing for weeks on a road trip with Noah, my life wasn’t exactly stress-free.
“No, no, no,” I pleaded.
