A Cowboy in Manhattan(27)
“Save a dance for me?” Reed asked quietly, his eyes glinting silver.
“I will.” Katrina realized once again how safe she felt with Reed. There was nothing to worry about right now. Nothing was going to cause her any trouble tonight. Not even a flat tire.
As Reed would have expected, Katrina was the belle of the ball. Dinner had ended, but the dancing was not yet underway. So far, it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to make it halfway across the ballroom toward the ladies’ room. Men stopped her, clustered around her, asking questions, obviously offering compliments, lingering when they shook her hand, making excuses to touch her.
Reed downed a swallow of champagne, wishing he had something stronger to quench his thirst.
Travis Jacobs took the chair next to him, nudged his elbow, and offered him a single malt, neat, in a heavy crystal glass.
Reed gratefully accepted. “Thanks.”
Travis slouched back, propping his elbow on the opposite chair, his voice a drawl. “I see the way you’re looking at my sister.”
Reed took a swallow of the Scotch. “Same way every other guy in the room is looking at your sister. You don’t like it? Don’t let her dress like that.”
“You Terrells need to keep your hands off the Jacobs women.”
Reed gave a snort of derision. “Caleb’s marrying one of them, and I haven’t touched any of them.”
Kissing Katrina didn’t count. It was a well-accepted fact that touching in this context meant something considerably more than kissing.
Just then the orchestra came up and the lights went down. Reed and Travis both watched as yet another man approached Katrina. His gaze scanned her thoroughly from head to toe, then he stood far too close, his expression animated, his hand too familiar on her arm. Katrina took a step back, but the guy didn’t let her go.
Reed firmly set down his Scotch glass and came to his feet. “I assume dancing is acceptable,” he said to Travis, even as he moved away from the table.
“If it gets her out of that jerk’s clutches, go for it.”
Reed nodded in response, already pacing his way toward Katrina.
Once there, he snaked a proprietary arm around her slim waist. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his hard glare causing the jerk to pull back as if he’d been scalded.
“Are you ready for that dance?” he continued, turning his attention fully onto Katrina, dismissing the other man with a cold shoulder.
The man withdrew, muttering something unintelligible.
A beat went past.
“Did you just rescue me?” Katrina asked in obvious amusement.
“Story of my life.”
“I was fine.”
“You didn’t look fine.” Reed knew he should remove his hand from her waist, but he left it there anyway.
“He was a little too friendly,” she admitted. “But I could have handled it.”
“You didn’t need to handle it. That’s why you brought me along, remember?”
She pivoted to look at him. “I thought you were only planning to fix shoe buckles and remove splinters.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her joke. “I also dance.”
“The two-step?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She cocked her head. “This is a waltz.”
Reed removed his arm from her waist, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Then let’s waltz.”
He steered her toward the dance floor where the ensemble was playing a classic ballad. There, he drew her into his arms, and his entire body seemed to sigh in satisfaction as she settled against him.
She was fluid and graceful, light on her feet, sensitive to his slightest nuance. He tucked her more closely to his body, his hand coming in contact with the bare skin revealed by the plunging V at the back of her dress. Her soft skin was so distracting that he struggled for something coherent to say.
“You’re a very good dancer,” he opened.
There was a smile in her voice when she answered. “Thank you. I’ve had a few lessons.”
He gave a sheepish grin in return. “I guess you have.”
“But it was nice of you to notice,” she continued with what sounded like sincerity. “And you’re not so bad yourself.”
“High-school gym class,” he admitted. It wasn’t something he’d done frequently since then, but when he did, he always enjoyed it.