A Cowboy in Manhattan(28)

The lights dimmed further, and the band switched songs to another famous fifties cover tune. Reed saw no reason to let her go, so he let one song blend into the next, keeping her snugly in his arms.

They silently wound their way toward a set of doors that were open to a wide veranda. It was darker at this end of the ballroom, the music was lower and a cool breeze wafted in from the riverbank. She molded closer against him.

“Cold?” he whispered, gathering her tight, even as he turned so that his body was blocking the breeze.

“I’m fine,” she answered into his chest.

Reed was fine, too. In fact, he was a whole lot better than fine. He wished that time would stop, that the world would fall away and leave him here alone with Katrina.

But then he caught sight of Travis far across the room, closely watching their every move. And he knew the world wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Not that Reed blamed Katrina’s brother for worrying. Reed definitely shouldn’t be trusted with her.

“You go to things like this in New York City?” he found himself asking, curious and wondering how safe she’d be with neither of her brothers around to run interference.

Did she dress this provocatively for functions in New York? It was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she had on underneath the clingy satin dress.

“Things like what?” she asked, voice slightly dreamy.

“Dances, charity functions.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “We’re contractually obligated to make public appearances. It’s good for contributions to have recognizable performers attend Liberty Ballet fundraisers.”

Reed didn’t like the sound of that. “It’s compulsory? What if you don’t want to go?”

She tipped her chin to look up at him. “It’s my job.”

Reed’s spine stiffened. “It’s your job to dance with random men?”

“Random men with a lot of money to contribute.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Really?” she drawled. “And your opinion counts why?”

Reed didn’t have a good answer for that. “What about your brothers?”

“What about them?”

Reed’s glance darted to Travis again, finding him absorbed in a conversation with two other men. “Do they know?”

“You mean, do they know…” she made a show of glancing surreptitiously around the dance floor then lowered her voice to a stage whisper “…about my wicked little ballroom-dancing secret?”

A surge of jealousy hit Reed at the thought of her other dance partners. Giving into impulse, he stepped through the patio door, spinning her outside, away from the crowd.

“Hey,” she protested.

But instead of stopping, he let their momentum carry them along the fieldstone wall. He came to a halt beside a square stone pillar, his forearm tightening across the small of her back, the darkness closing around them to give privacy.

She gasped in a breath, lips parting, eyes wide.

He gave her half a second to say no, then swooped in for a kiss. He came down harder than he’d intended, openmouthed, tongue invading, greedily savoring the sweet, moist heat of her mouth.

After a startled second, she tipped her head back, welcoming him, her tongue tangling with his. Her spine arched, and her hips pressed against the steel of his thighs. Her arms twined around his neck, and his free hand closed over her rear, the thin fabric of her dress all but disappearing in his imagination.

“Are you naked under this?” he rasped, kissing her neck, her shoulder, brushing a spaghetti strap out of the way to taste her tender skin.

“Are you naked under that?” she asked in return, tone teasing, her hands slipping beneath his jacket to wrap around him, branding him through the cotton of his shirt.

“Yes,” he hissed, then resumed the kiss that went on and on, pushing want and need into every fiber of his body. His world contracted to Katrina, her taste, her feel, her scent. His hands roamed, while his lips savored, and her lithe body imprinted itself on his skin.

A woman’s laughter penetrated his consciousness, as a group of people wandered onto the deck.

Reed forced himself to let go, fisted his hands and gritted his teeth, struggling hard to bring himself back under control.

When he found his voice, it was a mere rasp. “What are we doing?” What was he doing? What on earth had gotten into him?