Her jaw nearly fell open with surprise — and excitement — never thinking for a minute that Jackson Rivard was a man who would dance. Maybe he’d been right about that unpredictable thing. Her gaze took in the sight of his strong, muscular arms and she imagined them wrapped around her, holding her tight as he guided her across the floor. His body would be pressed up against hers, and she’d feel the scorching rock hard wall of his chest…
Oh, but this was a bad idea on so many levels. Right?
She shrugged, embarrassed warmth creeping up from her neck to her cheeks. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you. Come.” He stood, apparently not accepting no for an answer. Carla’s heartbeat knocked against her chest, nervous anticipation fueling its speed. As discreetly as possible, she swiped her damp palms along the sides of her skirt before accepting Jackson’s outstretched hand and rising from the table, allowing him to lead. They made their way across the room and onto the dance floor, where Jackson found them room.
“The Cajun waltz is very similar to other kinds of waltzes,” he said, “except we tend to hold our women closer, and the music can be a lot slower than a Strauss waltz, for example.”
Carla shook her head. “I don’t know how to dance any kind of waltz, so it’s a waste of your time to explain the difference.”
Jackson smiled. “Then just follow me.”
“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” she said, trying to ignore the swirling butterflies in her stomach as Jackson placed his right hand against the small of her back.
“Think of it as part of your fear assignment,” he whispered in her ear. Carla’s heart leapt as the caress of his breath drifted against her skin.
“It’s three steps,” Jackson explained as he resumed proper posture. “Long, short short; long, short short. Let me lead you. You’ll be fine.”
With him as her guide, she believed him. The warmth of his body flowed to her through his hands, his strength and sureness like a beacon, guiding her way. She made a couple of missteps in the beginning, but Jackson turned out to be such a competent teacher he neatly covered for her.
“Relax,” he said. “And enjoy.”
She did her best. The music captivated her, its mournful beauty striking a chord in her heart. She opened her mind to everything around her: the band, the other dancers, the heat of their bodies, the aromas of the food. But mostly she embraced the man who held her, who led her around the room, making sure she looked like she belonged there.
“Don’t look at your feet,” he whispered into her ear. “Look at me.”
She did as he asked, raising her chin to look into Jackson’s blue eyes, and then she was lost. Her breath whooshed out as he trapped her in his gaze, like an insect in a spider’s web. Except unlike the insect, Carla never wanted out. She felt as if she could drown in him. Helpless, her mind drifted to thoughts of what he could do to her. His lips on hers, fingers skating across her naked skin, his body flush against hers on the bed while he held her down, sucking her breasts, his rock hard cock pressed against her thigh. She could reach down between their bodies and take him in her hands, stroking him, teasing, making him even harder. She would hear the ragged panting of his breaths against her skin, ready for her. His fingers would drift downward to slip between the wet folds of her pussy, mercilessly stroking until her hips arched up, so hot for him, and then he would enter 3⁄4
The music stopped, dousing her fantasy like a bucket of cold water. Jackson stepped back to look down at her, smiling.
“Did you like it?”
Ooooh yeah. “Definitely. A lot.” She prayed like mad that she bore no telltale red face from her little mental visit to his bedroom and plastered on a giant smile. She needed to pull herself together and pay no attention to her trembling knees or the throbbing pulses between her legs. Jackson Rivard was dangerous—to her career, her fear assignment, her sanity. She had to remember that.
“Thanks for the dance,” she said. “It was great.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
The lively sounds of zydeco kicked in and had people stomping their boots all around them as Jackson led her back to their table.
“There’s still a lot of food left,” he said, noting the platter wasn’t more than half empty.
“Good, because I’m still hungry,” she replied with gusto, pushing aside all earlier thoughts of mind- blowing sex with Jackson. Since he’d earlier accused her of being a “follower” of the skinny-woman mentality, she wanted to prove him wrong. More than that, she wanted him to know her: a woman who didn’t necessarily fit the public perception of a perfect body, but rather a woman who’s fun, and pretty, and who liked to enjoy herself. Part of the enjoyment came from the visceral experience of a good meal, and she intended to take full advantage of it now.
For the next hour they ate and drank tea and talked like old friends. Relaxed and at ease, Jackson opened up and shared details about himself. She learned he’d earned his Ph.D. in microbiology before he turned thirty. He focused on studying the causes and effects of multiple sclerosis with an eye toward finding a permanent cure. He believed strongly king cobra venom held healing properties that could be part of the cure. His research facility was among the world’s largest specifically dealing with king cobras, and his research partner, a brilliant scientist in his own right, was his father. She’d also learned he did indeed love to dance and had learned everything he knew from his mother.
“She must have been a great teacher,” Carla noted, “because you’re an excellent student.”
“She was,” Jackson said, but that short, simple response changed the mood in a microsecond. She heard the tension in his voice and with it came a strong sense of dread. Her skin prickled and her stomach clenched tight.
“She’s no longer alive, is she?”
He looked at her for a moment, then his eyes dropped to the table. “No.”
Way to keep the party lively, Carla. She struggled for the right words to offer an apology.
“Neither is my father,” he said. “So we can get that out of the way, too.”
Her cheeks grew warm. “Jackson, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”
“I know. There’s no way you could have known.
But you can understand I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Of course.”
“They died…” The traumatic memory seemed to rob him of speech. She saw his eyes go dark and fill with sorrow, his earlier ease vanishing like mist. He balled his hands into fists, tight with anxiety. After swallowing several times he expelled deep breaths of air, fighting for calm. “They died in a car accident,” he uttered, in a dry, cracked voice. “Two years ago while on a vacation in England. The night was dark and rainy, and my father lost control of the car. They slammed headfirst into a tree and died upon impact. Simple as that.”
“And it changed your whole life.”
He gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod. “Yes.”
Carla became aware of the buoyant music, the stomping feet of the dancers, the pungent smell of grease beginning to overwhelm her. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. She leaned forward in her chair to be heard above the music. “Maybe we should go?”
“Sure.” He paid the check and they left, the lively Cajun music fading into the distance as they walked toward Jackson’s SUV. If anything, the parking lot was more crowded now than it had been when they arrived, but Jackson deftly steered them out and in minutes they were back on the road. The night remained dark as ever, but as Carla craned her head around to look up, she was astounded by the sky.
“Wow.” She whistled under her breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars in my life. It’s amazing.”
Jackson nodded. “You can really see them out here because it’s so dark. No light pollution to dim your view. And it’s clear tonight.”
“Could we stop? Please? I’d love to see this view just for a minute. This is definitely something you can’t get in Manhattan.”
“Sure. Let me find a place where there’s a shoulder.” They drove for another mile or so and found a place where the road widened so Jackson could pull over. He stopped the car and killed the lights, plunging the road into inky darkness.
Carla jumped out and looked up, letting out a gasp. Billions of stars flooded the sky, so densely packed they were like a carpet of light, stretching toward infinity. She recalled as a kid learning about constellations; now for the first time she could clearly see them. Orion, Aquarius, the Big Dipper, all right there, twinkling above her head.
“It’s just incredible,” she breathed, feeling a curious need to keep her voice low, as if they were in a church. “I’ve never seen anything like this. The stars are overwhelming me.”
Jackson’s boots crunched the gravel as he walked around the SUV to stand beside her. “It’s a moving sight, isn’t it?”
To her surprise, the hot wetness of a tear trickled down her cheek. She nodded, looking at Jackson, who gazed intently at her. “I don’t know why this affects me so much. I didn’t anticipate it. I just…I don’t know. It’s a beauty so pure and so powerful all at the same time.”
She gave him a shaky, slightly embarrassed smile and lifted her hand to brush away another tear that threatened to spill. But before she could do it, Jackson reached out and grasped her wrist, stilling the movement. Then with his free hand he wiped her cheek. Carla’s pulse jumped at the sweep of his finger against her face, and a rush of desire, just like at the restaurant only a hundred times more powerful, crashed into her with the force of a boulder. The faintest sigh escaped her lips, so soft as to almost be unheard, except here, in the middle of an empty road, a sigh was as loud as a shout.
Jackson’s finger stilled against her cheek and, with his palm, gently cupped her face. He stepped forward and slid his hand against the small of her back, guiding her toward him, and then he bent down and captured her lips.