you even going to wait for the music?” Hannah teased.
Matthew glowered. The little flirt was irrepressible. She was even batting those long lashes at the prospective groom! And if the pretty bride-to-be didn’t seem to mind, well, Matthew minded for her!
“Hannah!” Blaine called and waved. “Come over here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A newcomer to our fair city.”
Blaine kept waving and calling and would not be ignored. Reluctantly, Hannah responded to the summons and joined him and Matthew, who had retreated to a dark corner of the living room. In his black clothes, he blended into the dim recess like some kind of otherworldly shadow prince. Or perhaps a gun-toting cat burglar who read about serial killers for entertainment.
To Matthew and Hannah’s mutual dismay, Blaine proceeded to introduce them to each other.
“I hope I’m not telling tales out of school but Matt was riveted by your shagging talent, Hannah,” Blaine exclaimed merrily. “You didn’t learn to dance that way at Miss Perkins’s ballroom dancing cotillion classes, did you?” he teased.
Hannah smiled weakly. Matthew scowled.
“Now I’m going to make a suggestion.” Blaine forged ahead, clearly enjoying his role as matchmaker. “Hannah, why don’t you do Matt the honor of welcoming him to Clover with a dance?”
At that moment, music sounded through the speakers, this time a romantic ballad, another classic from an earlier era. Couples began to pair up. Abby and Ben were already clinging and swaying in the middle of the floor.
Hannah and Matthew stood facing each other.
“Go on, you two, dance with each other! Don’t be shy!” Blaine insisted jovially.
Matthew caught Hannah’s hand. “Let’s get this over with.” He pulled her against him, close, very close.
Too close. Hannah gasped as he fastened his arms around her, linking them tightly around her waist. She had no choice but to raise her arms and rest them on his shoulders. ”You’re holding me too tight!” she grated.
“You mean this isn’t the way you learned to dance at Miss Pennypacker’s Ballroom Academy for Proper Young Ladies and Gentlemen?” He didn’t loosen his hold.
Hannah’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “No, we didn’t dance like this in Miss Perkins’s cotillion classes. Poor old Miss Perkins would’ve burst an aneurysm.”
Matthew made no response. He was not in the mood for light banter.
Hannah gulped, her every nerve wired and tingling with sensual electricity. She hadn’t felt this nervous slow dancing with a male since her days at Miss Perkins’s cotillion classes. And not even then, not really. Even as a young girl, she had been socially confident, self-assured in her dealings with the opposite sex.
But being in Matthew Granger’s arms, pressed tightly against his hard body evoked a vulnerability she never dreamed she possessed. She felt intensely feminine in contrast to his unyielding masculinity. She was aware of his superior male strength in a way she’d never been before.
She had never met a man she couldn’t manage; she could charm, cajole, guide or boss every male she’d ever known. But she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to handle Matthew Granger. He seemed to be the one doing all the handling—of her!
“Relax,” he growled against her ear. “You’re wound tight as a spring.”
“That’s because you’re holding me so close you’re practically suffocating me.” Hannah was flushed and breathless and resented him for it.
He was so close that his heartbeat seemed to echo in her own chest. Against the burgeoning pressure of his thighs, her legs felt supple and boneless, her knees weakening so quickly she wondered if they would support her. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened into taut buds. They were excruciatingly sensitive and she knew a wild, wanton urge to rub them against the muscular wall of his chest to seek relief. And to heighten the stimulation.
She could feel his breath against her hair, his big hands moving slowly over her back. His touch was strong and possessive. Her skin felt damp and feverish, and she knew that the warm June night and energetic bout of shagging had nothing to do with it.
Every erogenous zone in her body was on full alert and conspiring against her. As much as she’d protested his too close, too tight hold, she knew that the real problem was that he wasn’t close enough.
Her thoughts disturbed her. She drew back her head and lifted her eyes to his. “I don’t want to dance anymore,” she said in a low, husky voice she scarcely recognized as her own.
“Tough.” He held her gaze. “If I don’t dance with you, Dr. Smiley will take it upon himself to make me feel welcome again. I can’t cope with any more of his unrelenting good cheer. Even your brattiness is preferable to that.”
In the shadowy dimness, she could see the amused gleam in his dark eyes. Hannah was totally disarmed. In her sexually charged panic, the last thing she’d expected from him was humor.
Of its own volition, her body suddenly relaxed, the tautness draining from her muscles, leaving her soft and pliable. She melted against him, her soft curves flowing seamlessly into the hard, masculine planes of his body. A giddy excitement coursed through her, making her feel daring and reckless. She wanted to tease him, to bait him. To challenge him and win.
“I was a little surprised to see you deeply engrossed in conversation with Blaine.” Hannah gazed up at him from under her lashes in tried-and-true vamp style. “You two are an unlikely duo. It was kind of like watching Barney, the jolly purple dinosaur, trying to befriend a carnivorous raptor.”
“Is that how you see me? As a ferocious predator?” Matthew smiled, his even white teeth appearing even whiter in the darkness. “Are you afraid of me, little girl?” He lowered his head and took her earlobe between his teeth, biting gently.
Hannah trembled. But not with fear. Excitement ricocheted through her like a piercing bullet. But she tried to halt it, or at least tame it. “Stop calling me little girl,” she ordered firmly, seeking the upper hand. “My name is Hannah, although you seem to have trouble remembering it. In the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve called me everything but my name.”
“You don’t fit my idea of a Hannah.” He was nuzzling her neck now while rubbing his body against hers, his movements slow and subtle and arousing. “I picture a Hannah out on the prairie in her sturdy pioneer clothes, weaving cloth and drawing water from the well and hitching the oxen to the plow. A hardy frontier type.”
“My parents thought Biblical names would be proper and appropriate for us,” Hannah murmured. “My older sisters are Sarah and Deborah and my brother—”
“Must be Noah?” The tip of his tongue tickled the sensitive skin of her throat.
Hannah shifted against him. “Actually he’s Baylor Carleton Farley IV. When it came to their son, Farley tradition was considered even more proper and appropriate than the Bible.”
Her head was spinning. His lips felt cool and firm yet soft against her skin. How would they feel against her mouth? Her eyes drifted
