you did, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
Touché. “Until late last year I had a fiancée.”
The teasing expression slipped from her face. “It didn’t work out?”
“If ‘didn’t work out’ is a polite way of saying that she cheated on me with the ranch foreman.”
She winced and shook her head. “I don’t understand people who cheat on their significant others. If you aren’t happy with someone, why not just leave?”
Ashleigh had a couple million reasons to stick around. And according to her, she’d never been “happy” with him, or had any intention of being faithful. All she cared about was the money. Or so she had spat at him when he kicked her to the curb. But she’d sure had him snowed. She’d managed to convince him that he was the love of her life.
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” he asked.
“No, but my mom had boyfriends who couldn’t seem to keep it in their pants. Of course, being with someone like my mom couldn’t have been a picnic.”
“Why is that?”
She hesitated, then said, “My mom was an alcoholic. She started drinking the day my dad died, and didn’t stop until she drank herself to death.”
“That must have been rough.”
“She was weak and pathetic.”
And obviously Paige resented the hell out of her for it, and he was guessing she would do anything to not be like her. To be successful and self-sufficient. Not the type of woman who used a man for his money. Not that he was in the market for a relationship.
Maybe it was time he lightened the mood a little. He gestured to Billie for another round, and since there happened to be a slow song playing, he slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “No. I don’t dance.”
“Everybody dances.”
“I’m serious, Brandon. I can’t dance. At all.”
“It’s not difficult.”
“For me it is. I’m the most uncoordinated person on the planet.”
“When was the last time you tried?”
“Senior prom. I stepped on Devon Cornwall’s feet so many times I ruined his rental shoes and he had to pay extra.”
He raised a brow. “No, he didn’t.”
“Seriously, he did. I’m that awful.”
“Well, you can step on my boots all you want. It won’t bother me.” He grabbed her hand and coaxed her out of the booth. But when he tried to pull her onto the floor, she resisted. “But no one else is dancing.”
“We’ll be trendsetters. In a couple of hours it’ll be packed.”
She darted a glance around as he led her out on to the deserted dance floor. “Everyone is watching. I’m going to make a complete fool of myself.”
“Relax,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She stood there stiffly, like she wasn’t sure what to do. He took her hands, placing one on his right hip and the other on his left shoulder, then he put both hands on her waist and tugged her closer. She sucked in a quiet breath as their bodies collided, and damn, she felt nice.
He started slow, just swaying gently to the music. In her heels her eyes were level with his chin, but she was petite. She had a narrow waist and delicate, finely boned hands. But there was a sturdiness about her, and enough weight behind her to make him wince when she stepped down on the toes of his left foot.
“Sorry!” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I warned you.”
The problem was, she was trying to lead. “Just relax and follow my steps.”
For the first three quarters of the song he looked at the top of her head while she watched their feet, and she was doing pretty well, but the second she looked up she stepped on him again.
“Sorry!”
“It’s okay. You’re getting the hang of it. I’ll have you line dancing in no time.”
“Line dancing?” Her eyes went wide and she stumbled over his boot. He hissed out a breath as her heel ground into his big toe. “Sorry!”
“Watch my feet,” he said and she lowered her eyes again. “And yes, line dancing.”
“I definitely can’t line dance.”
“Anyone can line dance. It just takes practice.”
“I’m seriously not that coordinated.”
“You don’t have to be. It’s just simple repetitive movements.”
She glanced up again and caught him in the opposite foot with her other heel. At this rate, she really would destroy his boots.
“Sorry!”
“I have an idea,” he said. “Give me your foot.”
She frowned. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll give it back.”
She bent her leg up. He reached down and grabbed her shoe, slipped it off, and tossed it under their table.
“But—”
“Other side,” he said, waiting patiently for her to lift her foot, and maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t take no for an answer because she complied. He slid it off and tossed it with its mate.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
He pulled her back into his arms. “They were getting in the way.”
“I feel like so short without them.”
She was significantly smaller with them off. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “How tall are you, anyway?”
“Five-three if I stand really straight. I’ve always wanted to be taller.”
“Why? What’s wrong with being short?”
She rolled her eyes. “Only a tall person would ask that.”
“I’m only six-one.”
“Only. You’re ten inches taller than me!”
He grinned. “But have you noticed that since you took them off you’ve been dancing and you haven’t stumbled once?”
She blinked. “I haven’t?”
“I told you, you could do it.”
