Chapter Eight
Keely couldn’t manage a single word. Boone caught her hand and tugged her into the community center with him.
“Should I ask where Clark is?”
She felt as if her feet weren’t quite on the floor. “No need. I didn’t see your car.”
“That’s because I didn’t drive it here. I brought one of the trucks and parked it out back. I doubt Clark even noticed.”
“He didn’t.” She looked around. “Is Winnie here?”
He hesitated. “No.”
She stopped walking so that he had to stop, too.
He looked down at her appreciatively, his dark eyes lingering on the way the emerald-green dress fit her slender, pretty body. “Green suits you,” he mused.
“Winnie didn’t come…?” she prompted.
“Kilraven said he wasn’t coming,” he replied. “She said it was useless to let men she didn’t even like parade her around the dance floor.”
She cocked her head and looked up at him. “Maybe she has a point.”
He lifted an eyebrow and looked wicked. “Maybe she does.”
She felt suddenly uneasy. She looked around again, for Misty this time.
“She’s not here.”
Flushed, she looked back up into his amused eyes.
“I came alone,” he told her. “I mentioned that I wasn’t buying diamonds for a casual date and she took offense.”
“I heard.”
“Oh? Was Clark impressed?”
“Yes. But don’t count on it lasting any length of time,” she added. “Once he’s alone with her, he’ll forget everything he said.”
“No doubt.” He pursed his lips. “Do you dance, Miss Welsh?”
Her heart skipped at the way he said it. He had no date, and he’d come anyway. And he was looking at her as if he could eat her. That was thrilling, even if she couldn’t hope for anything more.
“I do,” she replied. She sounded breathless.
He took the fox stole and her purse and laid them on a table next to where Cag Hart and his wife, Tess, were sitting. “Do you mind watching them?” he asked.
Tess grinned. “Not if I get to try on that stole.”
“Help yourself,” Keely invited with a big grin.
Tess wound it around her neck and struck a pose. She batted her eyelids at her husband. Her blue eyes twinkled in their frame of red hair.
“I’m not buying you a dead fox,” Cag informed her haughtily.
Keely recalled that Cag had watched the “pig” movie and gave up eating pork. She wondered if he’d recently seen any other animated animal films.
Tess looked up and grinned. “There was this foxhound movie…”
“Will you stop?” Cag muttered, looking oddly flushed. “I like animals.”
Tess bent over and kissed him. “So do I. But this animal has probably been deceased for a number of years… .”
He burst out laughing and kissed her back.
Boone tugged Keely toward the dance floor.
He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her closer, easing his fingers in between hers. She stumbled with nerves as he propelled her expertly into the slow rhythm, and he laughed, deep in his throat.
She felt like a fox, running for cover. Her heart was racing, her breath was stuck somewhere south of her windpipe. She barely noticed the music. She was too aware of Boone’s powerful body against hers, the scent of his breath, the smell of his cologne. He made her feel weak and shaky all over.
His hand spread against her back over the soft velvet. “I like this dress,” he murmured at her forehead.
“It’s very pretty,” she began.
“I like the way it feels,” he corrected.
She laughed nervously. “Oh.”
He nuzzled her cheek, so that she lifted her eyes to his. “Nineteen years old,” he said quietly, studying her. He looked guilty.
She frowned. “You know, age isn’t everything.”
“If you trot out that tired old line about it being the mileage,” he threatened softly.
“It’s true, though,” she replied.
He smoothed his fingers in between hers as they moved lazily to the music. “You’ve heard from your father, haven’t you?” he asked suddenly.
She jerked in his arms.
He nodded. “I thought so. You’ve been jumpy since you walked in the door.”
She felt miserable, when she remembered what her mother had said about Hayes Carson’s brother. She would carry the guilt for her parents’ actions until she died. And Hayes was trying to look out for her, not knowing the truth.
“Come here.”
He stopped dancing, caught her hand and led her out the side door onto the dark patio, where only a strip of light from the room inside showed on the stones of the flooring.
“Tell me what’s worrying you,” he coaxed.
She leaned her forehead against his chest. If only she could.
But Hayes was his friend. “It was Jock who called. He made threats. My father wants Mama to sell the house and give him the money,” she said heavily.
“He’s got something on her, something he can use, if she doesn’t do it. She’s afraid of him.”
“What does he have on her?”
She groaned softly. “I don’t know.”
He tilted her chin up. “Yes, you do, Keely,” he argued, searching her eyes in the dim light from the patio windows inside.
Her eyes were tormented. “I can’t tell you,” she said sadly. “It isn’t my secret.”
His fingers caressed her chin. “You can tell me anything,” he said, his voice deep and soft and seductive. “Anything.”
He made her want to tell him. He was powerful and attractive. He made her blood run hot through her veins. She wanted to kiss him until the aching stopped. She couldn’t tell him that, of course.
She didn’t have to. Boone read the subtle signs of her body and her breathing and drew a conclusion. Slowly, so that he didn’t frighten her, he bent toward her mouth. “I should be shot,” he whispered.
His breath tasted of coffee. The exquisite feel of flesh against flesh in such an intimate way made Keely’s head spin. She’d rarely been kissed at all, and never like this. His skill was apparent.
But he seemed to lose control, just a little, as the kiss lengthened. His mouth grew quickly hungry. His arms contracted and riveted her to the length of his body, bending her into its hard contours. She stiffened helplessly at the intimacy, to which she was completely unaccustomed.
Boone lifted his head, surprised by her posture, by her reaction. She responded as if she’d never been held and kissed in her life; as if the demanding ardor of an adult man was unknown to her. And perhaps it was. He considered what he knew of her life from Winnie’s vague comments.
He let her move back, just a step, but he didn’t let her go. “It’s all right,” he said softly, smiling. He framed her face in his big hands and held it where he wanted it. His thumb gently pulled down her lower lip as he bent again. “All we have to fear,” he quoted amusedly, “is fear itself…”
It was different this time. He didn’t demand.
He teased her lips, brushing them in brief little caresses that made her want more.
His hands smoothed back her hair. They moved down her back, to the curve of her hips, and coaxed her closer.
She shivered at the contact and for an instant his mouth became demanding.
But when she stiffened, he relented at once.
It was like a silent duel, she thought, fascinated.
He advanced, and when she hesitated, he withdrew.
It was as if he knew the difficulty she felt, as if he was aware of how new and frightening these sensations were to her.
He calmed her, coaxed her, until she began to relax and stop fighting the slow, steady crush of his mouth.
“That’s it,” he whispered when she sank gently against him. “Just don’t fight it. Don’t fight me. I won’t hurt you.”
She knew that. But it was still difficult to give herself over to someone who didn’t know about her past. She was terrified not of his exploring hands, but of what he might find if he persisted.
So when she felt his fingertips teasing just around the edge of her breast, she jumped and pulled back.
She expected an explosion. Once, just once, she’d given in to temptation in her adult years and agreed to go out with a salesman who came through town.
He’d grabbed her in the car and she’d jerked away from him.
He’d been furious, snapping at her about girls who teased.
And then he’d forcibly run his hand over her shoulder and her breast. She could never forget the look of utter horror in his face.
He’d pushed her away from him. He took her home without a single word.
He hadn’t even looked at her when she got out of the car.
It wasn’t as bad as the date she’d had at the tender age of sixteen that had ended in such trauma.
But it was bad enough. That was the last time she’d ever gone out with a man on a date.
But Boone wasn’t angry. In fact, he looked pleased rather than offended at her lack of response.
He withdrew his hand and traced her swollen lips with it. “Well!” he exclaimed softly, and he smiled.
She was worried. “You aren’t…mad?”
He shook his head. “Virgins need gentle handling,” he whispered, and bent to kiss her, tenderly, when she blushed.
When he drew back, his expression was solemn and gentle. He smoothed over her hair, touched her cheek, her mouth, her chin. “When are you going to be twenty?” he asked after a minute.
“Chr-Christmas Eve,” she stammered.
“Christmas Eve. In four months.” He kissed her eyelids closed, smiling against them. “We’ll have to do something very special for your birthday.”
“We? Oh, you mean Winnie and Clark and you?”
He lifted his head and searched her eyes. “Why wouldn’t you think I meant just you and me?” he queried.
“There’s Misty,” she reminded him.
He frowned, as if he didn’t know who she was talking about. The magic seemed to seep away. He withdrew his hand and became aloof. “Misty,” he repeated.
The magic drained out of the night. He became the distant stranger, the aloof man of the past. At that moment, he looked as if he’d never considered touching Keely.
She wrapped her arms around herself against a chill that didn’t come from the night air. “It’s getting cool,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Yes, it is.” He moved away from her, deep in thought. He paused to open the door for her.