Bound to Them by Lorna Jean Roberts Page A

never touched her physically. But words could
hurt.
    He rose, weaving unsteadily. “I’ve got to go, I don’t feel
well.”
    “Doug, wait.”
    She shifted, ready to follow him. Nash grabbed her hand.
“Let him be.”
    “But—”
    “He’s ashamed of himself,” Quinn said. “He wants to be
alone.”
    She glared at Quinn. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him,”
she snapped.
    Quinn stared back at her, his gaze thoughtful. Crista
struggled not to look away. What was wrong with her? She fought to hold on to
her irritation.
    “He needed to be told. Now let it go.”
    The firm instruction did something weird to her insides. The
power he radiated made her stomach drop and set her clit dancing.
    “He’s my brother. Butt out.” They continued to glare at each
other, the heat between them making it nearly impossible to breathe.
    “Come on.” Nash grabbed her hand as he stood, squeezing
gently. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for the night.”
    “Oh.” Disappointment smothered her arousal. What did she
think this was? A date? Yeah right. She should be pleased to get away from them
and their domineering attitudes. “Okay then,” she agreed.
    Crista stared longingly at the people dancing to a Trace
Adkins country tune. What would it be like to have the confidence to walk out
onto that dance floor and start rolling her hips? Crista loved to dance, but
other than a few weddings and school functions, she’d never actually danced in
public. Or with a man. Family didn’t count.
     
    Quinn watched Crista as she gazed hungrily at the dance
floor.
    Shit.
    “Would you like to dance, darlin’?” Nash asked her, but his
gaze held Quinn’s, pure devil swimming in his eyes.
    Bastard , Quinn thought ruefully.
    Crista bit her bottom lip, making Quinn groan. She stared up
at him innocently. “Are you all right?” she asked.
    “Don’t worry about him,” Nash said as he pulled her toward
the dance floor. “He’s just got hip problems.”
    “Hip problems?” she asked as Quinn followed them.
“Arthritis?”
    “No, darlin’. No rhythm.”
    “Oh,” she said, giggling as Nash twirled her under his arm.
He drew her close to his chest, swaying.
    Suddenly Quinn wished he danced. Then it would be him
holding her close, feeling that decadent body in his arms. Nash dropped his
hand, resting it just above her shapely butt. Crista jerked then settled down
when he didn’t move his hand any lower.
    Ahh, stuff it.
    Quinn stepped in behind her, trying to move his hips in time
with theirs. Worry about his skill flew straight out of his head as her body
grinded against his, pressing against his cock, writhing against him
intimately.
    Sweet ecstasy and nasty torture all wrapped into one. Each
brush of her butt had his dick begging for attention. He fought to gain some
control over his arousal—otherwise he was at risk of coming in his pants as
though he were some randy teenager on his first date. The pained pleasure on
Nash’s face told Quinn he was feeling the same way.
    Crista jiggled her hips, innocently teasing them. Their
groans made her glance up with concern.
    “Oh no, I didn’t stand on your toes, did I?” she asked,
slowing down her movement. “I’m sorry, I haven’t really done this much. Perhaps
I should go home now.”
    “What? Wait.” Nash grabbed for her as she attempted to
escape. “You didn’t stand on our toes, darlin’. Quinn stood on mine. No rhythm,
remember?”
    “He did not.” She smiled up at Quinn. “He’s a very good
dancer.” She patted his chest as if to soothe his feelings. Quinn wondered how
she’d react if he asked her to pat him lower. Actually, he’d best cut this
short now. Having them both so close wreaked havoc with his control.
    “I’m kind of tired,” Crista said a few minutes later, trying
to hold back a yawn unsuccessfully.
    “Okay, darlin’, we’ll leave,” Nash told her, looking over at
Quinn, who nodded in agreement. Crista looked dead on her feet.