doing some flirting from across the arena,” Chopper said.
“We’re both antagonizing each other in hopes that we make the other one mess up so bad they’ll go home,” she said.
She’d barely gotten the last word out when Trace’s arm brushed against hers as he twirled the redhead away in another direction. Her flesh tingled and a fresh flash of desire flared.
“You are both playing a dangerous game, honey. The vibes, as you young people call them, were dancin’ around like water on a hot grill when he breezed past us,” Chopper said.
“Dangerous?” Gemma asked seriously.
“Take it from an old wise man. When a butterfly flits too close to the flame, there’s bound to be some smoke damage on its little wings. You’re playin’ with fire when it comes to Trace and he’s doin’ the same thing. There’s a spark there that any fool could see even with his eyes closed. You are two strong people full of spit and vinegar. You remind me of two wildfires comin’ at each other. Know what happens when they collide?”
“They hit with a force and burn each other out,” she said.
“That’s right. You think about that, darlin’. And that’s enough advice from an old bull rider. You just be careful and tell Cash and Maddie hello for me,” he said when the song ended.
He blended into the shadows before Gemma could tell him that she wasn’t a butterfly. She was a tough woman and she knew what she was doing. She scanned the dance area for Trace. He caught her eye, pulled away from the group of women surrounding him, and started toward Gemma. Before he’d gone three steps, a blonde wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered herself against his body as the singer belted out “All Over Me” by Blake Shelton.
The woman was definitely working the song for all it was worth as she wiggled and squirmed right up next to Trace. Her visible panting probably had little to do with dancing and everything to do with all that sexy talk she was putting into his ear.
Gemma picked up the beer she’d set on the hay bale and finished it off while Trace danced with the blonde. Chopper was right. She was playing with red-hot fire and yet she couldn’t help herself. He caught her eye again and rolled his eyes. She imagined resting her cheek on his broad chest and another blistering bout of heat dried up her mouth and made her wish for another beer.
When she looked at him again he mouthed, “Help me.”
She shook her head. He’d gotten himself into the virtual vertical sex; he could damn well get himself out of it without her help.
The singer went right into “She Doesn’t Know She’s Got It,” a faster, spicier song, also by Blake.
Gemma started dancing and was soon joined by a bunch of other girls. She kept an eye on Trace the whole time. The woman said something and he shook his head so she blew him a kiss and went on to Landry. When the next woman approached Trace he shook his head again, sipped his beer, and leaned against a chute.
Gemma slipped in seductive moves to torment him, but it worked in reverse because every time she looked at him, it was as if he took off another item of clothing with his eyes. She figured if he could heat up the dust around her, then she’d give him a dose of his own medicine. She put her hands over her head and clapped them together, swaying her hips to the beat of the drum. She shut her eyes and let the music, especially the fiddle, become a part of her as Blake sang about a girl who didn’t know she had it or how bad he wanted it.
Did Trace really want what she had?
Suddenly the whole arena was blurring and swaying. The stars in the sky were blending together and the moon was getting smaller and smaller. Good Lord, she’d never gotten drunk on two beers in her entire life. And she wasn’t even drinking on an empty stomach. The song finished and Trace made his way through the people to her side. His jeans bunched up over the toes of black dusty boots. His plaid shirt stuck
“We’re both antagonizing each other in hopes that we make the other one mess up so bad they’ll go home,” she said.
She’d barely gotten the last word out when Trace’s arm brushed against hers as he twirled the redhead away in another direction. Her flesh tingled and a fresh flash of desire flared.
“You are both playing a dangerous game, honey. The vibes, as you young people call them, were dancin’ around like water on a hot grill when he breezed past us,” Chopper said.
“Dangerous?” Gemma asked seriously.
“Take it from an old wise man. When a butterfly flits too close to the flame, there’s bound to be some smoke damage on its little wings. You’re playin’ with fire when it comes to Trace and he’s doin’ the same thing. There’s a spark there that any fool could see even with his eyes closed. You are two strong people full of spit and vinegar. You remind me of two wildfires comin’ at each other. Know what happens when they collide?”
“They hit with a force and burn each other out,” she said.
“That’s right. You think about that, darlin’. And that’s enough advice from an old bull rider. You just be careful and tell Cash and Maddie hello for me,” he said when the song ended.
He blended into the shadows before Gemma could tell him that she wasn’t a butterfly. She was a tough woman and she knew what she was doing. She scanned the dance area for Trace. He caught her eye, pulled away from the group of women surrounding him, and started toward Gemma. Before he’d gone three steps, a blonde wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered herself against his body as the singer belted out “All Over Me” by Blake Shelton.
The woman was definitely working the song for all it was worth as she wiggled and squirmed right up next to Trace. Her visible panting probably had little to do with dancing and everything to do with all that sexy talk she was putting into his ear.
Gemma picked up the beer she’d set on the hay bale and finished it off while Trace danced with the blonde. Chopper was right. She was playing with red-hot fire and yet she couldn’t help herself. He caught her eye again and rolled his eyes. She imagined resting her cheek on his broad chest and another blistering bout of heat dried up her mouth and made her wish for another beer.
When she looked at him again he mouthed, “Help me.”
She shook her head. He’d gotten himself into the virtual vertical sex; he could damn well get himself out of it without her help.
The singer went right into “She Doesn’t Know She’s Got It,” a faster, spicier song, also by Blake.
Gemma started dancing and was soon joined by a bunch of other girls. She kept an eye on Trace the whole time. The woman said something and he shook his head so she blew him a kiss and went on to Landry. When the next woman approached Trace he shook his head again, sipped his beer, and leaned against a chute.
Gemma slipped in seductive moves to torment him, but it worked in reverse because every time she looked at him, it was as if he took off another item of clothing with his eyes. She figured if he could heat up the dust around her, then she’d give him a dose of his own medicine. She put her hands over her head and clapped them together, swaying her hips to the beat of the drum. She shut her eyes and let the music, especially the fiddle, become a part of her as Blake sang about a girl who didn’t know she had it or how bad he wanted it.
Did Trace really want what she had?
Suddenly the whole arena was blurring and swaying. The stars in the sky were blending together and the moon was getting smaller and smaller. Good Lord, she’d never gotten drunk on two beers in her entire life. And she wasn’t even drinking on an empty stomach. The song finished and Trace made his way through the people to her side. His jeans bunched up over the toes of black dusty boots. His plaid shirt stuck
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