The Baby Track by Barbara Boswell Page B

always stop moving, Courtney thought, even as she kept backing up. The problem with that plan, however, was that Connor didn’t give any indication that he would stop coming toward her. If she were to stop, it appeared in all likelihood that he would crash right into her.
    “I’m not going to let you bully me,” she announced, while walking backward at a rather hasty clip.
    “Good for you. I like a woman who stands up for herself.”
    He was bullying her and mocking her. Once again Courtney felt her temper, usually so even, so mild and easy to control, begin to rise to flaring heights. “I’m going to stand still, right here, right now,” she announced sharply.
    She stopped moving and stood stock-still. To her delight, Connor stopped too. Proud of herself, Courtney shot him a triumphant look.
    Connor shrugged. “We can talk here as well as anywhere, Gypsy.”
    He appeared completely nonchalant, and Courtney might have been lulled into complacency had she not caught a swift glimpse of the wild, hot and hungry gleam in his eyes.
    Her sense of victory faded abruptly. They were standing face-to-face, only a few inches apart. She glanced nervously around at their surroundings; somehow they’d ended up in the thick grove of trees lining the ballroom. They were concealed from the others, though the loud party sounds disrupted the illusion of the primeval forest.
    “But first things first,” Connor continued softly, lacing his long fingers through her thick dark hair. He tilted her face up to him at the same moment that his head descended toward her. “This has been simmering between us all day. Let’s get it out of our systems now.”
    “Out of our systems?” she echoed. Her mind wasn’t working as quickly as it should. Neither was the rest of her. She should be slapping him away and fleeing this too-private indoor wooded glen. Courtney knew all that, but somehow she remained where she was, which was far too close to Connor McKay.
    While she was wondering if she should blame her sudden mental and physical lethargy on the glass of champagne she had consumed earlier this evening, Connor lightly touched his mouth to hers.
    The feel of his lips, warm and firm against hers, galvanized her into action. She drew back her head and placed both her hands on his chest, in an attempt to keep him literally at arm’s length. “Stop it, Connor. I know what you’re doing.”
    “Mmm, I thought you might.” He wrapped his arms around her, and her elbows flexed from the pressure he exerted to draw her closer to him. Suddenly she was not even a hand’s length away from him.
    Courtney drew a sharp breath. She was intensely aware of his size and strength, of the heat of his hard body. For one breathless, insane moment, she felt the urge to lean into all that masculine heat and strength, to relax against him and let him support her...
    Quickly she pulled her head back farther, turning her face away from him. “Let me go, Connor.”
    Denied her lips, he sought the slender, sensitive curve of her neck and began to nibble. “But I don’t want to let you go, Courtney.”
    It annoyed her that he was not taking her refusal or her demand seriously. And she should be far more than annoyed with him, Courtney acknowledged grimly. She should be furiously fighting this type of caveman machismo; at the very least, she ought to be a little afraid of his physical power. But for reasons she didn’t care to delve into, she was neither infuriated nor afraid.
    Defensively Courtney scowled up at him. “You’re trying to blitzkrieg me.”
    He smiled, a slow, lazy, sexy smile that made her heart turn over. “Bombs away,” he said huskily, and his mouth closed over hers.
    In the nick of time Courtney pressed her lips tightly together, effectively denying him access to her mouth’s interior. She heard the muffled sound of frustration he made against her closed mouth and couldn’t help smiling.
    Connor lifted his mouth a quarter inch above hers.