“I just might,” he says, then murmurs softly against my hair, “This is a better dance for tonight, isn’t it?”
I smile against his warm skin, getting his meaning right away. This dance with him is worlds’ better than a wedding spin. He’s right. He’s so right. “It sure is,” I say.
“I like our celebration, Katie.”
“I like our celebration so much better,” I echo.
And I truly do.
It’s crazy, in some ways.
How can I have shivers sliding down my spine after what happened today? How can I have flutters in my chest?
But they’re here and they’re real.
I was going to wait for Harlan, but screw waiting. It’s time for me to take the reins.
I draw on those wild new sensations as I reach for the antidote. “I think Daisy had a great idea about tonight, Harlan. What about you?”
His lips crook into a naughty grin. “Are you asking me to engage in some red-hot rebound nookie?”
Those tingles turn into full-on sparks, igniting in the center of my body, pulsing between my legs. “I absolutely am, Harlan.”
“Then the answer is . . . I’m at your service.”
7
Katie
“Ouch!” I hop on my left foot in the entrance to Harlan’s home, holding my right one as a sharp pain radiates through my arch. “Did a tarantula eat my foot?”
Harlan rolls his eyes. “Dramatic much, sweetheart?” He bends, scoops up a pink plastic death device, and waggles it at me.
“Seriously. Stepping on a Lego is on a pain level right up there with childbirth,” I say, then shrug sheepishly. “Or so I’m told.”
He laughs as he sets the block on the entryway table. “Can’t answer that one either. But I will corroborate your concerns. Last season, I was steamrolled by a three-hundred-pound lineman on a short pass and it hurt less than the time I stepped on one of these.”
“So, I’m not dramatic then,” I say, chin lifted haughtily as I head into his home, having left my boots by the front door. My hat too. Also, my whip.
Harlan chuckles, shakes his head. “You’re still dramatic, Katie,” he says.
He flicks on the light for the living room, and I stop in my tracks.
Early-reader books and kid-size blankets cover the couch. Cartoon dogs dance down the fleece on one blanket, dinosaurs roam another, and astronauts fly through space on one more.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t clean up yet. We were playing library fort this morning before we baked a cherry pie.”
My heart flies out of my chest, cheering in utter delight. I fling my hand to my sternum. “Shut up. Just shut up. You must stop talking now.”
He furrows his brow. “Um, why are you telling me to shut it?”
Settle down, stupid heart. You’re here for rebound banging. Not swooning over his dad skills.
But apparently, I don’t listen to myself. “That’s too cute. Too sweet. Too freaking adorable,” I say, flapping my hand at the evidence on the furniture. “Library fort.”
It’s on the same level as a six-pack.
As dreamy eyes.
“Damn, you really do think I’m just cute,” he says, with a faux-heavy sigh.
I park my hands on my hips. “Hey, why do you think cute is bad, Mister?”
The tall, strapping fireman—he’s still shirtless, lucky me—reaches for a hand, tugs me close. “I would think smoldering, sexy beast would be better. Try that, Katie.”
I slide my hands up his bare chest, thrilling at the feel of his hard, smooth skin. I shiver as I trace his flesh. “Fine, fine. You’re a very sexy beast. That work for you?”
His eyes glint with satisfaction. “Why yes, it does. Now, can I interest you in my bedroom? I think it might work better for my plans for you.”
An idea pops into my dirty brain as I pluck at the suspenders. “You can definitely interest me in your bedroom. But do you think you could fling me over your shoulder and—”
In a flash, he hoists me up, tosses me over his shoulder.
“Oh, hello fireman carry,” I say, a little giddy and a lot turned on as he heads up the steps, two at a time.
Hello, stud.
“Is it wrong of me to like this so much?” I ask, giggling as Harlan effortlessly eats up the stairs with his stride, his big arms wrapped around the back of my chiffon-covered legs. “You’ve got the whole big-and-strong thing down pat.”
“It’s absolutely terrible of you to objectify me for my body. The same one that earns me a damn fine living to support my family,” he says as he hits the second-floor landing.
My family.
The way he says those words—with masculine pride—sends sparks across my skin.
What is with me tonight? I’m turned on by his ability to take care of a kid I don’t even know? Why is this getting to me?
Oh, right.
My emotions are a merry-go-round today.
But all I want now is to ride on the carousel of desire with him.