The Year of Luminous Love (4 page)

The guy grinned, showing off straight white teeth and deep
dimples. He winked, then dabbed her upper lip with his finger. “Missed a spot.”

If only the floor would swallow her. “Um … thanks.”

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. By now the line dance was over and couples were moving to country swing. The man took her hand, pushing her out, pulling her close, twirling her around and under his arm. The movement and the beer hitting her bloodstream began to make her woozy.
Please don’t let me fall down
. Just then the band segued into a slower tempo. Piano keys tinkled and her partner pulled Ciana close to him, pressing her against his warm body. She felt every lean, well-muscled cell of him down to the tops of her boots.

His arm felt like a steel band around her waist, and his hands were rough and calloused. She wasn’t a serial dater, had considered the boys in high school silly and immature. The few dates she’d had with college guys had disappointed and led nowhere. But in this man’s arms, she knew he was no pretender with a fake ID or a frat boy out to get wasted.

“Loosen up,” he said. His breath in her ear caused goose bumps along her arms. “I won’t bite.”

She pulled back and saw his good-natured grin and his amazing green eyes. The beer mellowed her and she leaned into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. He smelled wonderful, like leather and spice.

Onstage, the lead singer began an old Garth Brooks song that had always been one of Ciana’s favorites, “The Dance.” The singer sounded eerily like Brooks as he sang,
“Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.”
The song spoke to her heart, to the arms of the man holding her, to her longing.

When the music ended, he pulled back, searched her face
with his incredible green eyes, and said, “Nice.… You’re a very pretty lady.”

Their gazes held, and her pulse pounded. What magic was in those eyes that stirred her so? That made her want to taste his incredibly perfect lips?

He said, “How about some introductions. I’m—”

She quickly pressed her fingers against those lips. “No names. Tonight it’s about the dance.”

His gaze narrowed, considering her, before he tipped his head to one side in concession. “For now.”

She broke the spell of his gaze and turned toward the table, her blood singing. He returned to the table with her. Ciana could tell that Eden had stopped by because the pitcher was low and the other mug was gone.

“Want another?” he asked.

“Um … not really.”

“You don’t like beer, do you?”

“Not so much,” she confessed, remembering their meeting.

“Tell you what, why don’t I get you a margarita?” He didn’t wait for her answer, just headed toward the bar.

She watched him, the way he walked, and could tell he’d ridden his share of horses. His boots were well worn, as were his jeans. He wasn’t a weekend cowboy like so many guys in Nashville. When he returned, he set the icy-cold drink in front of her and settled across from her. “Bourbon,” he said, raising his glass in a salute to her and taking a swallow.

She sipped the frozen drink in order to keep her hands busy. The cold alcohol immediately shot to her brain, creating a painful brain freeze. Soon, however, the whole room glowed with soft colors that melted together. When her glass was empty, another appeared in front of her.

“You with someone?” he asked at one point.

“A friend.” She scoped out the dancers but saw no sign of Eden. She drank another margarita, warning herself to slow down, but it tasted yummy and the man across from her was pulse-rattling handsome. She was at the ball with Prince Charming, and she wanted to be someone other than Ciana Beauchamp, just for tonight.

The band started another slow dance and the man reached for her hand. “Dance with me, pretty lady.”

This time when his arms closed around her, Ciana melted into his embrace, rested her head on his shoulder, and ignored how the room was spinning. In his arms, she felt protected and blissful. The band’s lead singer ran through another oldie, singing, “Let the devil take tomorrow, tonight I need a friend.”

This time when the music ended, Mr. Green Eyes held her at arm’s distance. She was swaying and couldn’t focus. He caught her upper arms. “I think we should go get fresh air.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.” Her smile felt lopsided, her lips numb.

He encircled her waist, led her across the floor, and outside into the night air. People jammed the pavement and cigarette smoke turned the night hazy. “I think I sipped that last drink too fast,” she mumbled. She’d only drunk too much once before, but it had been in private when she’d sampled too much gin in order to experience what an alcohol buzz felt like and what its appeal might have to her mother. She’d gotten sick.

He took her hand. “Let’s take a walk down by the water, clear our heads.”

She hesitated.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Fear of him wasn’t why she hesitated. Her stomach roiled. What if she threw up on him? “You going to toss me in?”

He laughed heartily. “Never crossed my mind.”

They walked along a grassy bank above the slow-moving water until the sounds of katydids and tree frogs replaced the sounds of the saloon music. She stopped, still woozy, and plopped cross-legged onto the grass. She patted the ground next to her. He joined her, plucked a long blade of grass, and began chewing on it. Ciana flopped backward, fighting to keep the sky from spinning out of focus. Once she regained her equilibrium, she saw that without the competition from the building and parking area, the sky was studded with countless glimmers of starlight.

“Feel better?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Better.” She reached upward as if to catch a handful of stars. “Look at all those stars.”

“You can see more of them in Texas.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Long as I can remember. How about you?”

“Born and raised in Tennessee.” Moonlight glanced off the planes of his face. “What brings you here?”

“A job. After my folks divorced, my dad took a job near here on a ranch. But a few months ago he had a stroke. Put him in a wheelchair. The man who hired him asked me to take his place.”

“What’d he do?”

“Horse trainer.” He leaned over her, withdrew the blade of grass, and tossed it aside. “What about you?”

The last thing she wanted to discuss was herself. “Just helping my mother run the family farm. Not very exciting.” She chose a blade of grass for herself, tickled his arm with it. “Truth is, I’m comfortable on a tractor.”

That made him laugh. “Can’t say I’ve had a woman tell me that before.”

Ciana giggled too. “Different strokes, I guess.” His mouth looked dangerously close in the moonlight. “How about you? I mean, what do you do in Texas?”

“I ride the rodeo circuit.”

“I knew it!” Ciana rose up on her elbows. “You walk like a rider.”

“How’s that?”

“Just …” She lost her nerve to confess she’d been checking out his backside during the evening. “I … um … can tell.”

He looked amused. “I checked you out, too, the minute you walked in the door. I liked what I saw. Still do.”

His words sent shivers through her but made her feel self-conscious too. Beauchamp rule number something-or-other: Remain under the radar. She peered over at him. “Rodeo rider, huh? Why, I bet you’ve left a string of broken hearts all across the Lone Star state.”

He tipped his head to one side. “Rodeo circuit doesn’t leave much time for breaking hearts. You wrap up one rodeo, load your horse in the trailer, and drive to the next place. Lot of miles in Texas and out west. Roping and cutting. Dropping steers. Racing. I own a great little quarter horse that can do anything.”

“No bull riding?”

He touched her nose with a fingertip. “Do I look crazy? Guy could get hurt on those things. I like horses. Horse and a man can work as a team. Bulls are just mean.”

She liked the way he talked—his accent, his voice, kind yet seductive. “Broncs can be mean. I’ve seen the way they buck.”

“Man can talk to a horse before he rides him. Find out what he’s up against. Horses’ eyes tell you everything you need to know.”

“You ride year-round?”

“Summer and fall. Hire out as a ranch hand in winter.”

She thought his vagabond lifestyle sounded romantic. “And you can earn a living that way?”

“Only need enough money to feed me and my horse.”

She lay down, stretched her arms above her head, closed her eyes. “You going to do that forever?”

How wonderful to be with someone whose world was bigger than hers. She’d spent all her life in Windemere being a Beauchamp.

“Just until I save enough to buy me a little spread in Texas and train horses for the ranching life.”

She felt that life was predetermined from birth. It started from the time that the first Beauchamps, husband and wife, had moved from the farmlands of France to buy the land and make their fortune. She sucked in the sweet summer night air, the smell of grass and clover and the cowboy’s scent of leather and spice, and relished the sounds of the river below. Surely this was heaven.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

She did. “Why?”

“Because I want you looking at me when I kiss you.”

When his mouth met hers, her arms automatically wound around his neck. Her heart thumped as he held the kiss. When he broke away, he traced the shape of her mouth with his finger. “Tasty,” he whispered.

“Again,” she said, smiling.

He obliged.

She felt his hand, calloused and warm, on her bare midsection. An ache for him grew hotter. She wanted all their clothes to evaporate like campfire smoke. She wanted him skin to skin.

He pulled back, taking a ragged breath. “You’re vibrating,” he said hoarsely.

How could he tell?

“I think it’s your phone.”

She gasped, sitting upright. Saved by the buzz. With a shaking hand, she pushed her cell out of her skirt pocket. Eden! Ciana had forgotten about her. “Hi,” she said breathlessly.

“Whoa, sounds like you’re running a marathon. Where are you? It’s time to go.”

“I … um … I’m taking a walk by the river.”

“Bored?”

“Not really.”

Silence. Then, “You got another way home?”

Ciana’s cowboy gave her a pleading look and shook his head:
Don’t leave yet
.

Every fiber of her good sense fought against that look. In the end, she said, “I’ll catch up with you later, Eden.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m impressed. You call me first thing tomorrow. I want details.” Eden hung up.

Ciana’s cowboy grinned and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for staying.”

She pocketed the phone. “I guess I’m not through at the ball.”

He looked at her quizzically, then lay back and pulled her into the crook of his arm so that her head rested on his broad, muscled chest. “Let’s take this slower,” he said against her hair.

She cozied up against his body. His heartbeat rumbled in her ear. “Good idea,” she said with a yawn. And she promptly fell asleep.

“I missed you, baby. Miss me too?” Tony bent over the bed and nuzzled Eden awake the next morning.

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window. “I missed you,” she murmured, still half asleep.

“What did you do while I was in Atlanta?”

“Too early to talk,” she said, snuggling into the covers.

“Tell me what you did.”

She was instantly awake. His voice held a warning that she knew well. She looked up at him standing by the bed, a looseness in his body that flashed a danger signal. Tony had eyes everywhere, even in Nashville, miles from Windemere. “I told you. We went dancing. Took Ciana. Arie was supposed to come but she got jammed up at one of her family gatherings.” She saw him tense when she mentioned dancing.

“Have fun?”

The two words were a land mine, so Eden chose her answer carefully. “Much as I could have without you and with Ciana. She’s not exactly a party girl.”

“Did you like dancing with other guys?”

Her heartbeat quickened anxiously. “You told me to have fun,” she said. “I never danced with the same person twice.”

Tony wasn’t a handsome man, but his looks were striking, dark and moody and dangerous. His eyes were as black as his hair, his body hard, compact, and well muscled. “Yes, I did. But I don’t like other guys putting their hands on you.”

“Dancers touch each other. Even square dancers.”

“But no one do-si-dos at a dance hall.” His eyes were marble hard, challenging her.

Eden realized then that someone had seen her and reported back to him. “It was supposed to be Arie’s night, but plans fell through and I didn’t want to be alone.” She shifted, lifted her arms in invitation to join her in the bed. “You know how I hate to be alone,” she whispered.

Desire flared in his eyes, and need for him rose in her like fire in a wind. No one could understand her need for him, because she didn’t understand it. She just knew it lived inside her like a ravenous wolf.

He got into the bed, fully clothed, cupped her chin, stroked her cheek softly. “You’re mine, Eden. You know that, right?”