No other man, no matter how good-looking, could ever interest me. I thought it was a miracle that someone could love me the way he did. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." I snuggled into the familiar crook of Nick's arm. "Still, I'd like to convince him I'm not such a bad deal." "We'll get married anyway." Drawing back a little, Nick grinned down at me. Given our family history, of me rarely doing anything that warranted parental approval, it was a distinct possibility. Nick was going to ask Dad for permission to marry me, a tradition I thought was old-fashioned and unnecessary.
"We'll see what your father has to say about it." I stood on my toes to whisper in Nick's ear. We watched the newlyweds dance, their faces close. I deliberately turned away, giving full attention to my boyfriend, Nick. His gaze moved downward in a lazy inspection, returned to my face, and he gave me one of those respectful nods that Texan men had raised to an art form. Definitely wouldn't want to be alone in a room with that guy, I thought. A faint smile was tucked in one corner of his wide mouth. Those blue eyes glinted with an uncivilized suggestion.
I drank my champagne in fast swallows, letting the arid fizz soothe my nerves. But awareness continued to spread over my skin, a heat so insistent that I knew he was still looking. I turned away immediately, embarrassed to have been caught staring. It gave me a little shock when his head mined and he stared right at me. But it was the eyes that seized my attention, blue even at a distance, a volatile color you could never forget once you'd seen it. His dark brown hair, as thick and lustrous as mink fur, was cut in short layers. He was good-looking, handsome if you overlooked the crook in a nose that had once been broken. I was interested in something more.Įven so, he was a compelling figure. His long fingers, clasped gently around a champagne flute, could have snapped the crystal stem with ease.I knew from a glance that he was a good ol' boy, able to hunt, play football and poker, and hold his liquor. No amount of Armani tailoring could soften that build - big framed and rugged - like a roughneck or a bull rider.
Although he was well dressed, it was obvious he didn't make his living sitting behind a desk. He stood with the insolent, loose-jointed slouch of someone who'd rather spend his time in a pool hall. I first saw him at my brother’s wedding, at the back of the reception tent.
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