She could do this. Micah thought she was merely sheltered, that she had been overprotected throughout her life. He had been given that warning, Morganna had told her. Risa had been embarrassed by it, but now she felt a mild thrill at the thought of it. Micah would think of that, and he’d understand her hesitation, maybe.
“What do you think, Risa?” Morganna leaned forward, a bright smile on her lips as she asked the question.
“About what?” Risa shook her head; she’d obviously not been following the conversation.
“About you, me, and Raven showing those men the hazards of deserting us?” the other woman laughed. “Would you go out on the floor and dance with us?”
Dance with other girls like she had as a child? God, she didn’t need anything else to dim her confidence at the moment than standing out there knowing she was there because a man didn’t want to dance with her.
Suddenly panic assailed her. It lodged in her check, tightened in her throat.
Her head jerked back until she was staring at the dance floor, and anger pushed through her, tearing at her mind as she fought against the knowledge that not once had a man asked her to dance.
Not that she could have forced herself out on the floor with a man she didn’t know. But she hadn’t even been asked. Not once.
The other women had been approached; she had been distantly aware of that. The advances had been laughed off, but there had been advances.
“Come on, Risa. We’ll have a blast,” Morganna laughed.
Her lips parted, Risa lifted a shaking hand to her throat and fought the feeling of suffocation. She could not, was not getting on that dance floor.
“I’m sorry, but Risa promised me her first dance.”
Her head jerked around and Micah was there. He stared down at her with a hint of a smile on his lips, his dark gaze warming, wrapping around her like a sultry summer night as he held his hand out to her.
“Reno and Clint chatter like old gossips,” he told her teasingly as she placed her hand in his, rising to her feet as though in a dream, and allowing him to lead her through the press of bodies to the dance floor.
As they reached the edge of the gyrating mass of bodies, the music changed, slowed, eased.
“Ah, they must have read my mind,” he commented as he turned her to him. “Still interested?”
She had never slow-danced.
The world around her seemed to fade as he placed one hand at her hip, held her hand with the other, and eased her against his body.
A harsh gasp tore from her at the contact of her ni**les through her dress, against his hard male chest. Even through the layers of clothing the stroke of sensation was violent, electric.
“I don’t dance often,” she tried to cover her reaction to him even as she fought to make sense of it.
“Neither do I.”
The hand at her lower back urged her closer without demanding it. Risa flowed into him, her fingers curling against his shoulder at the feel of his erection pressing against her belly, the feel of the warmth of his body surrounding her.
Her eyes closed and her head settled against his chest. Slowly, she forced herself to relax, let herself feel what it was like to be a woman, rather than a frightened child.
The fear was still there, waiting to attack. But oh God, this was…pleasant. More than pleasant, actually. It was comforting even as it made her feel more sensitive, more alive, than ever before.
One broad male hand stroked her back; the other held her hand against his chest, so close to the side of her breast. If she moved just right, she could feel his fingers stroking against the needy mound.
She didn’t want the song to end. She didn’t want the night to end. She wanted to become trapped in this moment, to relish the feel of his body against hers.
“You move like a fantasy,” he whispered at her ear. “As graceful and fluid as a doe.”
She wanted to believe him, and she couldn’t, but the words stroked the pain and fear inside her.
Neither of them spoke then. Risa let herself be caught in the moment, let herself relax and flow against him, let her body move with his, closer, warmer, until her arms were around his neck, his wrapped around her back, holding her closer. His head was bent, his cheek against the top of her head. She could feel him wrapped around her, holding her, and there was no fear.
She could do this.
She lifted her head and stared up at him. “We don’t have to stay here,” she whispered. He might not be able to hear her, but she watched his eyes, saw the flare of heat in the darkened color, and knew he understood.
“Are you sure?” His lips moved; his expression shifted for just a second, a hint of male hunger showing through the normally still set of his face.
“I’m sure.” She was already shaking inside.
His hand ran up her back, a whisper of sensation against the silk material covering her, then across her bare arm until he had her hand in his and drew back.
“We’ll need to let our friends know we’re leaving,” he warned her gently.
Risa nodded. Yes, she would have to face her friends and their concern.
“Very well.” With his free hand he tucked her hair behind her ear again and allowed his thumb to caress her jaw. “We’ll leave now.”
ORION WATCHED the couple as they moved from the dance floor, carefully controlling the frown that would have creased his forehead. It wouldn’t do to show interest in them. At the moment he was allowing a particularly slutty little brunette to run her fingers up his thigh and pretending interest. But he kept his peripheral vision on the man and woman.
He knew that man; he knew he did. He never ever forgot a face or the name that went to it, but in this case he couldn’t put the face and the name together. How odd?
Plastic surgery? he wondered. That had to be it. Otherwise, he’d have instantly recognized the man who led Risa Clay from the dance floor.
He wanted to grimace at the thought that her companion had that look of a man who intended to f**k the woman he was with.
Even with makeup and the very appealing little slip dress, the girl wasn’t particularly pretty. She wasn’t as ugly as she had been as a teenager, but she wasn’t exactly attractive, either. There was just a quality to her that offended his refined senses.
What was it about that girl that just bothered him? he wondered. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes slightly tilted. The odd pale blue color of her eyes showed up more with the artificial highlights in her hair.