Slow Heat Read online

  Wade didn’t react, except to soothe her by running a hand up her arm.

  “Sorry.” The wedding photographer smiled. “Can you two scoot closer to each other?”

  No. Closer was a major league bad idea all the way around. If she scooted closer, she’d possibly jump him.

  “Just shift into each other a little,” the photographer coaxed, gesturing to them with his hands. “Come on, give me a romantic shot.”

  Sam looked into Wade’s face questioningly but she should have known better. Always game, he tugged her in. He wrapped an arm around her waist, then tugged a surprised gasp out of her when he bowed her back, low and deep. Leaning over her, he gave her a kiss.

  For show, she reminded herself as her fingers ran up his strong, warm arms, past rock-hard biceps to his hard chest, which she held on to. For show, she had to remind herself yet again when he nibbled at the corner of her mouth, encouraging her to open to him. And when she did, he slid his tongue to hers in a lazy, sexy, fiery, perfect kiss that made it difficult to keep her balance.

  Luckily he was fully supporting her. Far before she was ready, he pulled back, straightened her up, and shot a quick grin at the photog. “You get it?”

  The photog winked and backed off, and by the time Wade looked down into Sam’s face she’d managed to collect herself.

  “They’re going to be serving soon,” Wade said with clear relief, eyeing the servers bustling around, getting ready. “Mark promised me steak.”

  Sam managed to find her brain. He wasn’t affected by that kiss, and so she refused to be. “Good to know you won’t be needing a Mickey D’s run.”

  “Yeah, though I haven’t ruled it out for later.”

  The music changed, quickened, and the dance floor began to fill up. He stood up, stripped off his tux jacket, and held out a hand.

  She stared at his long fingers and felt her stomach tighten. “What?”

  “Let’s dance.”

  No. Hell, no. “Pass.”

  “Why?”

  “Uh, because I don’t want to?”

  “You like to dance,” he said. “I’ve seen you at lots of Heat functions.”

  He was right. She liked to dance. Not that she was necessarily any good at it, but she liked the feeling of letting go. Of not having a phone to her ear or an event in her head or a situation to make the best of.

  But dancing with Wade would be a mistake. It was hard to fake anything on the dance floor. She’d forget that she was having a hell of a hard time remembering why she needed to guard her heart around him.

  “You like to dance,” he said again slowly, understanding dawning. “But you’re afraid you can’t control yourself with me.” He grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. Yeah, so she was worried that with her luck, a slow song would come on and then she’d have to be all pressed up against that body that already knew how to take her to heaven and back, and they were at a wedding, in a very romantic setting, and well . . . bad idea all around.

  “This was all your idea,” he reminded her, tauntingly. “Your game.”

  “Well, it was a bad idea. A stupid game.”

  “Granted. But you have to see it through now.” He glanced beyond her, to where the wedding photographers were snapping pictures, and beyond that, to the waist-high white fence blocking the garden area off from the gawkers, which included paparazzi.

  And their cameras.

  With a grim sigh, she rose to her feet, took his hand, ignored his smirk, and followed him to the dance floor. “This is such a mistake,” she said.

  “Since when has that ever stopped us?”

  For Wade, dancing with Sam was more like a forbidden treat. She felt good against him, too good, making him forget certain basics—that he’d purposely lived his adult life fun and carefree, without worry and anxiety, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, go back there. Not for anything, or anyone.

  Sam included.

  Life was meant to be fun and light. Period. Preferably with lots of sex and little depth. And that’s what this weekend should have been. Hell, the music was nice, the beat fast, and when she moved to it and smiled at him, he smiled back. And yet at the same time, he felt something tighten in his chest. Which wasn’t good.

  Not one little bit.

  Neither was the way he automatically held out a hand for her when the song slowed, when everyone around them stepped into their partner.

  Sam stared at his hand for a long moment, and he honestly expected that she’d turn away and walk back to the table. Maybe even leave the reception.

  It would have been the smart thing to do, after all he was exactly what she’d labeled him—a player. But here was the problem. For two incredibly smart people when they were on their own, they’d never seemed to be able to fully access their IQs when it came to each other.

  “I can do this,” she finally said, as if she needed to believe it, and she stepped into him.

  He pulled her in closer, and could tell that she tried to lose herself in the music, but he’d seen her slow dance before and she’d been a whole lot less stiff. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s something.”

  “You can move,” she said so begrudgingly that she made him laugh.

  “Yeah?”

  She let out a small smile. “Yeah.”

  “How’s that a problem?”

  She didn’t answer, and he returned her smile and pressed his mouth to her ear. “You want me bad. One of these days you’re going to admit it.”

  “Just because you look damn fine on the dance floor doesn’t mean I want you.”

  “But you do.”

  She had no response to that. Nor did she protest when he drew her in even closer so that she was flush against him.

  “Smooth,” she managed. “For a jock.”

  He laughed softly against her temple, because cool as she sounded, her body trembled. “How about this?”

  “What?”

  He pulled her in even closer, still moving to the beat, a different one now, one that matched the same beat of his pulse and the blood pounding through his veins as he slid a hand nice and slow up her slim spine.

  “Oh, boy,” she whispered, telling him she was in as much trouble as he.

  “Tell the truth, Sam. This feels good.”

  She paused. “It’s okay.”

  “You are such a liar. A gorgeous one though, I’ll give you that.” His hand skimmed down again, just beneath the hem of her short, fitted jacket, low on her back, against the silk of her blouse. He slid a finger just beneath the waistband of her skirt and got bare skin.

  In his arms, she shivered.

  God, he wanted to be alone with her. He wanted that more than anything. “Maybe the elevator will get stuck again—”

  “Wade.” She shook her head. “I . . .”

  “I know.” Beneath her jacket, low on her spine, his fingers continued to play with her warm, and getting warmer, skin. “Bad idea, right?”

  “The worst.”

  “The paps are watching.”

  “I think we’ve given them plenty,” she said, and when the song ended, she pulled free, met his gaze, her own hooded. “I’m sorry, Wade. I’m maxed out on the pretending. Excuse me a minute, okay?” And with a shaky smile, she walked off the floor. She passed by their table, grabbed her purse, then headed toward the building.

  Don’t do it, he told himself. Don’t follow her. The food is coming . . .

  Shit.

  He followed Sam through the back door, into the huge, upscale kitchen area where the servers were quickly and efficiently—and frantically—working to get the food out to the guests. Wade looked at all the delicious steak, then to Sam’s quickly retreating back. Dammit. “Sam—”

  She didn’t slow, leaving him with a life-altering decision. Steak or the woman?

  With a grim sigh, he went after her, through a maze of kitchen areas and stopped, momentarily stymied by a restroom door clearly labeled Women a