and in the truck’s well-lit interior she saw he held a small knife in his hand. She glared at him. “You can put your weapon down, okay? I’m not actually dangerous.”
He raised a brow. “I was going to offer to get that open for you.”
“I’ve got it.” Still seething, she snatched at the knife. There was a sense of pressure, a quick slash of heat, and then she was staring at the shredded fingertip of her glove. And blood.
“Oh,” she said. It all caught up with her: the tension, the frustration, the long hours on her feet. She felt her knees go soft.
From far away she heard Vance curse. Then he had an arm around her to hustle her toward the sink. He flipped on the water, stripped off the glove and thrust her hand under the flow. She shivered in reaction to the cool liquid on her skin as the cut began to throb.
Vance cursed again. “You have bandages in here?”
But her dizzy brain couldn’t formulate an answer. With another muttered curse, he wrapped her finger in a paper towel. His arm still around her, he hustled her down the steps.
“Wait,” she protested, “we can’t leave the truck.”
“We’re leaving the truck,” he said, but he set her in one of the bistro chairs while he lowered the awning and locked up. Then he had her back on her feet and was helping her toward the courtyard.
Next thing she knew, she was sitting at one of the picnic tables beside the dance area, surrounded by people talking, eating and laughing. Vance had found an elastic bandage somewhere, and he was hunkered down, bent over her wounded finger. The strings of fairy lights overhead caught the gold threads in his hair. Bemused, she watched him unwrap the paper towel with tender care.
“I’m fine,” she said.
He glanced up. “Drink the cola.”
She blinked, realizing he’d brought along a can with the first-aid equipment. Her free hand circled the sweating aluminum and she tilted her head to take a long draft of sugar and caffeine—nearly half of it in one go. “Good,” she said, and pressed the cold container to her throat.
Vance wrapped the bandage securely about her finger, then looked up again. “Your hand’s fine—”
“Told you.”
“—but you need to hydrate. Finish that and I’ll get you some water.”
She made a face. “Yes, Grandpa Vance.”
One brow rose. “My grandpa switched me when I sassed.”
“Liar.” With the cola almost finished, she was feeling much better. Or maybe it was because he continued to cradle her hand. It was the closest they’d been to each other since that night on the cliff. “Bet your mom would confirm it.”
His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I won’t spank you.”
Some imp invaded her body. Spoke through her mouth in a soft, teasing tone. “But not because you’re mad at me.”
He abruptly stood, and she rose, too, drawn up by his hand. His gaze dropped to where they were joined, as if he’d just realized he still had her in his grasp. In the next moment, the band started playing again. No bluegrass now, but a country ballad. Love gone wrong.
“Dance with me,” she said, another impulse she couldn’t stifle.
“We could go now,” Vance replied, his expression guarded. “Back to the beach house. We’ve more than put our time in.”
That’s what she’d wanted all day. For this command performance to be over. Until now.
“Dance with me,” she repeated. And without waiting for an answer, tugged him toward the couples who were already moving to the music under a canopy of crisscrossed lights.
With a sigh, he let himself be led. Then he released another as she moved into his arms, his big male body sheltering her in a way that made her acutely aware of her feminine differences. They swayed together, their feet barely moving, her arms around his neck, his fingers linked at the small of her back. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
Layla’s body started to hum, a force pulsing under her skin. It made her feel edgy in Vance’s arms and at the same time as if she’d found the most comfortable place on earth. The thought startled her, and she instinctively tried to retreat, shuffling back.
She glanced up as Vance tightened his hold.
Their eyes met and she couldn’t look away. Or move away, either.
He groaned softly. “I’ve tried everything I can to control this...”
Well. They were finally going to address the issue.
“...but it continues to be a problem.”
“It’s not my fault,” she protested.
“I