Loving Dallas - Caisey Quinn Page 0,12

smell the scent of his sharp, clean cologne and beneath that, masculine soap. There’s always the hint of wood in the air around him, as if that guitar he’s permanently attached to has somehow seeped into his skin.

My mouth waters at the intoxicating aroma that is Dallas so I swallow hard and keep my eyes trained on where Jase is standing smiling with fans, some of whom are crying and others practically groping him. What a strange life these guys lead. I couldn’t imagine part of my job being letting people fall all over me.

“Well, I can honestly say you’re the last person I expected to see here.” His voice is low in my ear, causing a shiver to roll down my spine. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

I answer without looking at him. “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I told you. I’m working. I’m an assistant marketing coordinator and promotional relations specialist for Midnight Bay Bourbon. I was on this tour before you were.”

“You just caught me off guard is all.” He clears his throat harshly. His hand falls to a spot that used to be familiar to him—the small of my back—and I feel it like fireworks.

It isn’t quite as startling as it was when Jase placed his unwelcome hand there. Dallas places his hand on my lower back like it belongs there, and my traitorous body welcomes his touch as if it agrees.

This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-three years old—a grown woman. And when a man who hasn’t touched me in years places his hand on my lower back, my bones become blobs of jelly. Damn him. Damn bones.

I fist my fingers in an attempt to return my body to a solid mass. “So you’re not gonna call my boss and request they remove me from this tour?”

“Jesus, Robyn. No.” As I breathe a sigh of relief, he huffs out a breath that tickles my ear. “I know I wasn’t exactly friendly at my grandfather’s funeral. And seeing you here certainly is a surprise. But I won’t interfere with your job. I’m not a complete asshole. Even if I behave like one from time to time.”

My shoulders relax and my body betrays me. It eases backward almost into his arms. His chest brushes my back and I flinch at the contact. This cannot happen.

“You can’t help your true nature.”

Dallas chuckles and it warms my blood to a dangerously high temperature. I have to get away from him. Now.

“Look, I know it’s not ideal, having to see someone from your past intruding on your shiny new future.”

Believe me, I almost add. I’m speaking from experience now because every ounce of confidence I’d mustered about my ability to do my job, to handle this tour, dissipated into thin air the moment I learned that Dallas Walker was the Dallas Lark who had taken my virginity in a pickup truck. Kind of hard to hold on to your sophisticated big-girl dignity around a guy who once helped you search for your underwear on a Chevy floorboard. Okay, more than once.

Dallas gives me a boyish half grin. “We’re both adults here. We can handle this, right?”

I turn and let his ice-blue eyes burn into me. My head says, “Yeah, Robyn, we got this. No worries.” My heart says, “Run. Quit your job and get as far away from him as you possibly can. Immediately.”

I’m so busy listening to my heart and head battle it out that I miss what Dallas says.

“I’m sorry. What?”

I tilt my head and he smiles his sexy half smile that I have no doubt has dropped panties across the nation in epidemic proportions. If it hasn’t already, it will. And I’ll get to watch from the sidelines.

Fantastic.

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner after the show. You know, food, conversation, maybe a discussion about how we go about dealing with this situation.”

My brows lift because I’m confused. This man I’ve kept buried in the back of my past has risen and is standing in front of me asking me to dinner.

I check my internal decision-making faculties.

Head: Sure. Dinner sounds great. Making peace will be good for you. Yay, closure!

Heart: Run. I said run. Why aren’t you running? For fuck’s sakes, run already!

“As nice as that sounds, um, I think the show will probably run late so . . .”

“So I was thinking pancakes,” he says, using his secret weapon against me. “There’s a diner we passed between here and