our other hands, and a lime wedge.
“On the count of three,” Alicia says. “One. Two. Three!”
Boom.
I lick the salt, toss back the shot, and stick the lime in my mouth, sucking out the juice as I swallow the tequila.
It’s still burning on the way down when hands circle my waist from behind. I gasp, unsure whether it’s the shot or Ridge’s very capable hands drawing the air out of me.
“Tequila shots?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s not a party until Captain T shows up.”
My insides sink at the puzzled way Amy and Alicia look at me.
“It’s a joke,” I say. “Something we always said in college.”
They both burst out laughing.
“I need you for a minute,” Ridge growls in my ear.
Waving at Amy and Alicia, I walk away with him.
“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says, once we’re out of earshot.
“Do what?”
“Look so freaked, thinking you’d embarrassed yourself in front of them. Darlin’, they love you and so does damn near everybody you’ve met in this town. You’re cutting yourself short again.” He stops, steps in front of me, and cups my face. “I know you’ve been through hell. It doesn’t define who you are. What matters is how you came through it. Head up and standing tall. Own that, woman. Be proud of yourself. You know I am.”
Heaven help him, he gets a smile out of me.
Still, a pep talk isn’t what I need right now. More tequila sounds better.
Grabbing his hand, I lace my fingers through his and squeeze.
“You don’t need to do this anymore, you know,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
I can’t look him in the eyes.
“This hero act. Being extra nice to me like we’re more than a couple mixed-up people who got tossed together. It’s over...or it will be soon, I guess.”
No sooner had the words come out than I know I’ve made a mistake.
He runs his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, and cups my waist. Then he pulls me closer so our hips collide.
“Is it?” he wonders, that sinful smolder in his voice. “Doesn’t feel one damn bit over, Grace. Not to me.”
Oh, my. I hold my breath against the hot frenzy of emotion.
Lust.
Worry.
Love.
Stir them up together and you’ve got one heady cocktail. I’m not even sure I want that tequila anymore when I’m drunk on this infuriating, sexy, all-too-hard-to-crack man.
“So I heard something interesting,” I say softly, laying my hands over his shoulders. “Bebe told me I’m the reason you agreed to give Hollywood another chance.”
“I told you from the beginning I’d do anything and everything I could to help you and Nelson. Bebe risked her ass arranging this party, working her contacts for the drugs that set up the sting operation. She wanted a few more movies in return, so I agreed.”
“I still can’t believe how many drugs he was packing.” A shiver ripples through me. “Why, Ridge? Why did you do something so dangerous?”
We lock eyes. Those gems of his glow like bright-blue flames, his expression pure stone.
“The fact that you’re even asking tells me I’d better show you. C’mon.”
Taking my hand, he rushes me to the dance floor, and we step into the soft orange light. It takes roughly ten seconds for the entire crowd to go eerily quiet.
Oh, boy.
Dancing with him in front of these people is the last thing I need.
“Ridge—”
He holds up a finger.
“Just trust me,” he whispers.
After everything we’ve been through, there’s no doubt about that. I clamp my lips together.
Then his hands are on my waist, and we sway to the rest of this country rock tune. Our own fluid movements mirror the rhythm and wailing lyrics. I think it’s a hit off this new album by formerly infamous pop star Milah Holly, singing in a style I barely recognize about a clown rodeo called love.
Only, when Ridge bends me low in a thrilling dip, I see through the people clustered around the stage.
It’s a live band.
The Milah Holly is actually here, belting out her song. She’s tall, blonde, and picture-perfect, her eyes done up like an Egyptian goddess as she watches us and wipes a tear as soon as the song finishes to gentle applause.
“Thanks, everybody!” She says into the mic. “And how about a hand for our hosts tearing up the dance floor? I think there’s a twister on fire in this little town tonight. You two lovebirds are sweet as pie. You remind me of a lot of folks back home...and it takes a special kinda man to shut down a freak show with