But another man, one with military hair, hungry eyes, and a furious stride, had seized her attention in some darkly fascinating way, much like he had five years ago.
Uh-oh. Deke was definitely headed her way. What the hell did he want? At his house yesterday, he’d gone out of his way to humiliate her. Was he here for round two?
Suddenly, Adam Catrell wrapped his arm around her and dragged her close, lowering his head toward her. Kimber’s first instinct was to panic. Did he intend to kiss her in the middle of the dance floor? She didn’t know him. As she discovered about thirty seconds into this dance, she didn’t want him. Especially not with everyone—with Deke—staring.
“You got something going on with Deke?” he shouted in her ear over the music.
“N—no.”
Not that she could manage to forget her afternoon in his kitchen, when he and Luc had kissed her and… Better to forget it. Or try to. Lord knew, she hadn’t had much luck with that so far.
In a way, it was her own fault. In retrospect, she realized that military men weren’t built for eloquence, but brute force. He’d tried to say no to her request.
When she’d pushed, Deke had stopped talking and simply acted, intentionally scaring her off with his crude words. Damn if it hadn’t worked.
Then she’d compounded her mistake by coming here and assuming that if being with Deke and Luc had aroused her while being “educational,” then being with Adam and…Brad-Brian-Brock-whatever his name was—would be equally enjoyable. Nope. Almost since this dance started she’d wanted out.
But running away like a coward with Deke looking on just wasn’t an option. With her thoughts whirling like a salsa dancer on speed, Kimber tried to decide her next move. Then Deke had risen from his chair and marched her way, looking more than ready to take the decision out of her hands.
She risked another glance in his direction. God, he was close now. Close enough that she could see a muscle ticcing in his jaw as his sharp gaze zeroed in on Adam’s hand, now riding low on her back, almost on one cheek.
“You’re not involved with Deke? I’m guessing he doesn’t see it that way.” Adam lifted his head—but didn’t move his hand—and turned to greet their mutual friend.
“Hey, Trenton. What brings you to The Hang Out, man?”
“An unfinished matter with Kimber.” He directed that disconcerting denim-blue stare at her. “Can we talk outside?”
Deke had phrased his words into a question, but his glare said he wasn’t asking at all. Kimber swallowed. Wearing a pair of fine-fitting jeans, black boots, a khaki T-shirt with the word ARMY stretched in black above his solid left pectoral, and a demanding glare, Deke looked like a man on a serious personal mission.
Everything about his demeanor seconded that. He hadn’t greeted his buddy and had barely answered Adam’s question. He hadn’t said hello to either of them. No pleasantries; just down to business.
What more did he have to say that he hadn’t said to her in his kitchen yesterday?
In a few words, he’d both annoyed and spooked her, and she’d run like a girl in over her head. Just like he claimed she was. Since nothing in his expression looked remotely apologetic, she couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, other than more humiliation. No thanks.
“You said plenty yesterday. We don’t have anything left to talk about.”
“Yes, we do.”
“I’m busy dancing.” She turned away to engage Adam’s brother again—Brett?
Buck? Something like that.
She flashed the blond club owner a smile and swiveled her hips—all too conscious of Deke’s gaze drilling into her back.
As soon as the nameless Catrell brother smiled back, the song ended. The DJ
announced a Jell-O shot special and his intent to take a break.
Deke grabbed her wrist and whirled her around to face him, golden brow arched.
“You’re not dancing now.”
Damn it! Kimber fisted her hands on her hips. “Say whatever you came to say, then.”
“Outside.”
The command in his tone raised her hackles. “Is this going to take long?”