Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,48

that she could ask Shane a similar question—whether he had a girlfriend somewhere. But something told her she already knew the answer. A man like Shane, who spent much of his time on the rodeo circuit, would have a hard time managing a stable relationship, especially with the buckle bunnies—women who showed up to sleep with prize-winning cowboys—flocking to every event.

Shane flagged down a cab to take them to the restaurant he’d chosen. They sat in the dimly lit back seat, just close enough to touch. Lexie felt the tension and uncertainty of the competition melting away.

“I saw you doing an interview with that reporter,” she said. “What kind of things did she ask you?”

“Oh, the usual—like how did it feel doing a ninety-point ride, and what I thought of the bull.”

“What did you tell her—about Whirlwind?”

“I said he had incredible power and the smarts to go with it. And I said he could become one of the greatest bulls ever. How does that sound to you?”

“Wonderful, if it’s true.”

“It is. I wouldn’t make a fool of myself by lying on national TV.”

Lexie exhaled and settled back against the seat. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. The warm pressure felt good—maybe too good, but she had no will to move away. He was strong and solid, his skin smelling of clean, honest man sweat from tonight’s ride.

She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his as the city lights flashed past through the cab window. He lowered his head for a lingering kiss, not pressing hard but holding the contact long enough to ignite a sensual tingling that rippled through her body to become a slow-burning flame. Feeling the barest flick of his tongue, she suppressed a moan.

Heaven save her, she was already in trouble.

As the cab pulled to a stop, he eased her away from him. His face wore a mischievous smile. “To be continued,” he said. “Right now, I think we’ve arrived.”

She waited while he paid the driver and walked around the cab to open her door. He’d brought her to a rustic, western-style steak house. As they approached the entrance, the savory aromas wafting through the open door and the sound of a live country band promised an enjoyable experience.

“I guess I should’ve asked,” he said. “I hope you like good steak—really good steak, best I’ve ever had. If not, we can always go next door and get Chinese.”

“Are you kidding? I love good steak, and I’m starved.” Lexie let Shane guide her to their booth. It was surprising how comfortable she felt with him, now that Brock was out of the picture. But the issue of his being a bull rider was still a deal breaker. She would enjoy a pleasant date with him—if that’s what this was—and that would be the end of it.

The booths and tables were arranged around an open area with a band and space for dancing. The country band—a guitar, a bass, a fiddle, and a male singer who looked like Brad Paisley and sounded like Willie Nelson—was good enough to keep the ambience lively. After the server brought their beers and took their orders, Shane reached across the table and caught Lexie’s hand.

“How about a dance, pretty lady?” he asked playfully.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Lexie demurred. “I’d probably step all over your toes.”

“My toes wouldn’t mind a bit, as long as my arms were around you.”

Lexie laughed. “Now that’s what I call a great line. Okay, I’ll try a dance, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The band had begun a slow, mellow number. At least she could manage that, Lexie told herself as he led her onto the dance floor. Several other couples were already swaying to the music. More were leaving their seats, drawn by the ease and romantic spell of a slow tune.

Lexie had never been a confident dancer, but held close, in the circle of Shane’s arms, she felt herself moving with him to the music. She closed her eyes, feeling the velvety roughness of his stubble against her cheek, the light friction of his jeans against her hips, his hand cradling the small of her back. She could feel herself warming, feel the blood singing in her veins, feel her heart thudding with the beat of the music.

“You’re not stepping on my toes,” he murmured in her ear.

“I know,” she whispered. I’m floating, she thought. At least that’s how it felt.

The music was ending. “Don’t look now,” he said, “but I think