Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights) by Louellen Amie

Author:Louellen, Amie [Louellen, Amie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2015-02-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Roxanne tried to ignore the electricity that raced up her spine from the gentle touch of Malcolm’s hand at her back. Truman’s words about sexual chemistry came back to haunt her, but she pushed them aside. It was just the power of suggestion, nothing more.

She acted as if all was normal, passé even, as she breathed in Malcolm’s masculine scent. She pretended not to notice how every time she missed a step her thighs collided with his. She used to be a good dancer, but that was a million years ago. As it was now, her brain was far from able to discern the dance steps—no matter how simple or familiar they used to be—when her head was so filled with Malcolm.

He seemed distant, his jaw clenched tight as he kept a firm but gentle hold on her. Yet it wasn’t his touch which held her rapt attention. It was the way he smelled, like citrus and pine. Like expensive aftershave and one hundred percent male. It was the way he looked. The gold rimmed glasses that made him appear so lawyerly. The billions of tiny golden freckles that somehow made him weathered and boyish at the same time. It was the heat that flowed from him and seeped under her skin the way no other had before.

“You know,” Roxanne started, biting her lip to help ground her in reality. She had to remember this was Malcolm, State Senator from District Twenty-Seven. Her attorney. A guy who wouldn’t know fun if he were stranded on a deserted island with it. “I didn’t ask Truman to interrupt your dance with Lila.”

“I know.”

They danced in silence for a couple more beats.

“You don’t have to keep dancing with me,” she said.

“I know.”

More music. More silence.

“I mean, if you want to go talk to Miles Davidson, I’m sure I could dance with Truman again.”

“I know.” He never even bothered to look at her. It seemed as if something over her shoulder held more interest for him. Most likely Lila dancing with Miss Gertie’s great-nephew from Hattiesburg. Malcolm was probably keeping an eye on the pair just to make sure the handsome doctor wasn’t copping a feel. After all, she and Malcolm were practically engaged.

The thought made Roxanne miss the beat, and she crashed into Malcolm—hard. Her foot, clad in its high-heeled sandal, crashed down on top of his foot—hard.

“Sorry.” She winced. That was going to leave a mark.

“It’s okay,” he replied, just like the gentleman he was.

“I know you might find this hard to believe, but I used to be a pretty good dancer.”

“No offense, but what happened?”

She shrugged. “Out of practice, I guess.”

“Hmmm … I thought dancing was one of those things a person never forgets how to do. You know, like riding a bike.”

“Sex.” Roxanne immediately wished she could take it back.

“I beg your pardon?” He picked that precise moment to meet her gaze.

“You can forget how to ride a bike, but you’ll never … I mean … most people have—”

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