Free Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues by LUANN MCLANE

Harper, you are my lemon?” He smiles, flashing white teeth in the moonlight.
    I laugh to try to cover up my racing pulse. Let me tell you, Rio Martin’s smile is something to be reckoned with. “Well, you’ll have to squeeze pretty darned hard to get anything useful outta me.”
    He laughs. “Oh, I’m more than willing to give you a good squeeze.”
    I’m mortified to think that he might have taken my comment as a come-on. “I—I didn’t mean that in a suggestive way.”
    “I didn’t take it that way.” He pushes away from the railing, takes a step closer, and says, “Forgive my earlier rude behavior. I was upset but that was no excuse.”
    “Forgiven.”
    “Good. Then tell me, Abby . . . are you ready to win this thing?”
    I nod.
    He smiles.
    Oh my . I melt like soft-serve ice cream dripping down a sugar cone. “I’ll give it my best shot,” I assure him with such conviction that he chuckles.
    “Good, then be ready bright and early.” Rio walks toward the door and I follow until he pauses and turns to me. “I have to warn you that I’m a fierce competitor and I don’t let up, so get a good night’s sleep.”
    I give him a close look to see if he’s teasing, but by the no-nonsense expression on his face I can tell that he’s dead serious. “Got it,” I reply, feeling like I should salute or maybe curtsey.
    “Oh, and mark my words, you’ll be the one using a few choice words before this is over.”
    When he grins, I have hope that he actually possesses an itsy-bitsy sense of humor.
    “Never,” I assure him with a lift of my chin. “My mama taught me better.”
    “We’ll see about that.” Inclining his head politely, he says, “Until morning, Abby. Don’t be late.”
    “I’m never late,” I assure him and then remember that I was late twice today already. “Well, almost never.”
    “Good, because ballroom dancing is all about discipline.”
    “Discipline is my middle name,” I say firmly with a serious look of my own but thinking all the while that I’m really going to disappointment him with my skills . . . or lack thereof.
    When I walk past Rio he stands to the side while holding the door open for me. Since I have to pass close by him I can feel the warmth of his body and then catch a delicious whiff of his aftershave . . . it’s something spicy and manly but erotic and a sigh escapes me before I know it. When he shoots me a look I try to turn it into a yawn but unfortunately it becomes this weird noise that starts out high and then goes low. Thoroughly embarrassed, I add a cough at the end to throw him off.
    “Do you have something caught in your throat?”
    Think fast . “Um . . . yeah, maybe a . . . a moth or somethin’.” I’m thinking that this is a good cover-up, but he appears horrified.
    “You swallowed a moth?”
    “Maybe just a tiny one.” I pound my chest with my fist and politely cough.
    “Let me get you something to drink.”
    “No . . . I’m fine, really.”
    He looks uncertain and still a bit horrified. I’m thinking that I should just come clean and tell him that his aftershave made me swoon and a moth isn’t flapping around in my stomach, but he’d surely think I was crazy. What the hell was I thinkin’? Swallowed a moth . . .
    “Okay then, see you bright and early.”
    “And bushy-tailed.”
    “Bushy-tailed?”
    “Yeah, you know . . . bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” I venture with a weak smile. Good Lord, this whole thing is going downhill as fast as a sled on a snow-covered hill.
    He shakes his head and looks as if he wants me to explain, but I simply bid him good night and hurry up to my room. Once inside I lean against the door and groan. “So much for first impressions. Swallowed a moth? Good God .” With a weary glance at my pile of stuff and another tired glance at the unread packet, I shake my head. “I’ll deal with it in the morning . . .” I say in my best Scarlett O’Hara voice, stumble into the bathroom to wash up, and