Free The Other Brooks Boy (Texas Wildfire Series) by Diane Roth Page B

she said. "Get a herd of heifers hot on your tail and
your mood suddenly becomes elated."
    "Show me a
man who wouldn't be elated with that." He swung her out for a turn,
spinning her around and under his arm, then drew her back into his arms,
pulling her even closer than before. She raised an eyebrow at him, but never
missed a step, and actually pressed herself up against him until he could feel
every lush curve of her against his chest and belly.
    "All right.
You enjoy that elation. It's well deserved," she said. "Clearly,
there are not too many of our classmates who devote the amount of time and
effort to the gym that you do."
    "Not
everyone has a masochistic streak like I do."
    "Maybe not.
But it's serving you well. Women like a hard man ," she whispered right
in his ear. She might as well have grabbed him by the nads .
At least, that's where he felt it.
    The music
changed, the deejay offering up some rock for a different type of dancing. She
leaned back in his arms and gave him a dare with her eyes. "You up for
this?" she asked, a suggestive grin toying with her mouth.
    "Darlin',
I'm up for anything," he said, as the music grew in intensity, the base
booming and reverberating in his chest.
    The floor filled
up with dancers in that strange phenomenon that happened in Texas honky tonks when the country band was on break and the deejay
decided to up the energy with a rock song or two. It never failed to bring them
all out of their chairs for some reason.
    Cara twirled
away from his embrace and began to shake her hips to the beat, her gaze steady
on his. Greg moved, too, in time to the music, but really was there to keep a
place warm on the floor as he watched her do her thing, her dancer's body using
a rhythm and agility no one else in the place could mimic, much less match. And
it wouldn't have mattered if they had. His eyes were on her, and her alone.
    That flirty
little skirt teased him again and again as she moved with the beat, and the way
she shook her hips made him want to grab two handfuls of tight ass and grind
himself against her. She might have been reading his thoughts, he decided, as
she turned her back to him and looked back over her shoulder to send him the
most smoking hot come hither look he'd ever received, then slipped her spine,
arms in the air and bounced her ass in invitation. He was on it in exactly two
beats, taking her hips in his hands and moving in time behind her. Up close.
Brushing, bumping, dirty dancing at its best.
    Cara teased him
mercilessly, moving against him, then turning away, dancing barely out of
reach. Her gaze found his then, and she held it captive as she moved back in
closer, her hips mesmerizing him with suggestive movements he wanted to feel
rather than see. He reached for her hand and drew her back, turning her again
so that he danced right up against her backside, and she took it a step further
by placing his hands on the swells of her hips, then inching them over on the
flat of her belly so he might feel it as she made tiny little erotic circles
with her hips. Her head fell back against his shoulder, the scent of her hair
rising up to inflame him even more. Her back arched, and she stretched, her
bottom pressing hard into his groin, and Greg about lost his grip on reality.
This was like a page out of his fantasy journal, and it was happening in a
public venue with half his high school classmates watching. Heaven and Hell
right there in his lap. The thought sobered him a little, and he put some
distance between them and sent her a warning look. She had to know what she was
doing to him, had to feel his arousal. She cocked an eyebrow at him as if to
say, "What are you gonna do about it?"
    He'd been
tempted by women before, but never to the point of wanting to find some dark
corner where they could get up against the wall, knock off a quickie, skirts
bunched up around her waist, his pants open and sagging at his hips. He was
about to that point, and she must have been reading his