A Real Cowboy Knows How to Kiss (16 page)

"I still own it, but I decided I wanted to teach people about the beauty of pairing fine wine with good food." Walt grinned. "Tonight's dinner is on me." He bowed at Erin. "Any woman accompanying a former RVHS football player dines on the house. Welcome, my dear. My treat tonight." He shook Steen's hand again and then headed off to another table, waxing poetically about the wine.

Steen sat back down to find Erin staring at him. "You build furniture?"

"I used to. I built furniture for my mom and me because we couldn't afford to buy it. I liked doing it, and so I built some stuff to sell." He scowled, staring at his wine, irritated that he'd managed to choose the only restaurant in the area where he would know the damned owner. At the same time, he felt an immense sense of relief that his past hadn't come up, though now that he'd been identified, it was possible that his veil of invisibility could slide off at any moment. "Once my mom left me with my dad, I kept building stuff, trying to save enough money so when she came back for me, I could take care of her. In the end, the old man found my stash of cash when I was at a game and he used it on a prostitute—"

He paused when Erin got up and walked away from the table toward the buffet behind him.

He twisted around to watch as she approached the buffet, tensing as she crouched beside it and ran her hand down the leg. He remembered the mistake he'd made on that one, taking a divot out of the inside. It figured that would be the one she'd choose to inspect.

She spent several minutes at the buffet, then walked over to the table by the door. Steen shifted restlessly, uncomfortably with her close inspections, but at the same time, he was sort of...well...he wasn't sure what he thought of her interest.

After a few minutes, she came and sat back down across from him. She folded her arms over her chest and studied him.

He waited.

She didn't say anything.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. "Well?"

"You have a gift."

Stupidly, he felt like grinning. He knew that the furniture was decent. It was the only thing besides football and horses that he was any good at, and her response felt really good. But he simply shrugged, pretending it wasn't a big deal. "It's been a long time."

"It's not furniture. It's art." She leaned forward. "What other art have you done?"

He shifted. "Nothing."

"Do you draw? Paint? Make mosaics out of horse manure?"

He grinned that time. "No, just the furniture, but if I can't find a job, I'll be sure and consider the horse manure as a possible career choice."

She didn't smile. "I'm serious, Steen. Do you like making furniture?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. I just did it. Like I said, it's been a long time." He picked up his glass, letting the red wine glisten beneath the dim lights. "Tonight is about you, not furniture. I raise my glass to the most incredible woman I've ever met in my life, whose soul lights my way and has since the day I first saw her."

Erin's face softened, and she smiled. "That's beautiful. Thank you." She grinned at him, her eyes teasing. "But I know you're avoiding the topic. Why don't you want to talk about the furniture?"

He put the glass down. "Because it's from a long time ago. I can't make a living at it, and I can't take it with me when I move on."

"Move on?" She frowned. "To where? You've decided not to stay at the ranch?"

"I don't belong there. I never did."

She leaned forward. "Do you
want
to stay?"

He met her gaze, and suddenly, he wanted to say yes. He wanted to stay with her on that damned ranch and do nothing else but lose himself in her for the rest of his life. But that wasn't reality. Making love to her all day wouldn't feed them or give them a life. And he wasn't going to live off the pity of half-brothers who didn't need his shit. "I need to go. I don't belong there."

When she opened her mouth to protest, he put his hand over hers. "I don't want to talk about it, Erin. I just want this to be about you."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You're being a toad."

He grinned. "A toad? Really? How's that?"

"I'm a woman. I don't like to be ignored when I have something to say."

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. The last thing he wanted to do was disempower her. Shit. He didn't know how to do this supportive guy thing. "Okay, talk."

Her faced softened. "Really?"

The vulnerability in her expression severed the last bit of resistance he had. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Erin, listen to me. Yeah, I don't want to talk about my relationship with my half-brothers, or my life. I'm a mess. I get that. There's no way to fix it or to change what my life has been, or to erase all the black marks on my past. I think you're the kindest, most optimistic woman on the face of the planet because you actually care enough to want to fix it. It matters to me what you think. If you have something you want to say, then I'll sit here and listen to every word until you're finished."

She studied him for a long moment. "You don't have to be defined by your past," she finally said.

He sighed, realizing she wasn't going to take his thinly veiled suggestion to talk about sunsets and nakedness instead of his life. "I agree. It doesn't define me, but at the same time, it's a part of who I am."

She cocked her head, studying him. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

He frowned. "Of course I do. I want to take you to a nice dinner."

"But not here." She gestured at the tablecloth. "This isn't your kind of place, is it?"

Well, there was no way to deny that truth, so he shrugged one shoulder. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

"Which I appreciate very much." She reached across the table and took his hand. "Here's the thing, Steen. I haven't thought of you every day for the last decade because you're the kind of guy who will take me out for dinner at a restaurant with linen napkins. The man who matters to me is the one who grew up dirt poor and came to school with holes in his jeans. He's the one who was willing to fight the bullies and get black eyes if he had to. The man who would work all day under the broiling sun to help a horse." She leaned forward. "I came back here to get away from white tablecloths, Steen. That's not what I want. I want
you,
exactly the way you are. So, if tonight was about you, where would we be eating? Where would the real Steen choose for his first night out in four years?"

Heat seemed to pour through him at her words. For a moment, he could only stare at her as her words tumbled through him, igniting a fire that seemed to burn right through his belly. She was absolutely right. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be somewhere where the very pulse of life beat through him and called to him. For four years, he'd lived in a world that left his soul silent and empty. He didn't want to be there anymore. He wanted to be alive.

Silently, he tossed cash on the table to pay for their untouched wine, stood up, and held out his hand to her.

Her face lit up, and she put her hand into his. "Where are we off to, cowboy?"

He locked his arm around her back and dragged her up against him. He knew it wasn't proper, but in that moment, he didn't give a damn. He kissed her anyway, hot, wet, and with all the raging passion she'd just unleashed inside him. She melted into his body, kissing him back with every bit of the same need that he'd poured into her.

Swearing, he broke the kiss. "I want to rip your clothes off," he whispered. "But first, I want to take you somewhere."

She smiled. "It's about time."

Erin felt her entire body relax when she walked into the Saddle Rack Tavern with Steen. The crowded bar was low lit, with unfinished wood beams, chandeliers made of battered wagon wheels, and tables that looked like they'd been recycled from old barns. There was a band on the low corner stage, four twenty-something guys in cowboy hats and blue jeans, winking at the audience with such charm she almost wanted to swoon herself.

The place was rowdy with the rumble of good-natured conversation. Almost every man had a cowboy hat on, and Wranglers were on just about every person she saw. The women came in all types: some who looked like they could wrangle a steer as well as any man, but there were also ones who weren't afraid to show they were a woman who could clean up just fine. There wasn't a single suit in sight, and no diamond earring studs flashing in the dim lighting.

It was real, without airs, and it felt like the home she'd never had.

She slid her hand into Steen's and leaned against his arm. "It's perfect."

He grinned down at her, a smile so genuine and full that she felt her heart flutter. Despite all the time she'd spent with him over the last few days, she'd always felt a sense of distance from him. It had felt as if he'd been holding back, and now that she saw the light dancing in his eyes, she realized she'd been right.

She hadn't seen the real Steen until now. Well, she's seen parts of his true self, but he'd been guarded, unwilling to let her truly see who he was. Right now, though, he looked...happy. Comfortable. Like he belonged. "It's been a long time since I've been here," he said, his dark eyes sparkling. "Any interest in a quick spin on the dance floor before we eat?"

"Dance?" She hadn't danced in years. The thought of having Steen's strong arms wrapped around her on the dance floor made excitement rush through her. How awesome did that sound? There was something so magical about being held in a man's arms while the music wove through her soul. "I'd love to dance. Really?"

"You bet." He led the way through the crowd, threading easily across the room to a dark corner of the sparsely populated dance floor. There were hardly any people dancing, but Steen didn't appear to care. The moment they reached the spot he'd apparently wanted, he turned toward her and pulled her into his arms.

The song was upbeat with a contagious rhythm, but Steen locked her against him anyway. He put one hand on her lower back, took her hand, and then began to move her around the dance floor. His dancing was effortless, in perfect time to the beat, and he moved his hips like he was made for music, sweeping her with him. He grinned at her as he spun her around, keeping her so tight against him it was as if they were moving as a single unit. Laughter bubbled up through her as they danced. The music seemed to come alive inside her, and her heart felt lighter than it ever had.

"God, you're gorgeous." He pulled her closer, so close that their knees bumped. He immediately slid his knee between hers, and suddenly, they were moving even more tightly together, their bodies moving in perfect unison, threaded together from shoulder to knee. He directed her with both the pressure of his hand on her lower back, and the unspoken commands of his body, turning her with his hips, his shoulders, and his torso.

She realized he was singing to her as they danced, the words to the song whispered in her ear in perfect tune as he whirled her around. His voice was beautiful, so melodic and deep she knew he could easily be on stage instead of on the dance floor. Music flowed through him as if it were a part of him, and he brought her into that magical circle, moving her with such indefinable grace and musicality that she felt as if she were being whirled around by a breeze on a perfect spring day.

Except it wasn't a breeze. It was the raw, untamed strength of his body that was moving her, and she was locked against him by his hand on her back, and the angle he was holding her. He was leaning forward slightly, using his body as a shield to tuck her against him. She felt as though she were completely protected from everything, cradled by the strength of his presence while still being swept away by the grace of his dancing.

She was so aware of every place their bodies touched. Her skin seemed to tingle everywhere, and she wanted to laugh aloud with happiness. She'd never felt so free, so adored, or so graceful.

The song ended, but he didn't even hesitate, never breaking stride as he merged their dance into the next song, effortlessly adjusting their steps to the new beat. She was astounded by what a wonderful dancer he was, so hopelessly out of her class.

"Just let me lead you," he whispered to her, his voice so deep and sexy that heat seemed to ignite deep in her belly. "Feel the music in your soul and let it fill you. Feel my body against yours, and let yourself connect with me. Follow me, sweetheart. I won't let you fall." He pressed a kiss to her earlobe, still keeping her tucked up against him as he spun them across the floor. "Just feel my soul touching yours, and you'll be with me."

Her throat constricted with sudden emotion, but she closed her eyes, focusing her entire being on Steen. She felt the heat of his body through her clothes, and the sheer hardness of his frame against her. Yet, at the same time, she became aware of the fluidity of his hips, moving against hers. She focused on the movement of his body, softening her muscles, relaxing into him. The moment she did so, she felt herself melt into him, and suddenly, she was completely in sync with him.

Her body seemed to know exactly what Steen wanted from her, and it became effortless to move in unison with him. Her thigh was between his, but she never tripped over his feet or even moved the opposite way of him. The dance became true beauty, filling her with the sheer presence of Steen, and the magic of the music uplifting her.

"You've got it," Steen whispered against her ear as they whirled across the floor. "We're completely connected. God, you're hot. I could dance with you every second for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn't be enough."

Sheer delight bubbled up through her. "You're an incredible dancer."

"Inspired by you," he replied, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck without losing the beat. "I only dance when I'm at peace inside, otherwise I can't feel the music at all. You need to have a completely quiet soul to hear the music. It's like working with troubled horses. The magic happens in the inner silence of the soul."