Tracking You. Kelly Moran

with the blood roaring through his veins and his vision hazy. Any second now, he’d break out in a cold sweat.

      Christ, it was just Gabby.

      She gingerly set them in motion, a slight shift to his left. He caught up and went with it. But instead of moving backward according to her pattern, he went forward at the same time she did and they collided. He stepped on her foot. Hard.

      He pinched his eyes closed. This was stupid. No one would be paying attention to them at the wedding with Avery in the room all decked out. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t dance or not.

      Gabby’s laugh rumbled his chest. She squeezed his fingers and he dutifully opened his eyes. “Relax.”

      It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying. Sorry, he mouthed.

      She shook her head as if to say, poor, poor man, and set her free hand on the back of his neck. The heat from her fingers slid down his spine to a part that best not awaken. Before he could process he was in danger of thinking with his lower head, she carefully placed her tiny feet on top of his, thrusting her breasts snug against him and aligning their bodies. Like how a little girl might dance with her dad, except…he was definitely not her father.

      The room vacuumed of air.

      It had been way too long since he’d had sex.

      Tilting her head back to look up at him, she grinned in good fun, unaware of where his devious thoughts had plummeted. “Now you can’t step on my feet. Where you move, I go.”

      He’d never noticed the tiny, round scar above her eyebrow before. Most likely from the bout of chicken pox they’d had in second grade. All these years, though, and he’d just detected it. Shades lighter than her milky skin, the spot was barely noticeable.

      They were close enough to share air. Her warm breath skimmed his jaw. He’d bet his right nut her skin would taste as good as it smelled. Summer and honey and sweet…

      Shit. Double shit.

      He was not getting turned-on. The situation had nothing to do with the woman and everything to do with biology. She was molded to him like second skin. It was a natural response to contact. Nothing more.

      By sheer will—and thinking about his great aunt in a bikini—he roped in the reaction before Gabby became aware. He set them in motion with no rhyme or reason other than to move.

      Weaving them around the room, she stayed rooted to him by keeping her feet on his. He kept his arms around her back lest she lose balance. He spun and tracked the open space until they were both dizzy and he no longer felt like a cad for impure thoughts.

      When he stopped, struggling for air, she threw her head back and laughed. Her ponytail dislodged, causing a riot with her hair. He pushed the strands away from her face and resisted rubbing his thumb over her jaw. Right now, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit, she wasn’t so adorable after all. Other adjectives came to mind, but he shoved them deep in the recesses of his mind. He hoped to hell his expression was as blank as he was trying to force it to be.

      Her smile slipped a degree and something close to awareness filled her eyes. The fingers on the back of his neck dug in deep. She froze on impact and, after two heartbeats too long, she eased out of his arms. She took great care adjusting the too large shirt she’d borrowed, looking everywhere but at him.

      With a rapid flash, as if he might burn her with contact, she took her phone out of his pocket. “Shooters tomorrow with the gang?”

      They’d made those plans earlier today, thus no need to remind him. He nodded, not liking the strange rift. “I’ll be there.”

      “I’m going to…” She jerked her thumb at the door. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

      He almost signed thanks for the dance lesson, but thought better of it.

      Chapter 3

      Shooters was roaring with the typical Saturday night crowd. Rock music blared from the overhead speakers. Several patrons danced on the makeshift platform in back. The clack of cue balls from the pool tables could barely be heard over the noise. Desperation hung as heavy in the air as cheap perfume.

      From a table in the corner, Gabby picked at the label on her beer bottle as Avery complained about the Battleaxes interfering in her wedding.

      “And now Marie says the best part about the cake cutting is shoving it in each other’s face.”

      Marie was the town mayor and the O’Grady boys’ aunt. As the oldest of what Cade referred to as “The Battleaxes,” she’d been meddling in the lives of Redwood Ridge’s citizens since before Gabby could walk.

      She shrugged. “I think it’s cute. Cade’s a fun guy. Why not?”

      Avery pushed her brown waves from her face. “I’m not contesting that. I just feel like a circus performer. I mean, we wanted a small affair, and now everything’s choreographed like a musical rendition of the nut farm.”

      Brent laughed and waved his hand with the dramatic flair of an openly gay man. “Baby doll, this is the nut farm. Go with it.”

      Flynn rose from his seat and pointed to his empty bottle, silently asking if anyone wanted another round. Half the table raised their hands and Flynn headed for the bar.

      Cade kissed Avery’s cheek. “Everyone’s excited you roped me into a proposal. No one thought they’d see the day. It’ll be perfect. You’ll see.”

      Avery narrowed her eyes. “Roped you into a proposal? Who chased whom?”

      Cade laughed in his easy-peasy way that had the female population swooning. “Semantics.”

      Drake, the eldest O’Grady brother, set his glass down and eyed Cade. “My warning stands. You make her unhappy for one second of your marriage and I’ll rain hell on you.”

      Gabby grinned. Before Avery moved to Redwood Ridge, Cade was the town’s playboy and wouldn’t know commitment if it bit him in the ass. Since becoming a widower, Drake had been pretty reclusive until recently, and had formed a bond with Avery. Protective didn’t cover it, even if Cade was a good guy and his baby brother.

      Avery kicked Drake under the table. “Shush.”

      One corner of Drake’s mouth lifted in the closest thing to a grin Gabby had seen in too long. He tipped his glass at her in mock salute.

      Gabby darted her glance to the bar to make sure Flynn didn’t need help carrying their drinks. He had his back to the table and was leaning on the counter, unaware of the attractive redhead in a barely there black dress straddling the stool next to him. Gabby didn’t recognize the woman, so she must be a tourist.

      Well, well. Maybe Flynn would get lucky tonight. Her belly twisted as if disliking the idea. Which was stupid. She wanted him to find someone and be happy. Right?

      The moment they’d shared at his house last night floated to mind, and she pulled out her phone to interrupt the memory. She’d simply imagined the sudden flash of desire in his eyes. That’s what she’d told herself all night after she’d left his place. And if her belly heated and her face flushed with a pull of longing, she’d mistaken that, too.

      Behind you. Hot woman alert.

      She watched Flynn down at his phone, read her text, and scan the room for Gabby before noticing the leggy redhead. He flashed a contagious grin and nodded.

      Zoe, the groomer at their vet clinic, tossed back a shot and looked at Gabby. “How did your date go last night?” She tucked a strand of shoulder-length green hair behind her ear. A year ago, she’d started dyeing it unnatural colors. No one knew why and no one asked.

      Gabby opened her mouth to respond, but found her gaze focused on Flynn. Was he closing the deal? She hadn’t seen him go home with someone in quite a while. The redhead was leaning in close to him. He nodded at something she said with one of his trademark