The Fantasy Factor. Kimberly Raye

I didn’t hear a thing.”

      “I didn’t think so. Otherwise you wouldn’t have headed for the kitchen again.”

      “I had to help with the punch. The lady who was supposed to man the table came down with a bad stomach virus a half hour ago so here I am.”

      “And here I thought this was just another reason to avoid me.”

      “I’m not avoiding you. I’m simply busy.” To illustrate her point, she reached for the ladle and served up another cup of punch. “Thirsty?”

      “Actually, I’m hungry.”

      “There’s everything from pigs-in-a-blanket to mini pizza rolls.” But she knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about food. She tamped down on her own growling stomach and reached for another empty cup.

      “The wedding is over.” His hand closed over hers. He took the cup from her hand and set it to the side. “It’s time to have some fun.”

      “I promised I would serve the punch.”

      “No one wants any punch. They’re too busy dancing.” He indicated the dance floor overflowing with couples two-stepping to an old George Strait tune. The only person who wasn’t dancing was Wes Early, the town’s only videographer. Cheryl Louise had hired him to record her wedding memories and he was currently walking from couple to couple, zooming in for close-ups and capturing good wishes and advice with his camcorder. “Let’s dance.”

      “I can’t. I mean, I don’t want to. I promised my grandma Willie that I would keep her company.”

      His gaze followed hers to the old woman who sat at one of the large round tables. A half dozen other white-haired ladies surrounded her. A maze of dominoes covered the table.

      “I don’t think she needs you.”

      She stared at her grandmother. The old woman lifted her head, caught her granddaughter’s gaze and smiled before turning her attention back to the game and her last domino—a double six—which she slid into the center of the table before letting loose a loud “I win!”

      “That’s her domino club. They get together every Saturday night. I guess they didn’t see the wedding as an excuse to call off tonight’s game.”

      “She looks happy.”

      “She is happy.”

      “And what about you? Are you happy?”

      “I don’t mind serving punch.”

      “That’s not what I’m talking about. Are you happy here? In Cadillac?”

      No. “Yes,” she blurted. “I’m very happy. I’ve never been so happy. I’ve got my business and my grandma. Life is all right.”

      “All right?” He eyed her. “What happened to amazing? Awesome? Explosive?” He named off every adjective she’d ever used when talking about the future and the life that waited for her beyond the city limits.

      “I’m not the same irresponsible girl I was back then.”

      “Because…”

      Because she’d barely survived last night’s close encounter. If she had to feel his arms around her again, or smell his intoxicating scent, or stare into his eyes, she wasn’t so sure she could make it through with her cover still firmly in place. “Because I can’t.”

      “Why?”

      “Because it’s late.” She glanced at her watch, her brain scrambling for an excuse to step away from him. To run away before she did something really outlandish like throw her arms around him and kiss him right here and now with everyone looking on. “And I’ve got to get up early for work.”

      “Tomorrow’s Sunday. The nursery is closed.”

      “But I’m still working. I’ve got a full greenhouse to inventory before my new deliveries on Monday. It’ll take all day, so I have to get a very early start. Nice talking to you. If you’ll excuse me—”

      “Not this time.” He caught her hand and tugged her after him, to the far side of the room and a small, private corner behind several large potted palms draped in white tulle and twinkling white lights.

      “What are you doing?”

      “Trying to figure out why you won’t dance with me.” He hauled her in front of him and backed her into the corner. “Other than the fact that it’s late and you have to be up early. I know there’s more to it, Belle.”

      Belle. As in Jezebel. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”

      “As I recall, no one else ever did. It was just me. I also recall that you liked me calling you that, almost as much as you liked dancing with me.”

      “Maybe I don’t like to dance anymore.”

      “You liked it just fine last night.”

      “I wanted to win a game last night. I needed to dance with a hot guy to beat Maddie, and you were the only hot guy there.” When he didn’t look the least bit convinced, she added, “You were hot and I needed hot. It wasn’t because I wanted to dance, certainly not that I wanted to dance with you. I didn’t. Not last night, and not now.”

      “Is that so?”

      “Look, things are different now. I’m different.”

      “Really?” He fingered the conservative neckline of the hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress. “You mean your heart doesn’t pound when I do this?”

      She managed to shake her head despite that he could undoubtedly feel the frantic thud thud against the pad of his finger.

      “And your blood doesn’t rush when I do this?” He trailed his fingertip over the edge of the dress, over the material until he brushed her nipple through the fabric.

      “Not at all.”

      “And you don’t get even the slightest bit wet when I do this?” His touch swept south until she felt the press of his fingertip at the vee of her legs. He traced a little circle and heat fired low in her belly.

      “I…don’t.”

      “Why?”

      “Because…” She licked her lips and tried to ignore the sensation sweeping along her nerve endings. It felt so good and he felt so good and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and simply feel. “This is a bad idea.”

      “Because you don’t want me?” He leaned down, his warm breath brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. “Or because you do?”

      “Because…” She tried to think of an explanation, but then her gaze caught his and she couldn’t think. She could only feel. The warmth of his body so close to hers. The throb of her nipples. The tightening between her legs. The tingle of her lips. “I really want to kiss you,” she blurted. And then she did.

      He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to feel her lips against his own. His mouth was wet and warm and welcoming.

      He plunged his tongue deep, tangling with hers in a fierce kiss that made her thighs quiver and her nipples ache and her hormones chant yes, yes, yes while her brain screamed no, no, no! She tasted him, licking and exploring in a fast and furious rhythm that quickly calmed into something a little less frantic and a lot more dangerous.

      But Sarah Buchanan didn’t do fast or furious or dangerous, especially dangerous. Not anymore.

      The truth echoed in her head, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop. It was the voice that did that.

      “Say something to the bride and groom.”

      Sarah pulled away to find a video camera trained on her.

      Reality hit her as Wes Early grinned and said into the mini microphone attached to his camcorder,