Maverick Holiday Magic. Teresa Southwick

She laughed. “That’s my name. Meredith, but everyone calls me Merry.”

      “Right.” His smile was self-deprecating. “My name is Don.”

      “Nice to meet you. And I should confess that I’m actually not a guest—”

      “May I cut in?” Wilder Crawford tapped Don on the shoulder and the man shrugged before giving way. Hunter’s brother took her in his arms with a grin that was a little wicked, a lot charming. “Hello, Nanny Merry.”

      “Good Lord, that makes me sound like I’m a hundred years old.”

      “You sure don’t look it. Not in that dress.”

      His appraisal was flirty and full of male appreciation, both of which she took as a compliment and nothing more. “Well, I am being paid to supervise your niece, who’s with her father at the moment. And that’s the only reason I accepted an offer to dance with that man. And you, by the way.”

      “Why do I feel as if I’ve just been rapped on the knuckles with a ruler?” His dark eyes glowed with mischief.

      “That could have something to do with my working in elementary education. It’s my job to keep children under control.”

      His eyebrows rose. “I’m sensing some disapproval.”

      “No. Not judging, just observing,” she protested. “And it didn’t escape my notice that you have danced with many women here at the reception.”

      “I didn’t want anyone to feel left out.” His roguish expression intensified.

      “So you were being unselfish? It wasn’t a screening process to find someone for the evening?”

      That surprised him. “I’m sorry, what?”

      “It’s a well-known fact that at weddings there’s that one groomsman who is looking for a hookup—”

      “I’m cutting in.” Hunter tapped his brother on the shoulder with a little more enthusiasm than seemed necessary.

      Wilder looked the tiniest bit relieved when he let her go to his brother. “I hope you can handle her better than me, big brother.”

      Hunter stared at his brother’s back as he weaved his way through the dancers on the way to the bar. “What does that mean?”

      “I don’t think he’s used to being challenged. My guess is that women line up around the block or pick a number if there’s a chance to get his attention.”

      Hunter’s eyes glittered with intensity as he took her hand in his and slid his arm around her waist, leading her into a waltz. “Did he come on to you?”

      “No. He was flirty, that’s all. I think the behavior is hardwired into him.” The youngest Crawford was very handsome, and clearly he liked women. But she wasn’t the least bit tempted by him. On the other hand, the man holding her was temptation with a capital T. “I accused him of being that guy trolling for a woman.”

      He stopped moving for a moment and met her gaze. “So you called him on his crap.”

      “I just made an observation. And explained that every wedding has at least one groomsman who makes it his mission to sleep with a bridesmaid or one of the guests.”

      “You don’t pull any punches. No wonder he headed for the bar.” Hunter’s mouth curved up at the corners. “So, he wasn’t too forward?”

      “I was the forward one and probably shouldn’t have said anything. I think I shocked him. He was a perfect gentleman.” She glanced around and spotted Wren dancing with her grandfather. Then she stumbled and stepped on Hunter’s foot, the unfortunate consequence of wearing shoes that were too big. “Sorry.”

      “No problem. And I’m glad he behaved himself.”

      “I’ve noticed that between Wilder and your father, single women of all ages are receiving a lot of attention tonight.” She smiled up at him. “You’re going to have to step up your game big-time to keep pace with the Crawford bachelors.”

      That remark could go either way but her responsibilities were nearly over. So she didn’t really have much to lose.

      Unexpectedly, Hunter smiled and his somber seriousness fell away as if a magic spell had transformed the beast back into a handsome prince. And handsome was the operative word. She’d seen him in jeans, boots, Stetson—and the cowboy look made her female parts tingle. But there was something indescribable and luscious about a man in a tuxedo.

      Especially a man like this one. The black jacket, pants and bow tie made him look dashing, but the way the starched white shirt contrasted with his tanned skin took her breath away. He was absolutely irresistible and the realization made her trip again and nearly lose a shoe.

      “Sorry,” she muttered.

      “I hardly noticed what with my curiosity about being designated an endangered species. One of the last three Crawford bachelors.” Then his smile faded. “Although it’s hard to think of my dad like that since he was married. And divorced.”

      “Everyone in town is talking about him paying Vivienne Dalton to find wives for his sons. Is that rumor true?” Merry asked.

      “Yes.”

      When he settled their joined hands on his chest, she forgot to clench her toes to keep her shoes on and walked right out of one. She would have toppled over without his arms around her.

      She sighed. “I have a confession.”

      “Those are not words any man wants to hear.”

      “Well, it’s not something I’m particularly thrilled to tell you, but it’s better than leaving you with the impression that I’m a hopeless klutz.” She held on to his arm while sliding her shoe back on. “I borrowed this outfit from a friend. The shoes match but her feet are bigger than mine. I have to admit when I came to interview for this job I wasn’t expecting to dance.”

      He looked relieved. “Is that all.”

      Speaking of which, she gazed past him and found his daughter hanging with her uncle Logan, aunt Sarah and their baby daughter, Sophia. Wren seemed in awe of the baby.

      Merry was about to go back to her table but another slow song started and Hunter put his strong arms around her again. He was barely moving his feet, allowing her to barely move hers. That kept her shoes firmly in place.

      “Problem solved,” he said against her hair.

      Merry’s mouth went dry. Their bodies were touching now from chest to knee because he was holding her more securely. But that was about shoe integrity, not because he was enjoying the closeness as much as she was.

      “So,” she said, feeling an overwhelming need to break the charged silence. “About your father. Max doesn’t look a lot like Cupid, but what he’s doing, I mean trying to fix you all up, is actually very sweet.”