Dating the Enemy. Amber Page

looked up … and up … and up.

      Towering above her was an escapee from a fashion magazine. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, with shoulders that seemed to stretch from one end of the room to the other. She smiled. Perhaps her night wouldn’t be quite so lonely after all.

      “Well, it is turning out to be a more satisfying wedding date than I expected,” she said. “Good looks. Good taste. No bad dance moves.”

      He laughed again, and the sound reverberated in her bones.

      “And to think, I was just about to ask you to dance,” he said. “But something tells me I won’t measure up to your bubbly friend, there.”

      For the first time Jessie let herself hear the music. It was slow and sexy, sung by a man who obviously knew how to get a lady out of her clothes.

      She quickly downed the last of her champagne and smiled up at her companion. “Well, would you look at that? It seems he’s disappeared. Perhaps you could show me your moves before he comes back? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

      “I’d be happy to,” the stranger said, and offered her his arm.

      She took it and he swept her out on to the dance floor, smoothly turning her until they faced each other, with one hand nestled in the small of her back.

      Jessie’s breath hitched as they started to move. This man could dance. He took control, gracefully leading her where he wanted to go, his body hovering just centimeters from hers. Jessie gave herself up to his rhythm, barely managing to keep herself from melting into a puddle of goo in his arms.

      “My name’s Nick, by the way,” he said, looking down at her through his lashes.

      Jessie was so lost in the hypnotic sway of his body that it took a moment to sink in. When it did, she laughed softly. “I’m Jessie,” she said. “And I hope you’ll excuse my incoherence. I’m afraid I’m not used to dancing with partners of your caliber.”

      He grinned. “My father will be glad that the many months of dance lessons he forced me to take have paid off.”

      “Your dad made you take dance lessons?”

      “Yeah. Well, just those of the ballroom kind. We’re forced to attend an exhausting number of balls and galas and that kind of thing. It’s either dance or die of boredom.”

      Jessie blinked. “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a ball. Are you part of one of those super-rich hotel families or something?”

      He grimaced. “Nothing that glamorous. Just your average wealthy New York business clan.”

      Jessie rolled her eyes. “Oh. Right. Because those are a dime a dozen.”

      He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just glad I can give your champagne a run for its money.”

      “Yep. You win.”

      “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he said as he sent her out into a dress-twirling spin. He brought her back in a low dip and, when his face was just inches above hers, whispered, “I have all sorts of mind-boggling moves.”

      Jessie was still trying to decide how to answer that when the first chords of the “Chicken Dance” began to play. The horrified look of confusion on his face made her laugh out loud.

      “What? You don’t dance the ‘Chicken Dance’ at your fancy-pants balls?”

      “No. Never.”

      “Well, let me up and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

      Nick couldn’t help but laugh as the sexy redhead who’d seemed so classy a moment ago began flapping her arms and shimmying downward. When she clucked like a chicken, he gave in to a belly laugh that shook his whole body.

      “Come on,” she said. “This is no time to be shy. Let your inner chicken loose!”

      He considered refusing, but when he looked around the dance floor and realized that everyone was getting into the action he thought better of it.

      Seconds later he was shaking his butt and flapping his arms. This was fun. Perhaps he should recommend they include it at the next charity gala. It would certainly be amusing to see his father attempting to bawk like a chicken.

      Jessie deliberately bumped his butt with her own deliciously round derrière as she swooped down into another shimmy. He bumped her back, and before long their chicken dance had devolved into a butt-bumping contest.

      He drove her further and further off the dance floor with every turn, until finally they bumped into a table. She collapsed into a convenient chair, laughing hysterically.

      He sat down beside her, giving in to his own fit of laughter. Every time he thought he might be able to stop he looked at her and collapsed into another laughing spree.

      Finally, they were both able to catch their breath. Jessie looked at him with sparkling eyes, her pale cheeks pink with laughter. Seeing the way the fiery tendrils that had escaped from her elegant chignon brought her face to life, he couldn’t resist the urge to send more tumbling down.

      He quickly picked the bobby pins out of her hair, disintegrating the up-do.

      “Hey,” she said, frowning up at him. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

      “I know,” he said, trying to put an apology in his smile, “but I wanted to see the real you. I’ll bet you don’t wear your hair up very often.”

      “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to bring order to the wild mane. “I can be the quintessential businesswoman when I need to be.”

      “And why would you need to do that? I had you pegged as a creative type.”

      “I am. But I happen to own my own digital advertising agency. A certain amount of seriousness is required at times.”

      He sat back, trying not to let her see how much she impressed him. She was certifiably hot. Incredibly funny. And an entrepreneur to boot. Man. She might just be his perfect woman.

      “Hmm. I might be in need of a digital agency soon. Can I have your card?”

      “I’m not in the mood to talk business tonight, but I would like to see more of you.” She raked her eyes up and down his body in an unmistakably sensuous manner. “How about I give you my room key instead?”

      Every single cell in his body cried Hell, yes, but before he could answer the bride swooped down on them.

      “Jessie!” she called. “Your services as maid of honor are needed!”

      Jessie’s face collapsed in disappointment for a split second, but quickly rearranged itself into a smile.

      “What? I held your bouquet. Wiped the ring-bearer’s spit-up from your gown. Gave a splendid toast. My job here is done!”

      Becky pulled on her arm, forcing her up from the chair.

      “Nuh-uh. I am about to throw my bouquet. And you, my friend, are going to be in the front row.”

      “What? No way. I’m busy here.”

      “Yes, way. I’m sure Nick won’t mind. You wouldn’t want her to shirk her duties … or miss her chance to catch the bouquet, would you?” she asked, giving him a pointed look.

      “I don’t much care about the bouquet, but I’ll let you steal her if you promise to give me her number later,” he said.

      “You got it. And I won’t even make you promise to marry her.”

      “Good. I’m not the marrying kind.”

      “Neither am I,” said Jessie.

      Becky looked at them, a knowing expression on her face. “That’s what they all say.”

      “Cut