The way he says that—a soft Georgia lilt returning to his voice once more—makes my skin tingle. Yes, he could definitely strip down for me in private sometime.
But just so I don’t melt into a puddle on the dance floor, I turn up the tease. “But maybe I want you to do the polka.”
On cue, he steps to the left.
I step to the right a half-second later, and we both do a hop. A few more impromptu polka steps and I’m laughing too hard to continue. “I’ll admit, I did not expect you to know such an old-fashioned dance.”
“You underestimate me, Katie. Go ahead, try another,” he challenges. “Dance-stump me.”
I can play this game. “Fox trot.”
Harlan steps forward; I step back. I’m breathless with laughter again.
“My turn now?” he asks, all rumbly sexy.
“I did get two requests. Seems only fair to give you one.”
“Then we need to tango.” Harlan hauls me in close and with my hand in his, thrusts our arms out to the side.
No wonder this is the sexiest dance ever. You have to press your chest up against a hot man. Let’s tango all night long.
We dance deliciously close for a minute on the edge of the dance floor. I like the feel of his firm body very much. “All right. I’ll bite. Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“Chippendales,” he says as we settle into a casual slow dance sway.
“You moonlight at a dance club? Is that after your football games?”
He winks. “Course it is.”
“Ha. Somehow, I doubt it,” I say. “Even with your smooth moves.”
Harlan smiles, runs a finger down my nose. “I’m from Georgia. A cotillion is mandatory.”
“Aha. The Southern charm explained,” I say, moving under the twinkling lights as the DJ crossfades into “Never Tear Us Apart.”
“I dip into the accent now and again for fun. I’ve been on the West Coast for many years, but I ham it up with the guys and lay it on thick at practice, so they can all bust my chops about my supposed Southern drawl.”
I flash a grin. “Better watch out or you might lose the chance to dip into the sound for…fun all together.”
He feigns shock. “Whatever will I do without my Atlanta charm?”
I shrug helplessly. “You’ll just have to switch to San Francisco charm. Speaking of, how long have you lived here? You’ve been with the team for six years.”
He arches a brow, impressed or perhaps appreciative that I know that about him. “I have indeed. Before then I went to college in Washington.”
“A Husky?”
“Go dawgs,” he says.
“So, you’ve been out of the South and accent-free for quite some time now.”
“I have—ten years, to be precise—but when I’m with my sisters and Mom I sound all peachy again,” he says.
“And I probably sound like a . . . bluebonnet,” I say, sliding into the accent I lost long ago.
Harlan blinks, pulls back. “Whoa. I’d never have known you were from the Lone Star State.”
“Born and raised, but truth be told, we moved to California when I started high school. Though, you can never entirely take the Texas out of the girl.”
“And who’d want to? Your personality is as big as that state,” he says.
“You have a line for everything, don’t you?”
“Hey, now. Who said it was a line, sweetheart? I like your sass, and I like talking to you.”
He’s too much, but I’m completely taken by that, especially when my last three dates were so very, very lacking in . . . everything that Harlan has. The most recent guy explained, in depth, the ins and outs of his job manufacturing windows. The man before that waxed on about his favorite episodes of Barney Miller, and his predecessor debated the whole time whether his ex-girlfriend was a bitch, a big bitch, or the biggest bitch.
So, over-the-top or not, Harlan is galaxies better. “Fine, fine.” I fake a grudging admission. “I don’t mind chatting with you either.”
“Good. Now here’s something I want to know.” He curls his hands tighter around my hips, a move that sends a zing through me. “Hypothetical situation. You walk into a trendy ice cream shop. You have to pick one of two flavors based only on the name. Are you getting a pint of Swoon or Sexual Tension Swirl?”
A laugh bursts from me as I rest my palms on his big shoulders. “That’s easy. I’ll get a double scoop, one of each.”
With dark eyes that glimmer with heat, he gives me an approving nod. “A woman after my own heart.”
“Oh. Your heart thinks a lot about ice cream?”
Letting go of my hips, Harlan spins me in a dizzying circle, then yanks me close against his big wall of a chest. “It thinks a lot about a lot of things.”
He slides a hand up my back, and I can’t even fashion a comeback. That strong hand feels so good.
And it hasn’t just been a while since I’ve had a good date. It’s been a while since . . . well, a lot of things.
I generally try not to think with my libido, but my libido is pounding its fists and pitching a fit, wanting to take the wheel. When his fingertips coast across a sliver of bare skin near my spine, I shiver, and a breathless, wordless whisper stutters over my lips.
He’s quiet for perhaps the first time. A few seconds later, he lowers his voice to a husky murmur. “And what does your heart dwell on, Katie?”
I try to think beyond the pleasure racing over my skin. “Dancing,” I answer low as I brush my fingers over his shoulders, indulging myself in touching him, just like he’s doing with me. “I believe in fashion, friends, family, and . . . flirting.”
His eyes never stray from mine, and they’re full of daring. “Tonight, you shall have that last one till your cup runneth over.”
That sounds like a pretty good deal.
What’s not good is that it’s past nine and I’ll have to take off at ten-thirty. I can’t change the countdown, so I vow to make the most of dancing and flirting with this man.
We stay on the floor for another few songs, talking and flirting, then he hooks his thumb toward the bar. “Glass of champagne to quench your thirst?”
“I’m in.”
We make our way to the bar, passing a terrace overlooking the sea. Everything from the sparkling lights to the swoony music to the ocean waves crashing in the distance makes this night feel like it could go on forever.
But it can’t.
4
Harlan
With champagne flutes in hand, we head to the balcony—alone. It’s deserted out here, and I’m over the moon because I’m eager to gobble up more time with her then find the perfect moment for a kiss.
After that, I’m hoping we can kick it up more than a few notches at my place or hers. I’ve got a feeling Katie is game for that too.
I clink my glass to hers. “To weddings.”
“To wedding kisses,” she adds.
Yup. Perfect night.
I take a drink and she does too. We set our glasses on the terrace wall at the same moment, then she puts her pink purse next to them.