“Since we have a minute, I figured I should tell you Parker just made that move earlier because she was mad at me.”

Mal smiled easily at Del. “Okay. Maybe you could piss her off again.”

“Ha. See, I didn’t tell her I’d called you, and she got the wrong idea.”

At ease, Mal kicked back and looped an arm over the back of his chair. “Yeah? What idea’s that?”

“That I was setting the two of you up.”

“Does your sister have trouble getting dates?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”

The band started up as their drinks arrived—and the women came right behind them. “Dance! Come on, Jack.” Emma grabbed his hand, tugged.

“There’s beer.”

“Dance, then beer.”

“A plan.” Del got up and claimed Laurel. “It’s been a while for you and me.”

“So, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Okay, Carter.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he reminded Mac.

“You’ll have to dance at the wedding, so it’s time to practice.”

“Oh well.”

Mal gave it a moment, then stood and held out a hand to Parker.

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“You can dance, can’t you?”

“Of course, I can dance, but—”

“Not afraid to dance with me, are you?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Obviously annoyed, she rose. “This isn’t a date, and I’ll apologize for before, but I was—”

“Pissed at Del. I get it. So, we’ll have a drink, we’ll dance. No big deal.”

The music was hot and fast, but he gave her an unexpected little spin, then twirled her in close. And began to move.

He had the beat, and still it took her a minute to match his steps and rhythm. She had to admit, he’d thrown her off guard again.

“Somebody’s had lessons,” she said.

“No, somebody just figured out dancing’s a solid way to pick up women.” He spun her out again, then in so their bodies meshed. “And jobs. Fight scenes are choreography. I did a lot of stunt work in fight scenes.”

“Jobs and women.”

“Yeah. Life’s better with both.”

Nearby, Laurel snapped her fingers in front of Del’s face. “Stop. You’re staring at them.”

“I was just ... checking.”

“Look at me.” She forked her fingers in front of her eyes, then pointed them at his.

He took her by the hips to tug her closer. “You were too far away.”

“Okay.” She linked her hands behind his neck, and used her hips. “How’s that?”

“A lot better.” His mouth found hers. “Better yet, even though it’s killing me.”

“You can take it.” She ran her teeth over his bottom lip. “Or me.”

“Definitely killing me. Come on, let’s sit down.”

She thought about the last time she and her three friends had gone to a club. Just the four of them, she recalled, to a trendy place in the city. All of them unattached, and just out for an evening of dancing. A lot could change in a few months, she mused.

Now there were eight of them squeezed together, yelling at one another over the music. Every now and again, Del would brush a hand over her hair, or down her back. He couldn’t know, couldn’t possibly know what that absent touch did inside her body.

It made her want to curl up and purr—or drag him out to the van where they could be alone. It was pitiful how much she yearned, how much he could do to her with so little.

If he had any idea how desperately in love with him she was ... He’d be kind, she thought. And that would destroy her.

Better, much better they take it slow and easy, just as he’d said at the beginning. Maybe some of these feelings would settle. Maybe they’d be able to meet somewhere in the middle so she wouldn’t feel so outweighed by her own heart.

He glanced her way and smiled, and that heart stuttered.

So much could change, she thought. And yet, if she counted the longing, so much could stay the same.

Just after midnight they piled back into the van with Carter behind the wheel. She listened to the muted voices around her, the winding down of the day. But there was still a moon, still stars, still a long night ahead.

“I’ve got a client dinner tomorrow,” Del told her, “then poker night. Why don’t you think about what you’d like to do, where you’d like to go when we go out next time.”

“Sure.”

“You could miss me in the meantime.”

“I might.”

As Carter turned toward his house, Del tipped her face up for a kiss. “Why don’t you make a point of it?”

He shifted to get out, nudged Parker on the shoulder. “You’re not still mad.”

She gave him a long look. “I’m only not still mad because we won the ball game and he’s a good dancer. Try that again, and I’ll make you hurt.”

“You had fun.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the lift. See you all later. You men, sooner. Poker night.”

He stepped out, gave a wave, then headed up the walk to his door.

Laurel argued with herself for nearly a quarter mile.

“Stop! Stop! Pull over.”

“Oh, honey, are you sick?” Emma straightened in her seat, swiveled around.

“No, no, just ...This is stupid. It’s all just stupid.” She wrenched the door open. “Screw the bet. I’m going to Del’s. Go home.”

She ignored the cheers and slammed the door.

“Wait.” Carter stuck his head out. “I’ll drive you back. Just—”

“No.Thanks. Go.”

And turning, she began to run.

CHAPTER TEN

AS HE TOSSED HIS KEYS IN THE LITTLE BOWL ON HIS DRESSER, plugged his cell phone into its charger, Del considered a quick swim before he turned in. Something physical, he thought, to take the edge off the sexual frustration and help him sleep. He pulled off his shirt, his shoes, and headed down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

It was the right thing to do, this waiting. Laurel held too important a place in his life—played too intricate a part—to rush this change between them.