Dangerous Flirt(Laytons Book 2)(22)
Her palpable disappointment at not being able to find him confused her, scaring her into a moment of clarity. Something was seriously wrong. She'd had so much fun talking at dinner, she hadn't eaten much. Maybe the mixture of low blood sugar and a glass of champagne had submarined her.
Digging her short, unpolished fingernails into the palms of her hands, she fought for control. A sudden clammy sweat dampened the nape of her neck as she sought out a focal point to center herself. She picked Sandy's bright red lipstick, which stood out even in the club's dim light. With her gaze locked onto Sandy's mouth, everything stopped spinning and a heavy lethargy descended. Her eyelids drooped.
A tiny scream of panic echoed in Beth's head. She couldn't pass out in front of her colleagues.
She had to get out of here, go back to her room a few hotels down the Las Vegas strip and sleep it off before she humiliated herself in public.
This is why she hardly drank. She hated the out-of-control fuzziness of it all. But she'd only had one glass of champagne to celebrate the success of her lecture during the National Estate Attorneys Association's annual conference. Still, she felt as if she'd gulped down the whole bottle of bubbly like a sorority girl with a bottle of peach schnapps during pledge week.
She pushed herself upward into a standing position, fighting the inertia swamping her limbs. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. Beth threw her arms out in an attempt to counteract her wobbling knees and weaving upper body.
The unavoidability of her fall penetrated her hazy mind, spiking her heart rate.
She tilted toward the table littered with empty martini glasses, and before momentum swung her onto her face, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
Relief noodled her limbs and she sagged into the solid chest behind her. A familiar woodsy scent teased her senses. A quick visual sweep of the area revealed everyone's attention remained focused on Sandy, her low-cut dress and her tale of estate-planning woe.
“Thhhhh-ank you.” Beth’s thick tongue slurred out the words.
“No problem.” Her white knight turned her around. “Let's get you back to your room, lightweight.”
Her heart skipped. Just when she thought she'd been saved from disgrace, fate laughed in her face and heaped mortification upon her.
Hank. Of course, he had to have been her rescuer.
Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she tried to wriggle free. His heat seeped through the thin material of her navy-blue wrap dress. Although it was closed tight, allowing only a sliver of skin to show, Beth felt exposed and vulnerable. As she looked up into his hazel eyes, the world stopping turning. Deep worry lines carved crevices into his forehead.
“Not a good idea unless you want to fall flat on your face.” He pulled her tighter against his hard body.
Unable to stop herself, she brushed a thumb across his warm brow, and the wrinkles smoothed beneath her caress. A thrill skittered down her spine. Why did she always fight the attraction? Damned if she could remember. She wiggled closer to him, brushing against the growing bulge in his pants.
His fingers flexed against the curve of her waist. “Be careful, Beth.”
“Why? I'm careful too much.” She rubbed her hand against his hard biceps.
“But you aren't in the condition to deliver on the promises your delicious body is making to mine,” he whispered in her ear.
He was right, but the instant rejection stung nonetheless. “Oh, look who's got sh-tandards all the shudden.”
“Honey, you look near comatose. Any other time…”
His gruff voice sounded far too close to her ear, and she couldn't deny the hot surge of want, but she sure as hell didn't need his help. Determined to make it to her hotel on her own, she pushed away. The move set her off balance, and she stumbled backward. Hank yanked her upright.
“Seems you save damsels in distress even when you're out of your jurisdiction, Sheriff.” Ed Webster turned to Beth. “Are you okay?”
Hank twisted to face her senior partner, and heat climbed up Beth's cheeks as she faced the superior smirks on three of the firm's junior partners. Phil Harris, Mason Carter and Charles McMillian chuckled and sipped their bourbon.
“Nice one,” Mason said.
Phil slapped Mason on the back. “Yeah, where's your posse, Sheriff?”
“Cut it out, you two.” Concern wrinkled Ed’s brow. “Do you need some help?”
Ed was the last person Beth wanted to witness her humiliation. Well, make that second-to-last.
Hank effortlessly turned Beth toward the door, moved a hand to the small of her back and guided her forward. “See ya later, Ed.”
They wove their way through the throng of people. Hank's large hand pressed firmly against her lower back, bedeviling her nerves and making her knees quake for reasons that had nothing to do with champagne and everything to do with lust.