As I danced with TJ, Ford stared at me in a way that brought heat to my cheeks. Angry, lustful, possessive. I forced myself to look away and back to TJ's face, letting the hand I'd rested on his shoulder drift to the back of his neck.
“You havin' a good summer, Miss Emma?” TJ asked.
“Fair enough,” I replied with a smile. I couldn't help liking TJ. Probably nobody could. He had a gentlemanly way about him, just rough enough around the edges to be even more charming. And his looks didn't hurt—he had a body like a Western romance novel cover.
“Well, if there's anything I can do for you, just give me a holler. Like a ride into town … on a horse or in a truck, whichever you like better.” He flashed a crooked grin.
I laughed. Mac would have said something like, “a private tour of the bunkhouse.”
“Hang on, you got a little somethin' there.” He brushed a stray lock of hair off my face.
Behind TJ's head, Russ cornered Ford at his Emma-watching post by the edge of the tent. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but Ford looked more irritated with every second. At least he had finally taken a break from ripping off my dress with his eyes. Relieved and oddly disappointed, I tried to focus on dancing with TJ again.
But even a tongue-lashing from his father—now my stepfather, too, I reminded myself—didn't stop Ford for long. As soon as Russ headed off in Mom's direction, Ford strode over the dance floor, coming closer until neither of us could ignore him.
He and TJ exchanged a long glance. Communicating what, I wasn't exactly sure, but the tension in the atmosphere was unmistakable. Just as I thought TJ had landed in deep shit, Ford turned his full attention to me. “I believe you promised me a dance, Emma.”
I didn't promise you a damn thing, I was tempted to say. But I didn't want to pitch a fit in the middle of Mom's reception. I glanced at TJ to gauge his feelings and saw him already on the edge of backing off. And I had to admit, the idea of getting close to Ford wasn't unappealing. Oh, what the hell—one dance can't hurt anything. I nodded at Ford.
With a quick farewell, my dance partner bailed. TJ was far from stupid; he knew not to waste any time standing between Ford and something he wanted. I felt suddenly paranoid. How much did the ranch hand know? Maybe he thought Ford was just being overprotective of his new stepsister. There was no way I could dig for information without making him suspicious. And if he did think there was something going on between us … would he keep his mouth shut, since Ford was his boss, or was there a possibility of this getting back to our parents?
But before I could wonder too much, Ford practically yanked me into his arms. I stiffened against him, startled and way too aware of the body beneath that tux. After avoiding him for so long, his close proximity now gave me a head-rush, much more potent and dangerous than my champagne buzz.
He bent his head. I shivered at his breath tickling my ear. “Just because they didn't do a bridesmaid-groomsmen dance,” he said slowly, “did you think you'd get through tonight without me having you in my arms?”
“Why are you doing this?” I hissed. It came out much breathier than I had intended. “What if someone—”
“There’s absolutely nothing improper about me dancing with my new stepsister. It’d be strange if I didn’t.”
Was I imagining the grin in his voice? Smug bastard. Maybe a brother-sister dance wasn't inherently weird, but he held me way too close, with his hand not even an inch above my ass. We were damn near grinding together. My face heated when he hardened against my belly.
“Don’t call me your stepsister if you’re going to rub this against me,” I retorted, nudging my hip into his crotch for emphasis.
Ford's gaze didn't waver. “I can’t help what you do to me.”
The note of sincerity in his voice gave me pause. I had meant to embarrass him, but he wasn't even trying to conceal how much he wanted me right now. He was completely unashamed of himself—his body, his desires. The realization filled me with equal parts envy and shock.
But I was even more shocked at myself when I pressed closer. And dear God, the bulge in his pants felt huge.
Ford's voice turned even huskier, almost a growl: “You shouldn’t do that unless you’re prepared to deal with the consequences.”
A thrill went down my spine. I did this to him. And he did it to me—the hot pull in my belly was like a magnet. We had drawn each other in and now he was here, ready to claim me as soon as I said the word. I felt a strange, electric juxtaposition of power and vulnerability.
Before my better judgment could slap me down, I replied, “I think I can handle any consequences you can dream up.”