Only a professional dancer could hope to keep up with his dips and turns.
Then she found herself being clasped as tightly to him as she had been to Hammarfield. And golfers--as well as politicians--had roving hands. The problem with Winfeld was that he was sofast, she couldn't move quickly enough to escape his roaming fingers....
Lee was glad that playing music was like breathing to him. His mind was wandering. No, damn it! It wasn't wandering. It was set on Bryn.
It was miserable to watch her with Hammarfield and with the golfer. She was dressed in a thin-strapped, black silk dress that was belted at the waist. The silk clung gracefully to her curves, and when she danced... when she moved... she was fluid and lithe and beautiful.
And as enticing as a rose in full bloom.
He shouldn't be watching her, he thought. Drumming was like breathing, but the drums wouldn't play themselves.And although he had sung this song a thousand times, at this rate...
He couldn't look away from her. And he couldn't stop his anger from rising and sky rocketing. She was laughing as she talked to the golfer. Laughing...and her eyes were sparkling with a beautiful radiance.
You don't own her, he warned himself sharply.
But he felt as if he did, in a way.Because he was completely entranced with her. She was naked magic in his arms at night, sleek and satin passion.To see another man touching her...that way....
It made him feel like being savage, all right.
His biceps strained and bulged beneath the white ruffled shirt; he sang the last words of the song, and rolled out a fading beat.
He barely heard the applause. He had been stupid to do the dinner. Nothing was going to be achieved tonight.
What had he expected?
Something...something to happen.
But nothing had.Except that his temper had been stretched to the snapping point.
"Hammarfield is interested in the pictures," Bryn said as Lee revved the engine of his car. It was late; only the cleanup crews still remained. And Lee had been distantly silent since she had met him on the stage when the band had been breaking down their equipment.
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Lee kept his eyes on the road and replied with a low grunt.
"Are you listening to me, Lee? Hammarfield asked me about the pictures."
"I heard you. What else did he ask you about?"
"What?" Bryn murmured,confused by the hostility that lay beneath the question.
He glanced her way briefly, a quick gaze of yellow fire, before turning his attention to the road once again. "I asked you what else he talked about."
Bryn shrugged, still not understanding the brooding emotion simmering within him, but findingherself on the defensive anyway. "I don't remember."
"I see. It's hard to listen very closely when you're dancing that close."
"Dancing that close!It wasn't my idea!"
"Umm.You never thought about pushing the man away, I assume."
"I did!"
"That's funny. I never found you ineffective at repulsing a man when you chose to do so.And what about that jock golfer?"
"Mike Winfeld?"
"Is that his name?"
Bryn felt her anger rise to meet his. "Look, Lee, I don't know what your problem is tonight, but I'm not going to sit here and take this from you. It was your idea to play for this dinner, and your idea that Barbara and I come along. You insisted that I might get something out of Hammarfield. You--" She bit off her words, determined not to fly into a name-calling fit. But she was furious. The night had been incredibly tense to begin with, and now he was suddenly coming down on her for things that had been his fault. "You bastard!" she grated out against her best intentions. "How do you think I felt? The man might be still holding Adam. I didn't want to be anywherenear him!"
"Hmm.And what about Winfeld?"
"Winfeld?Just drop it, Lee."
"You told me you liked golfers."
She was worn and frazzled--and not at all prepared for the conversation. Tears stung her eyes, and she determined to fight back--hurting him as she was hurt. "All right--I love golfers! It's none of your damn business. Drop it!"
"Bryn," he began, but then he muttered "Oh, hell!"
He shifted in the driver's seat, keeping his steely glare upon the highway. They would be turning off in a Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
minute. Bryn thought, arriving at his house. It seemed as if the car were filled with a static electricity. She wasn't terribly sure she wanted to go into the house with him. The rigid strain on his features, thevise grip he held on the steering wheel, the lethal tension that radiated from him, all promised an explosion waiting to happen.
"It wasn't my idea to watch the woman I'm sleeping with being petted publicly on a dance floor," he said suddenly.
"Petted!"Bryn snapped. "Damn it, Lee--"
The car veered sharply into his drive and jerked to a halt before the front door.