One Bride for Four Ranchers

When he offers no further information about himself, I lean forward and extend my hand. “Jessa.”

His grin widens into a real smile, revealing straight, white teeth. “I’m...Xander,” he says as he takes my hand in his.

And I immediately forget the hesitation before his name.

I was right about the connection I felt with him. The touch of our hands—so not sexual—nevertheless sends a spark of heat through me. His hands are callused, but not unpleasantly so. And the sudden image of him touching my body with those rough hands makes me blush and pull back.

“Nice to meet you, Xander,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t notice my embarrassment.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He slows on the word pleasure as if tasting it.

I can’t help it, I groan. “You’re losing points for originality here. And adding a heavy dose of cheese.”

“Your beauty has overwhelmed my ability to think of original lines,” he says, laying the charm on so heavily that I laugh. He joins me.

And I find myself agreeing to let him buy me a drink.

One drink turns to two. We talk about nothing important. Almost as though we have an unvoiced agreement not to. But damn, the man can flirt. And I could stare at his blue eyes for days.

“So, are you a scientist?” Xander asks, his first real question.

I spin my wine glass gently, holding the stem between two fingers and my thumb. “I’m a writer—mostly environmental journalism.”

“Ah, here to do a story?”

I nod. I don’t tell him that there wasn’t much new at this conference to keep things interesting. Not his business. “Are you here for the seminar, too? Let me guess, scientist hiding in boots?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “But I’m no scientist. Closest I got was a minor in college.”

I snap my fingers. “Business owner then. Unless you’re one of the few writers who wander the world without a laptop attached to his hip. I’ve heard word of these writers, but never seen one firsthand.”

That sexy baritone laugh rumbles out of his lips again, making my belly tighten. How could a laugh be so damn erotic?

“You’re smart,” he says. “I like that.”

Heat crawls up my neck to settle in my cheeks. There’s no way he doesn’t notice my blush now. Who knew? A man seeing my intelligence somehow turned me on more than being called beautiful. I am such a weirdo.

“Do you know how to two-step?”

The music has been getting louder the last few minutes, and it’s gotten tougher to flirt with him over that and the low hum of

people talking. How long since he sat down? I’m not sure. But long enough that the hotel bar has filled. This would normally be the time I’d pack up and head to my room to try to finish my article in peace. I write better in public spaces. For whatever reason, I can concentrate more easily when there’s activity humming along around me. But not this much action.

“No,” I reply honestly. My dancing skills are limited to swaying to slow music and flailing around to faster music. But I don’t admit that.

He holds out a steady, callused hand to me. “As good a time to learn as any.”

“I can’t leave my laptop,” I say, but I’m not happy about it. I really would like to dance.

“I’ll take care of it.”

What am I thinking? I have a schedule to keep. But right now, I want to let this man teach me to dance. I don’t even like country music all that much, but the crinkle around Xander’s eyes when he smiles at me goes a long way toward making me reconsider.

I take his extended hand.

With his free hand, he picks up my laptop and carries it to the bar. After passing a couple of bills and the laptop to the bartender, he leads me to the dance floor.

“Step, step, back,” he says, lips pressed against my ear. Granted, that’s the only way I’d be able to hear him—the bar has been steadily filling up—but I’m choosing to believe he just wants to get closer to me.