Harmony and High Heels (Fort Worth Wranglers 2)

Before he could say any of that, or so much as catch up to her, the team owner swooped down on him. Followed by one of the team’s biggest donors. Followed by someone from ESPN. And no matter how much he wanted to talk to Harmony about whatever was going on in her head, he was there because he had a job to do. He’d never shirked his responsibilities in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. No matter how much he wanted to play hooky with a certain gorgeous blonde.

As Barry Lamont started to pull Dalton away for a little shoptalk, Dalton reached out, grabbed onto her hand. His eyes made a plea for understanding, and she must have gotten it, because she smiled—for real this time—and nodded for him to go.

“I won’t be long,” he promised her, dropping one last, quick kiss on her lips before she could turn away. “If I haven’t told you this already tonight—”

“I know, I know. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He frowned, unsure of where all this best-behavior and tone-it-down stuff was coming from. Surely she knew how much he loved it when Five-Alarm Harm came out to play? “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he told her, dropping another kiss on her lips.

“No?” There was just a hint of a challenge in her lifted brow.

“No.” He shook his head. “I was going to tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

She laughed, and it was the first genuine emotion she’d shown all night. “That might be more believable if my identical twin wasn’t standing on the other side of the room.”

“Is she?” he asked, going for old-school corny. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Really? You hadn’t noticed your former quarterback holding court over there with his wife?”

Dalton just grinned. “Why would I waste my time looking for Heath’s ugl

y mug when I could spend my time looking at you?”

It was a corny line—totally embarrassing, really—and he waited for Harmony to call him on it. But when all she did was grin, a slight flush lighting up her cheeks, he couldn’t help bending his head and kissing her one more time. To hell with being a modern man. He wanted the whole damn place to know that Five-Alarm Harm belonged to him.

* * *

Chapter 22

* * *

Harm didn’t get Dalton. She really didn’t. While he’d spent half the night playing host at the most exclusive party of the year, he’d spent the other half at her side, introducing her to anyone and everyone who was important to the Wranglers’ organization.

While she stood at his side he kept his arm around her waist, his body pressed to hers, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. As if he wanted them to be as close as two people could get.

It would have gone a long way toward easing her mind about the two of them if he didn’t dig his fingers into her side whenever anyone talked to them, like he was warning her to keep things on a steady keel. The argument could be made that Dalton just wanted to touch her, or that he had his arm around her as a way to claim her.

It didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel like that at all, no matter how many times he complimented her that night. And he complimented her a lot—told her how beautiful she was, how much he thought the dress suited her, how much he appreciated all she was doing in her hostess duties. But somehow, it wasn’t enough. Somehow, every word he said only made her feel more like he was using his comments as positive reinforcement as opposed to them actually being genuine.

Yes, she knew she was being paranoid and was probably assigning blame to him where there was none. But if he told her that he wanted her to tone it down, she was going to lose her shit completely.

And since that was the last thing either of them needed or wanted, she figured she’d better disentangle herself from him pretty damn quickly.

Of course, she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. The second she shrugged him off, he turned to her with a frown. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She knew she didn’t sound fine, even before his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m just going to mingle.”

“We are mingling.” He stopped her with a hand around her wrist.

“Yeah, well, I need some air. Is that all right with you?”

His eyes widened at her tone—and damn it, she really had used a tone, even though she hadn’t meant to—and he dropped her hand like she had suddenly turned radioactive.

She started to apologize, but then the quick glance he darted around the room—like he wanted to make sure no one had heard her snap at him—set her off all over again. Suddenly, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to put her arm around the nearest man who wasn’t Dalton—a man who she was pretty sure was the NFL commissioner—and proposition him just to piss Dalton off. Just to show him that he couldn’t keep her tied down forever.