Stepbrother Studs: Sean by Selena Kitt Page B

and cleared his throat. “If you’ll set a table, I’ll take care of dinner.” And then he turned on his heel and hurried from the saloon.
    Had he been aware of my arousal? Was he uncomfortable because of it? I drew a deep breath and promised myself, and him, silently, that I’d rein in my desire. My problem shouldn’t be his. He had enough on his mind.
    I dragged tables to the side and set the cleanest with a candle and cutlery from a drawer behind the bar. Then I, too, went searching in the back and found a dusty bottle of wine in the store room.
    When the table was ready, I went for my pack and did what I could with my appearance. I washed my face and body, combed my hair and twisted it high in a messy bun. I changed my shirt from a grimy tee to a pretty sleeveless cotton blouse in summery blue.
    At last, he reappeared bearing two plates. The aroma wafted—some kind of savory meat with vegetables. I raised my eyebrows.
    “It’s dried bison.” He wrinkled his nose. “Hope it’s not too chewy.”
    I laughed and poured the wine, and then settled back, one ear tuned to the darkened street outside while I shared a candlelit dinner with the one man I wanted in the whole world. While we ate, we talked about the past—about the day our parents introduced us.
    “I was such a brat,” I said, chuckling. “I took one look at you in your black leather jacket and stuck my nose in the air.”
    “You were pretty—and prissy. I felt like I had two left feet, and the more you glared, the more determined I was to make you feel every bit as uncomfortable.”
    And he had made good on that promise, stripping behind a partially closed door when I’d been heading to my room, giving me an eyeful of his youthful, but muscular body. My cheeks burned at the memory.
    “Guess I was surprised when you wrote me,” he said, taking his last bite of steak. “When I went into the Army, I mean. I thought you’d be happy to forget about me.”
    I shrugged. “When you were gone, the house went quiet.”
    “Those letters helped me stay sane, Rose—when Mom and Dad… when things…” He sighed. “I never thanked you.”
    “You didn’t have to. They meant a lot to me, too.” I wrinkled my nose. “Although I feel sorry for you now having to read my endless complaints about the mean girls at school.”
    Our smiles were kind of sad. Our eyes misty. We stayed silent for a long moment, and then he asked, “Dance with me again?”
    I should have said no. Why torture myself? And if he hadn’t already guessed how much I wanted him, I wasn’t sure I could continue to hide the fact, especially with our chests mashed together. But I drank the last of the wine in my glass and nodded.
    I blamed the liquor for the heat in my cheeks and the sway of my hips as I stood and strode toward him.
    He punched the buttons on the jukebox, and Patsy Cline’s pure, lonesome vocals filled the room. Without the awkward adjustments this time, our bodies blended together. I slowly let go of his shoulders and wrapped my arms around his middle. His thigh slipped between both of mine. With my heart pounding in my ears, I sighed and rubbed my cheek against his chest.
    “I found us a place to stay tonight,” he whispered against my hair.
    “You were awfully busy.”
    “I said I knew this place. There’s a deserted bed and breakfast down the road. There’s a nice four-poster with clean sheets. A basin filled with fresh water.”
    I lifted my head and met his gaze. Lord, was that heat in his eyes?
    Sean cupped the side of my cheek and gave me a steady, solemn look. “We’ve been dancing around this thing for a long while, Rose.”
    I took a chance that he was talking about the same thing that had been driving me crazy for so long. “I want you, Sean.”
    His eyes closed for a second, but then he gave me a bear hug, lifting me off my feet. “Thank God!”
    I laughed at his exuberance, and held out my arms like I was flying as he spun with me in his arms.
    *