The Sextet - Dirty Dancing [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by The Sextet Page B

at least ten times during the first song. He hadn’t been kidding about wanting Geneva to be their girl, but was wholly unprepared for what she’d told them about The Loser—and everything else she’d been through. So much loss… It was a wonder she could still function. All the teasing they’d done… First about being a bloody Yank, and then about her boyfriend.
    Her granddad had been a fixture in his own life ever since Rhys had first set foot in the pub, and he missed the old man. The heart attack that killed him had taken everyone by surprise. The best anyone could tell, George had never been sick a day in his life. When they found out he’d left the pub to his American granddaughter, the regulars figured she’d sell it, but Rhys had been hopeful. He’d fallen for Geneva on sight—something that had happened very seldom in his thirty-two years.
    He stole another glance at her. Not many women could understand the relationship he and the guys had, but Geneva was different. He was finally beginning to understand why.
    She had such a warm heart—she’d even felt something for the little chickie who’d asked for a dance—and there was passion there. He’d seen the fire in her expressive eyes many times. It was deep-seated and strong…just waiting to be explored.
    After a bit, he realized he wasn’t simply glancing at her anymore, and he wasn’t singing to the crowd. He was singing to her. All the love songs, hurting songs, and songs filled with yearning. He wasn’t teasing her anymore, wasn’t flirting… No, he was pleading with her.
    Finally tearing his eyes away from her, he focused them on the dancers in front of the stage—the wild gyrations and tossing hair, the sparkle of jewelry, the gleam of eyes. He wanted to be out there with Geneva. Words wouldn’t do anymore. Actions were required.
    The set ended, and Rhys leaned into the microphone. “The bar will be closed for a little while.” Waving down the protests from the crowd, he added, “For anything fancy, that is. You see, the regular bartender will be… busy. ”
    A few people nodded with knowing grins, some seemed mystified, while still others voiced their approval.
    Geneva apparently belonged to the ranks of the mystified. Even as Rhys put down his guitar and motioned to the guys to follow him, her eyes changed—those glorious jade-green eyes that went so well with her softly curling auburn hair—as she realized his intent. God, but she was beautiful. Just looking at her made him long to write lyrics, to bare his soul and hand it to her on a platter. He’d allowed himself one song, one that he’d put heart and soul into, but he’d yet to sing it for her. He would do it someday…when the time was right.
    Pulling Brayden to his side, he whispered instructions and then strode across the ancient wooden floor and hopped over the bar. Geneva took a step back but didn’t flinch, nor did she protest when he swung her up in his arms. The times he’d dreamed of holding her were no match for the reality, but it was short-lived as he passed her over the bar to Sean.
    Brayden had followed his directions well, and Helen slipped behind the bar, a sly smile touching her lips.
    Rhys slid back over the bar and met Sean on the dance floor. Nigel had found the right song on the jukebox, and the babble of voices hushed as the intro began and then Paul McCartney sang “And I Love Her.”
    Sean set her on her feet, and Rhys moved in behind her as Nigel and Brayden approached. Rhys buried his face in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent as he wound his arms around her waist and pulled her up snuggly against his groin, his erection nestled in the cleft of her luscious bottom. It was all he could do to keep from pulling up her skirt and plunging into her, but this was a seduction, not an assault. As he sang the lyrics that Lennon and McCartney had written long before he was born, Sean and Nigel joined in, their voices blending in a harmony that never