Where There's Smoke by M. J. Fredrick

she guided the coat back into place. She looked at him but he didn't move his hand away, rested it just above her breast. The heat rolled off her skin. Her expression softened and her hand relaxed.
    "I'm all right. H-he just caught me by surprise. Thanks for worrying about me."
    Her voice had dropped, soft and low, and curled through his blood, which traveled south in response. He took a step closer, trailing his fingers up the collar of the jacket to her throat. Her lips parted in surprise, in unquestioning invitation, his own tingled in anticipation.
    "Seth! The toast!” His baby sister Lisette appeared behind him.
    He wished he had controlled his reaction; that he hadn't jumped away from Lauren; that she hadn't gone red at the interruption. Lisette no doubt suspected something. Seth turned around.
    "Ed was outside."
    Understanding relaxed Lisette's impatient expression. “Are you okay?” she asked Lauren, moving closer to rest a comforting hand on her arm.
    "Peachy,” Lauren replied in a husky voice he'd never heard her use before. Lisette would think it was because of Ed. Seth knew better.
    How could Lauren sit beside him? The way he looked at her, his eyes dark and ... wanting. How could she get through dinner with the way that look made her feel?
    She managed somehow, though she didn't taste anything, only the champagne she sipped again and again in endless toasts.
    And then the band called the wedding party to dance.
    Okay, this was a test. Lauren took Seth's hand, but refused to look in those eyes that had every woman puddling at his feet. He drew her close, circled his arms about her waist, anchoring her to him. She clutched his sleeves for balance, released them almost immediately when the muscles beneath his tux registered. Of course he had muscles, he was a studpuppy fireman.
    She couldn't think of that. So instead of touching his arms, she linked her hands behind his neck. Whoa. He wasn't much taller than she was in her heels, but her reach brought their bodies dangerously close. She felt the dampness of his skin at the back of his neck, smelled the expensive cologne laying lightly over his own male scent. His breath stirred a tendril of hair against her cheek.
    She looked up, determined to be unaffected, and her breasts brushed his chest. A jolt went through her, and she saw the echoing flash in his eyes, which then darkened. He slid his hands to her hips and for an awful moment she thought he would push her away.
    Seth flexed his fingers in the soft flesh of Lauren's hips as he fought the urge to slide his hands to her bottom to drag her against him. She was ... disturbed, he could tell, her breath came in little pants. And she looked everywhere but at him.
    What the hell was this? He could have—had had—any woman he wanted, but he was in heaven because Lauren Stokes was in his arms. He pulled her marginally closer and realized their feet were barely moving. He lowered his head to say something just as she raised her face and his lips brushed her cheek. She sucked in her breath and froze.
    The song ended and an upbeat cumbia started. Wedding guests surged to their feet and swarmed about them, but Seth and Lauren stood rooted to the spot, breathing as if they'd danced ten cumbias. Seth lifted a hand to her cheek and she turned toward his touch, lips parted.
    "Kiss her or dance!” Oscar shouted as he and Sandra danced past.
    Seth looked at Lauren, slightly flushed, and she reached for his hand. He pressed his other hand to the small of her back and danced backwards, bringing her with him.
    They'd danced this dance a hundred times, but never with this intensity. Neither smiled, not did they look away from each other. His hips cradled hers, and she had to feel his arousal, but she didn't pull away. He saw awareness in her eyes, and something else. Pleasure?
    Damn, one of them had to have some sense here. With a flick of his wrist he spun her around and pulled her back against his body, splaying his hand over