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sleeve hikes up, revealing a gold Rolex. “Aren’t you?”
    He’s testing me. “Actually,” I say, “I’m quite flexible.”
    “I noticed.” His gaze drifts over me, and his fingers tickle the top of my hand.
    Oh. My. God.
Did he watch me dance tonight? He’s flirting and there’s nothing subtle about it. I’m glad I’m wearing a padded bra; my nipples are raging hard. I inch away, wishing there were somewhere to hide, but my side hits the wall, reminding me how trapped I really am.
    “Am I making you uncomfortable, Ms. Taylor?”
    “No,” I lie.
Oh yeah,
uncomfortable on so many levels.
    “I just want to talk with you.”
    Then talk, Ivy Leaguer, don’t touch.
“If this is about that safety protocol crap, save your breath. Three points of contact onstage? We’re lucky if we maintain two, the way we have to beat customers off us.”
    We trade looks. His eyes have suddenly lost their luster. “There’s absolutely no touching allowed.” His shoulders go rigid. He drifts toward me again, his left hand sliding across the table. “If anyone violates that rule,
find me.
” Then his boyish grin returns. “Paris?” He changes the subject.
    “Six weeks—wishing it were eight.”
    “First time?”
    “No,” I say, proud of my travel portfolio. “Third trip in five years. I spent three months in Greece last year.”
    “Do you have family or friends abroad?”
    “Friends.”
    “Is your family in Texas?”
    Yeah,
I think,
six feet under.
“My father died a few years ago. There’s no one left.” Another awkward moment of silence, but I recover quickly. “And you? Texas bred?”
    “Born and raised.” I see the pride in his face. “My family owns a ranch outside Kingsville,” he adds. “That’s where I spend weekends.”
    So he
is
a country boy. “Sisters? Brothers?”
    “One each, Nathan and Raquel.”
    The waitress delivers our food; I’m grateful for the interruption. I gaze at my grilled chicken spinach salad, then enviously eye his rib eye and mountain of gravy-smothered mashed potatoes. “Smells yummy.”
    He cuts a piece of meat and offers it to me. “Have a taste.”
    Before I know what I’m doing, my mouth opens. He grins—sliding the fork gently between my lips. My heart beats erratically as I chew. “Habit of yours?” I ask.
    “What’s that?”
    “Hand-feeding women you just met.”
    “Not yet,” he says casually. “But it very well could be.”
    Heat floods my cheeks. I stare at my salad, vigorously mixing in the honey-mustard dressing with my fork.
    “Takes heavy cream to make butter,” he says.
    I feel his gaze on me. There’s something about this man that leaves me sputtering like a mindless girl. When I look up, his green eyes cut into me. Thank God my cellphone rings. I fish it out of my purse. Wesley? At this time of the morning? I sigh, dropping it back in its pocket.
    “Boyfriend?”
    This guy doesn’t give up. “Ex,” I clarify.
    “Need to talk about it?”
    Now he’s offering his ear? I twist around so I can get a good look at him. My shoulders drop as I let out a loud breath. “Are you really interested in my shattered love life?”
    He wipes his mouth with his napkin, returns it to his lap, then lays his fork on his plate. “You have my
full
attention.”
    Maybe talking to someone I don’t really know will be therapeutic. Or a disaster. Because there’s some kind of crazy chemistry between Joshua Camden and me. I can see it—hell, I feel it. Like little stabs with a knife all over my body. I decide to sum it up quickly. “Take my advice: don’t go on extended holiday alone if you’re in a committed relationship, especially over Christmas.” That’s all I’m going to say. If I’m not careful, this man will have me lying down on a couch somewhere, spilling like an overturned pitcher of iced tea.

Chapter 4
    After spending the weekend in Kingsville, I’m glad to be back in Corpus. I took the night off to attend a party Dave invited me to. He