“You planning on drinking tonight?”
“I wanted to, but I don’t have to, Sam, not if it’s an inconvenience.”
“Where’s the campground?”
She told him, watching his face closely. She should have known it wouldn’t do much good. Sam’s face didn’t give much away.
“Satine, that isn’t a campground. It’s a fishing spot. Denver showed it to me a year ago. No one goes out there.”
“Exactly. It’s a gorgeous spot when the sun comes up. It has a picnic table and firepit and we’ll be on our own, no one around to bother us.”
He held out his hand. “The four of you? Where are the other two?”
She dropped the keys to her rig into his palm. “Working. They’ll meet us there in the morning. Thanks, Sam.”
“No problem.”
She slid off the barstool and then stopped and turned back, although she didn’t know why. She shouldn’t have. “Are you going to dance with me tonight?”
Again, his dark gaze drifted over her. This time, she could have sworn there was a hint of possession in his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the light. A frisson of awareness slid down her spine as if every nerve ending suddenly woke up and went on high alert. Her heart accelerated and she just managed to stop herself from pressing her palm over her chest.
She had never asked him to dance before. Never. He’d already called her on acting out of character. This was really out of character. She wasn’t certain why she wanted to see his reaction. He hadn’t made a fuss over the campsite except for one comment, and now he was looking at her with exactly the same expression on his face, except … different.
“Don’t I always dance with you?”
He did. One dance. It wasn’t what she was asking for, was it? She didn’t know. She nodded, suddenly confused. Upset all over again by the nightmares. By the fact that she was so certain a serial killer was creeping close to her friends— Sam included. By her suddenly mixed-up feelings.
Sam reached out to run his palm very gently over her hair. Barely there. A whisper of a touch, yet she felt it like a sword of pure heat piercing her skull and rushing over her to sweep through her body, growing hotter the lower the ball of raging need went. Finally it settled, low and wicked, a seething pool of hunger and passion in her very core, her sex clenching and aching for him. She touched the tip of her tongue to her lip and stepped back, shocked at her reaction to him. What. The. Hell. She hadn’t drunk anything, so no one put anything in her drink. She’d just reacted like that to his touch.
Stella hoped he couldn’t actually read her mind, as she sometimes suspected he could, because right now it was pure chaos and lust. She turned and hurried over to the table where her friends were already ahead of her, their drinks waiting, chips and salsa on the table. They had her drink waiting as well. Bruce and Denver spun around in their seats in order to join the conversation.
Stella’s drink of choice, like the other women, was a Moscow Mule. The chips were homemade, as was the salsa. That was part of the charm of the Grill. Usually the band was good, at least to dance to. They were so far off the beaten path, it wasn’t like they got amazing bands vying to come play, but they did get decent ones. There were several good musicians in town playing together, and the locals, Stella included, enjoyed dancing to their music.
“Harlow made some beautiful pottery,” Raine was saying as Stella took a seat next to her. “We went over to Judy and Tom’s before I left on my last trip and she showed us how to do throw vases. Harlow has such patience for detail. Every single one of her pieces is so beautiful.”
Stella knew that was the truth. Harlow could easily sell her work, and sometimes did in Tom and Judy’s shop in town. Raine favored smaller, more classic pieces, little bowls or mugs she wanted to perfect that she used in her home or gave to her friends. She never considered selling her pieces, but she did like to give them as gifts at times.
She especially loved animals and would attempt, when making the “perfect” coffee or soup mug for a friend, to include their dog or cat on the pottery piece. Unfortunately, she was very exacting and hard on herself, so she often started a piece multiple times before she was satisfied enough to pass it on.
“What did she make this time?” Shabina asked.
“Glazed vases, but they were stunning, all depicting various places around the lake as the sun was rising. You know how good she is with a camera. She’s been collecting pictures of the sunrise for the last few years from various locations around the lake, and she chose the ones she wanted to put on pottery,” Raine said. Her voice was filled with admiration.