Then he firmly gripped her upper arms and moved her away from the twerking and to the rear of the stage. She tried to speak again but nothing came out. She had no idea what she would say anyway when he wrapped his arm around her lower waist and drew her against him, snug and tight against his chest. Her hands were trapped between her chest and his and she felt the warmth of his bare skin. She really wished he was wearing a shirt. It was too intimate, so she actually shifted her hands to his biceps and looked up at him, wondering what he was doing but too freaked out to really care.
He was a solid, manly anchor, mooring her to the floor in the midst of her crashing waves of anxiety.
“Listen to the music,” he said. “Focus on the beat.” He moved her hips slowly with his to the pounding bass of the pop song playing.
He had sharp cheekbones that she studied, mesmerized by him. His eyes were a deep rich amber, with flecks of gold around the pupils. Leighton drew a breath in through her nose and tried to relax. The sounds of the room had receded. It was the feel of his hands on her waist, the sway of their bodies together, his confident, take-charge expression that she focused on. It was clear he had seen her panic and he was helping her calm down. It struck her as unbelievably intuitive and kind. She wasn’t sure she had ever had a total stranger read her and step in immediately.
Leighton knew the song and she found her voice again, softly singing along with the lyrics to distract herself. This wasn’t a song most people would slow dance to, yet she and this man were and it felt right. Easy. Separate from the booty grinding and excited screaming behind her. She was facing him and the wall behind him, not the bar, and she felt the panic recede. She had passed the moment of danger where she might have gone into a full-blown attack.
The song wound down and she pulled back, grateful but ready to get off the stage. “Thank you for that,” she said, assuming he would know what she meant. “I’m Leighton.”
“Axl. Pleasure to meet you.” He didn’t smile. But he did release her.
Leighton shivered. Even his name was sexy. “You, too. Seriously, thank you.”
Then before she could get roped into staying on stage for another song, she got the hell out there, jumping down the two steps with a speed she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Jackson was filming.
“I better not be in that frame,” she said as she flung herself into her chair and wished like hell a glass of wine would mysteriously appear in her hand.
“Nice moves,” he commented, setting his camera down on the floor beside him. “I’ve never seen anyone slow dance to Cardi B.”
“I’m not discussing this,” she said. “Ever.”
Jackson snorted. “You know how Sadie likes to give everyone office nicknames? I think yours is about to be changed to Dancing Queen.”
Still flushed, Leighton said in pure exasperation, “Yours is going to be Dickhead.”
Given that she rarely swore or stood up for herself Jackson was so stunned he just about fell out of his chair laughing.
It actually made the corner of her mouth turn up. The stripper cop had saved her ass, but from Jackson’s perspective it must have been bizarre as hell. “I guess I can live with Dancing Queen. It’s better than my current nickname.”
“Agreed. Amazon Prime is a wonderful thing, but not when your boss is calling you that.”
Leighton pulled her phone out, checking to see if she had missed any calls. “No, it’s not.” Sadie thought it was clever. She liked to say she could get anything from Leighton in two days or less.
Winnie and her friends came back to the table, laughing and reaching for their cocktails. Leighton went back to work, discussing with Jackson how to set up an interview with Winnie.
But she felt eyes on her and she glanced over at the bar.
The stripper cop was watching her.
A shiver rolled up her back and heat pooled between her thighs.
Yum.
That’s all she could think. Just yum.
* * *
“Who is that girl?” Axl Moore asked his best friend and owner of Tap That, Sullivan O’Toole. “The one I was dancing with.”
“I have no idea,” Sullivan said. “I’ve never seen her before.” He was behind the bar as usual, serving both customers and himself. He shrugged, like he couldn’t care less. Which he probably couldn’t.
Sullivan had been no stranger to the bottle since his wife Kendra had died from breast cancer two years earlier at twenty-seven. This was the second year Axl and the other guys from high school had done this entertaining charity strip event in Kendra’s memory. Sullivan seemed a little less annoyed by it than he had the previous year when they’d done it, but he still refused to participate in the choreographed, albeit bumbling, routine they did.
“If you don’t know her, she must be new in town.”