Oh, she’d dance all right. With every man in town but him. And she’d make sure that he was the perfect target for every single woman within a hundred miles of Pescadero.

At five o’clock she locked herself in the bathroom with her war chest. For nearly her whole life, she’d depended on the contents of this bag—makeup, lotions, nail polish, blow dryer, curling iron—in the same way that she’d needed food and sleep. But for one whole week she hadn’t so much as unzipped the bag. It was at once comforting and familiar...and strange. She loved the way she felt when she looked good, yet there had been surprising freedom in not caring one way or the other.

She took out everything and laid it along the small counter. She grinned at the way her girly things immediately took over every possible surface in his bathroom, and how irritated Grayson would be if she left it all for him after she was gone.

With that happily evil thought cheering her, she stripped off her grimy clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot spray felt great on her overworked muscles, the water turning from brown to clear as she soaped up and washed the dirt from her skin, from her hair, from beneath her fingernails. She took extra care to shave her legs from ankle to hip, slicking lotion over her entire body before she got out of the shower.

She had no intention of letting any man benefit from the softness of her skin tonight, but Grayson didn’t need to know that.

It was as natural as breathing for her to do her hair and makeup and to paint her nails. Maybe, she found herself thinking, that was what she’d do now that her dancing career was over. She could open up a small salon somewhere far away from here and help other women feel better about themselves. It wasn’t what she had dreamed of doing her whole life, but it would be better than nothing.

When she was finished primping, she wrapped herself in a towel and left the bathroom. Grayson wasn’t even in the house, as far as she could tell. It figured that he wanted her to put all sorts of effort into looking good, but he’d probably just put on a new pair of jeans and clean pair of boots and be ready inside of thirty seconds.

She’d left her luggage open on her bed and now she pulled out a red dress made up entirely of satin and sequins. The straps were thin and it was almost completely backless, ending just above the curve of her hips. She’d danced in outfits with far less material than this dress, but she could easily guess that it would be the most inappropriate outfit ever for a barn dance.

Yes, she decided as she slipped it on, that was what made it so perfect. As were the four-inch spike heels she slipped on next. Where most women could barely have walked in them, Lori could dance all night without any problems at all.

And she would, damn it, just to spite Grayson.

* * *

Grayson looked at his watch: 6:15 p.m. Lori was late, which came as no surprise given that she’d been locked in her bedroom for over an hour now.

Just the idea of the barn dance had him feeling out of sorts, but he knew he had to do it for her. Because he owed Lori something more than an apology for the way he’d behaved. For the things he’d said.

Only, when she finally stepped out of the bedroom, all thoughts of apologies scattered.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

He hadn’t seen a dress like that in years—blood-red satin and sequins that perfectly showcased the curves he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. The skirt was higher in the front than it was in the back and swished around her ridiculously gorgeous legs as she moved toward him in heels so high she actually came up past his chin now.

Holy hell, his heart was either going to explode from racing so fast, or just stop beating altogether, that was how badly he wanted to rip the dress from her, to drag her back into the bedroom and make love to her until both of them forgot that it was a mistake.

Acting as if he wasn’t clearly about to burst a blood vessel just from being near her, she gave him a pretty little smile and twirled. “Just a little something I had in my bag.” Her smile still glittered, even brighter than the sequins, despite never quite reaching her eyes. “I take it you don’t like it.”

Fuck. Why did he keep hurting her? It wasn’t Lori’s fault that his wife had died.

And it wasn’t Lori’s fault that he couldn’t stop wanting the beautiful, sassy farmhand he’d never meant to hire.

He knew he needed to apologize again and was just about to say the words, but as she went toward the front door and he finally saw the back of her dress—or, rather, the back of the dress that should have been there, instead of the most gorgeous, creamy skin he’d ever seen—he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her arm.

“You are not wearing that dress tonight.”

Her eyes lit with fury as she whirled around to face him. “Watch me.”

She tried to yank her arm from his grip, but being this close to her made his head spin too fast for him to let her go...or to stop himself from dragging her against him and taking her mouth with his.

Grayson had wanted to kiss her at least a thousand times since the afternoon in the log cabin, when she’d been pure heat and sensual woman in his arms. He hadn’t been able to recover from that, not even by reminding himself of all the reasons he needed to stay away from her.

He needed this kiss so badly that he barely registered how stiff she was in his arms, until she wasn’t anymore and the hands that had been pushing him away were trying to pull him in closer instead.

God, she was soft.

And so damned sweet he could barely believe it.

Soon he had her backed up against the door. In the log cabin, he’d been desperate to touch her, to find out if she felt as good against him as she looked. But now that he knew exactly what waited for him beneath the thin fabric of her dress—skin so warm and pretty that he’d be stunned every time his mouth or hands made contact with it—it only made him crazier for her. And then there were the little sounds she’d make as he rained kisses over her, little gasps, soft moans, that would take hold of his sanity and yank it completely away.

Only this time, instead of him being the one to put the brakes on when he was on the verge of heading for the point of no return, Lori was the one dragging her mouth from his.

“How can you kiss me like this,” she asked him in a voice that shook slightly, “when you won’t even talk to me about what happened to you?”

She didn’t say “Stop.” She didn’t tell him, “We shouldn’t do this.” Just, “You won’t even talk to me about what happened to you.”