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Where Women Are Concerned

Where Women Are Concerned

Jane Austen Girl collage

Excerpt from Jane Austen Girl

“Bobby Jack Randall! What are you doing here?” He heard the slur in the words and wondered exactly where she might’ve ended up tonight if he hadn’t stopped. Maybe it was a place she wanted to end up. Something in the thought bothered him for reasons he didn’t really want to look at. He leaned one elbow on the bar, hung his gaze onto her, and said, “Just stopping in for a beer.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “Are you checking up on me?”

The words hit a little too close to the truth for him to voice a denial, so he simply rolled his eyes and took his beer from the obviously disappointed bartender.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” she asked, a little roll at the end of each of the words.

“The question is, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“You don’t think I like places like this?”

“It’s not the worst place I could picture you in,” he said on a note of reason.

“Would you like to dance?” she said, alcohol no doubt letting the question slip out.

He shook his head. “You are going to regret this in the morning.”

“It’s not morning yet. It’s still night, and I’m not done.” She waved her hand to the bartender and called out, “Can I have another, please?”

The bartender said, “Sure thing,” reached for a glass, poured a splash of gin, added some tonic and lime, and slid it across the bar top.

“You sure you oughta do that?” Bobby Jack said.

“Who are you, my daddy?”

“So not your daddy,” he said with immediate conviction.

She pulled back and gave him a long, assessing look. “You sure aren’t.”

This brought another smile to his lips, despite the realization that he was playing with fire. The question was, which one of them was going to get burned?

The band cranked up another beat thumper. Grier took his hand and said, “You never gave me an answer, but come on, anyway.”

What made him slide off that stool and follow her had nothing to do with common sense or anything remotely related.

She led him out to the dance floor, her hips already finding the song’s groove and simultaneously drawing his eyes to their center.

Grier slipped her arms around his neck, and he looked down at her, feeling suddenly more than a little drunk on the look in her eyes.

“Grier,” he said, her name half protest, half plea.

“Anybody ever call you uptight?”

“A time or two.”

“For now, let’s go prove them wrong.” She led the way then, and he was helpless but to follow. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this kind of pull to any woman. The song ended, and another started up.

The crowd immediately picked up the increased tempo, so that the floor felt like a living sea of rhythm-drunk bodies.

Bobby Jack realized then that he didn’t need alcohol to get drunk on Grier McCallister. He could lose all hold on reason by the simple sway of her hips and the way her hair felt against his fingertips.

In fact, just then, he wanted to get hammered on the woman in his arms. Stone cold oblivious to anything else but the way she was staring at his mouth.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Bobby Jack heard his brother’s voice and started to turn just as a fist slammed into his jaw. The impact sent stars whirling out in front of him.

He heard a scream, and then Grier screaming, “Darryl Lee! What are you doing?”

Darryl Lee gave Bobby Jack a two-palmed shove into a no longer dancing couple, knocking him to the floor and scattering folks left and right while the band kept playing. “Get the hell up and fight back!” Darryl Lee snapped. “You two face son of a—”

Bobby Jack was up now and went at his brother, not giving himself a second to think about the consequences. He line-backed Darryl Lee straight across the dance floor to the main entrance where somebody held the door open, and they both staggered into the parking lot.

Darryl Lee started swinging like a kindergarten bully, and Bobby Jack put his right shoulder into his brother’s chest, flipping him once so that he landed on his back with a loud “umph!”.

Bobby Jack stood over him, breathing hard. “You had enough?”

“Hayyyle no!” he yelled, getting to his feet and aiming a tackle at Bobby Jack’s midsection. . .

Buy contemporary romance Jane Austen Girl here.

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I love books! From my earliest memories, I loved being read to and then reading practically every book in my elementary school library. There’s something about taking a little trip into a wonderful story that is its own unique pleasure. Over the years, my favorite authors have provided me with glimpses into worlds I would never have known had I not picked up their books. From Beverley Cleary to Lavyrle Spencer to Jodi Piccoult to Anita Shreve and so many others, I am grateful they chose to become storytellers. A great story has the power to move, change and shape its readers. To me, that’s an honorable calling and a task I aspire to.

Inglath

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