Dating moratorium, she reminded herself. But ... It might be a good idea to end it so she’d stop obsessing about Del. “Maybe we could.”

The dance ended, and with fanfare and cheers, the band moved into the traditional Greek circle dance. Laurel started to back away, but Nick kept her hand in his.

“You can’t miss this.”

“I really shouldn’t. Plus I’ve only watched it at events, never done it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through.”

Before she could come up with another excuse, someone else gripped her free hand, and she was linked in the circle.

What the hell, she decided. It was a party.

Del came in during the slow dance, and automatically looked around for Parker. Or so he told himself. Almost instantly he saw Laurel.

Dancing. Who was she dancing with? She wasn’t supposed to be dancing with some guy he didn’t know ... She was supposed to be working.

Had she brought a date? They looked as if they knew each other when he considered how they moved together—and the way she smiled at whoever the hell he was.

“Del, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” Parker strode over, kissed his cheek.

“I just dropped by to ...Who is that?”

“Who?”

“With Laurel. Dancing.”

Bemused, Parker glanced over, picked Laurel out of the crowd. “I’m not sure.”

“She didn’t bring him?”

“No. He’s one of the guests. We’re doing a kind of after-engagement, prewedding reception. Long story.”

“Since when do you dance at your events?”

“It depends on the circumstances.” She slid her eyes toward Del, said, “Hmm,” quietly under the sway of music and chattering voices. “They look good together.”

He only shrugged, slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s not smart for you to encourage guests to hit on you.”

“Encourage is a debatable word. In any case, Laurel can handle herself. Oh, I love when they do the traditional dance,” she added when the music changed. “It’s so happy. Look at Laurel! She’s got it.”

“She’s always been good on her feet,” Del muttered.

She was laughing, and apparently having no problem with the footwork or rhythm. She looked different, he thought. How he couldn’t exactly say. No, that wasn’t it; he was looking at her differently. He was looking at her through that kiss. It changed things—and the change made him uneasy.

“I should do another walk-through.”

“What?”

“I need to do another walk-through,” Parker repeated, tilting her head to study him closely.

His brows drew together. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.You can mix and mingle if you want. Nobody in this crowd will care. Or if you want something to eat besides dessert, you can go down to the kitchen.”

He started to say he didn’t want anything, but realized it wasn’t quite true. He didn’t know what he wanted. “Maybe. I just dropped by. I didn’t know you were all working tonight. Or most of you,” he corrected as Laurel circled by.

“Last-minute thing. We’ve got about another hour. You can go to the parlor if you want, and wait for me.”

“I’ll probably head on.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll see you later.”

He decided he wanted a beer, and if he wanted one without the obligation of helping out, he’d need to get one out of the family kitchen rather than one of the event bars.

He should just go home and have a beer, he told himself as he started downstairs. But he didn’t want to go home, not when he was thinking about Laurel dancing as if she’d been born on Corfu. He’d just get a beer, then find Jack, hang out for an hour. Carter was bound to be around somewhere, too. He’d have a beer and find both of them, have some hang-out time with friends.

Men.

The best way to take your mind off women was to sit down and have a beer with men.

He backtracked to the family kitchen, and found a cold Sam Adams in the fridge. Just what the doctor ordered, he decided. After opening it, he looked out the window again to see if he could spot either of his friends. But on the terrace, lit by candles and colored lights now, strangers gathered.

He sipped the beer and brooded. Why the hell was he so restless? There were a dozen things he could be doing other than standing here in an empty kitchen, drinking a beer and looking out the window at strangers.

He should go home, catch up on some work. Or screw the work and watch some ESPN. He’d left it too late to call anyone for a date, for dinner or drinks—and the damn thing was, he just didn’t feel like being alone.

Carrying her shoes, her tired feet soundless, Laurel walked into the kitchen. Alone was exactly what she was after. Instead, she saw Del, standing at the window looking, to her mind, like the loneliest man in the world.

Which didn’t fit, she knew. She never thought of Del as lonely He knew everyone, and had a life so full of people she often wondered why he didn’t run off somewhere just for a breath of solitude.

But now, he seemed entirely alone, completely separate, and quietly sad.

Part of her wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, and comfort away whatever put that look on his face. Instead, she went into survival mode and started to back out of the room.

He turned, saw her.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Do you need Parker?”

“No. I saw Parker upstairs.” He lifted his eyebrows at her bare feet. “I guess all that dancing’s hard on the feet.”

“Hmm? Oh ... Not that much dancing, but when it comes at the end of a day like this, it’s cumulative.” Since he was here, and so was she, Laurel decided to get it over with and apologize. “I’ve only got a few, but since you’re here I want to say I was over the line the other night. I shouldn’t have jumped all over you like that.”

Bad choice of words, she thought. “I understand you feel a certain sense of ... duty,” she decided, though the word wanted to stick in her throat. “I wish you wouldn’t, and I can’t help being irritated by it any more than you can help feeling it. So it’s pointless to fight about it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If that’s the best you can do, I’m just going to consider it bygones.”

He lifted a finger as he took another sip of beer. And watched her. “Not quite. I’m wondering why your irritation took the particular form it did.”

“Look, you were being you, and it got under my skin, so I said some things I shouldn’t have said. The way people do when they’re irritated.”

“I’m not talking about what you said so much as what you did.”

“It’s all of a piece. I was mad; I’m sorry. Take it or leave it.” Now he smiled, and she felt the low burn of temper in her belly.

“You’ve been mad at me before. You’ve never kissed me like that.”

“It’s like my feet.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s cumulative. It’s annoying when you put on the ‘Del knows best’ act, and since that’s been going on for years, the annoyance built up and so ... It was to prove a point.”

“What was the point? I think I missed it.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it.” She felt the temper rising, just like the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. “We’re adults. It was just a kiss, and a nonviolent alternative to punching you in the mouth. Which I wish I’d done instead.”

“Okay. To be clear. You were irritated with me. Said irritation having built up over the course of years. And your actions were an alternative to punching me in the face. Does that sum it up?”

“Yes, Counselor, that’s close enough. Do you want me to get a Bible and swear on it? Jesus, Del.”

She walked to the fridge, yanked it open to grab a bottle of water. She could probably think of a man who pissed her off more, but right at the moment, Delaney Brown headed the list. With an angry twist of the wrist she unscrewed the cap on the bottle as she turned. And bumped right into him.

“Cut it out.” She wouldn’t have called it panic, but her temper took on a different edge.

“You opened the door. The metaphorical one as well as.” He gestured to the open refrigerator. “I bet you’re irritated now, too.”

“Yes, I’m irritated now.”

“Good. Since we’re on the same page, and I know how it works....”

He gripped her by the shoulders and hauled her up to the toes of her bare feet. “Don’t even th—”

It was as far as she got before her brain fizzled.

The heat, mouth to mouth, opposed the cold air blasting at her back. She felt trapped between the ice and the fire, helpless to move in either direction as he kept her poised on that thin, shaky line.

Then his hands slid down, found her waist, and the kiss softened into slow, melting lust. Her body went pliant, her mind drowsy as he drew her just a little closer.

The sound he heard, a soft, low purr in her throat, didn’t signal anger but surrender. The surprise of her, like a gift held for years, opened. He wanted to carefully, painstakingly fold aside those layers and find more.

She shifted, reached—and the icy water in the bottle splashed them both. He eased back, glanced down at his wet shirt, and hers. “Oops.”

Her eyes, dazed and dark, blinked. Even as he grinned, she scrambled away. She gestured with the bottle, the movement jerky enough that more water sloshed out. “Okay. Okay. So ... we’re even. I have to get back. I have to.” She wiped at her wet shirt. “Crap.”

She turned, fled.

“Hey. You forgot your shoes. Oh well.” He shut the refrigerator, then picked up the beer he’d set on the counter.

Funny, he thought as he leaned back against the counter in the quiet kitchen. He felt better. In fact, he felt pretty damn good.