Besides all that, could she really pass up the chance to be held by him one last time?
Finally nodding, Margie slipped her hand into Hunter’s, and instant warmth slid through her bloodstream, temporarily easing the cold inside her. He led her onto the dance floor just as the band ended one song and started another.
Margie recognized the tune, since Simon was a huge Frank Sinatra fan. And though the band’s singer was no Ol’ Blue Eyes, the melody and words of the song about a summer wind wrapped themselves around her and Hunter and drew them into the magic of the moment.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice a low rush of sensuality that seemed to slide right inside Margie.
“Thanks.” She looked up into his eyes, felt her heart break a little and then shifted her gaze to one side. She couldn’t look into his blue eyes. Couldn’t read the regrets and goodbyes written there.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said and moved her into a slow turn that made the lights at the edges of her vision swim.
“Yes.” God, would this dance never end? Margie tried to pull back from Hunter’s embrace, to put a little space between them, but he wouldn’t allow that. Instead, he pulled her closer, held her more tightly, pressed her body into the length of his until she felt his heartbeat pounding in tandem with her own.
“I don’t want you to go, Margie. Don’t leave.”
“Don’t do this,” she whispered brokenly. “Don’t make it harder.”
“It should be hard. You said you loved me.”
She looked up at him, and it seemed as though every light in the room was reflected in his gaze. Those blue depths sparkled and shone down at her, and it took all of her courage to not look away. “I do,” she said, forcing the words out. “I do love you, and that’s why I won’t stay.”
His arm tightened around her even further until it felt as though she could hardly draw a breath. “I wasn’t engaged to Gretchen.”
Margie closed her eyes briefly, gathered up her strength and made herself ask, “Did you propose to her?”
The music pumped around them, other dancers drifted past and Hunter looked only at her. “In a way I guess I did,” he said. “But-”
“No. You wanted Gretchen,” she said as the song slowly wound its way to the end. “You never wanted me. I wasn’t your choice for a wife. She was.”
“But she’s not my wife. You are.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Hunter. Don’t you get it? It just doesn’t matter.”
The music ended, but Hunter wouldn’t let her go. He stood there, on the dance floor, his arms still holding her tight, his gaze locked with hers, refusing to say goodbye. To let her walk away. From him.
“Of course it matters,” he said, his voice low and dark, filled with a banked anger that nibbled at the edges of his self-control. Hell, he’d given her days to get past this hang-up of hers. Days to think about his offer. To reconsider. To stay the hell married to him. And this is what it was going to come down to? A quick goodbye on a dance floor, surrounded by too many damn people?
He didn’t think so.
As if she could read his mind, she whispered, “Please don’t do this, Hunter. Don’t make it harder.”
“It damn well should be hard,” he told her, his voice low and hot with a temper crouched inside him.
She was bound and determined to walk away from him, and Hunter simply wasn’t going to let that happen. Never once in his SEAL career had he given up on reaching his objective. He’d had guns misfire, plans go askew, ambushes fail, but he’d always won the day. Damned if he was going to ruin his record now.
His chest felt tight and his insides snapped to attention. Releasing her briefly, he then took her upper arm in a firm grip and turned her toward the French doors and the gardens beyond.
“Okay, that’s it. You’re coming with me.”
“Oh no, I’m not,” Margie countered and pulled free of his hold. Then she took two long steps in the opposite direction, obviously headed for the foyer.
“Like hell,” Hunter muttered and caught up to her in a flat second. Spinning her around to face him, he held on to her shoulders, met her now furious, embarrassed gaze and said, “You’re going to listen to me, Margie, even if I have to tie you to a chair.”
From somewhere to his right, he absentmindedly heard his grandfather’s chuckle. Well, Hunter was glad somebody was enjoying this.
“Hunter…” Her gaze shot from side to side, then up to him, as if to point out to him that they weren’t exactly alone.
Hunter couldn’t have cared less. Glaring at her, he said, “You think I give a good damn who’s watching?”
“Well, I do.”
“I don’t. I’ve got some things to say to you, and I’m going to say ’em. Here or somewhere else. Your choice.”
Margie glanced around again and apparently noticed the eager attention on the faces surrounding them. She finally looked up at him and said, “Fine. We can talk in the study.”
“Nope, too far away,” he told her and bent down. Tucking his shoulder into her abdomen, he straightened up with her head and shoulders now hanging down over his back.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked it, pushing herself up from his back and trying to shove herself free.
“What I should have done three days ago,” Hunter told her and threw one arm across her legs, pinning her to him.
“Simon!” Margie yelled as Hunter headed for the French doors, “help me!”
“Not a chance, honey,” the old man shouted on a laugh.
The whole room was laughing, Hunter realized as the crowd parted before him and let him pass through the ballroom and into the gardens. And he didn’t care. Didn’t care what they thought, what they had to say or the fact that they’d be talking about this night for the next twenty years.
Nothing mattered but the stubborn redhead in his arms. And no way was he going to lose her.
Jaw tight, body rigid, he marched across the patio, muttering, “Excuse me,” to those he passed.
“Let me down!” Margie shouted, then in a much lower voice adding, “You’re showing the whole world my behind, you know!”
Hunter grinned, gave that sweet rear end of hers a friendly smack and told her, “It’s a great behind. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
“For heaven’s sake, Hunter, put me down!”