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"Yeah?"

"You're not supposed to say things like that."

"Why not?"

Because this was fake. Because he was Damon Lockhart. Because I'd watched three women flirting with him an hour ago. Because I knew what happened when I believed charming men.

"Because you'll make me forget this isn't real."

He went still. For one horrible moment, I thought I'd ruined everything.

Then he stepped closer. "Mikayla."

"Yeah?"

His gaze dropped to my lips. "Maybe you're not the only one having trouble remembering that."

A rush of adrenaline sent my pulse racing.

Then he took my hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Back inside."

"Why?"

"Because they're playing your song."

A familiar country line-dance song drifted through the night.

“I thought you said you hate line dancing." When he’d seen it on the schedule, he’d made his feelings known.

"With the fire of a thousand suns."

"You said the choreography was an insult to dancing."

"It is."

"And if your brothers caught you doing it, you'd have to move to another state."

"Possibly another country."

"Then why are we doing this?"

He smiled. Not his dazzling, devastating smile. Something smaller. Just for me. "Because you like it."

An unexpected ache bloomed beneath my ribs. I tightened my fingers around his. "Fine. But if you embarrass me, I'm telling everyone about the poison oak."

He laughed.

"Sweetheart, if you dance with me, I'll tell them myself."

And as he led me back inside the bar and onto the dance floor, I realized something. Kenny had made me question everything I knew about love. Damon Lockhart was making me question everything I knew about myself.

I'd worked damn hard to become a woman who didn't need a man to make her happy. A woman who knew her worth, protected her peace, and never confused attention with affection.

Somewhere along the way, I'd convinced myself that loving someone meant losing pieces of who I was. That the only way to guard myself was to never let anyone close enough to take them again.