Page 48 of One Hot Rumor

I rejoin Nick at the little table and reclaim my seat beside him.

"Why didn't you dance with anyone while I was gone?" I ask.

He taps his finger on the water glass he still has his hand wrapped around and keeps his gaze downcast. "Had enough of dancing with other women. I was waiting for you."

"I hope it didn't bother you that I danced with your friend. Honestly, I assumed you would get out there too and have a whirl with one of the many ladies in attendance."

He shrugs, still gazing at his glass. "I only want to hold you in my arms now."

"Oh, Nick, I'm sorry. I should've asked you before I—"

"Siobhan, it's your right to dance with whoever you want." He lifts his gaze to mine. "I don't expect you to be glued to me for the rest of your life."

But maybe I want us to be glued to each other, permanently. The idea makes me feel…warm and fluttery.

"Please dance with me," I say. "Hold me in your arms, Nick."

He blinks once, slowly, like I've surprised him.

But then something behind me snares his attention, and he squints at whatever it is. His lips tighten, then he groans and slumps against his chair.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He nods toward whatever he saw past my shoulder.

I twist around to glance in that direction. All I see is a group of women having an animated conversation, smiling and laughing, clinking their champagne glasses. The women in the group include the wives of the Dixons—Rika, Elena, Arden, and Jessica—as well as the bride, Maddie, and the wives of several Scots. They keep glancing in our direction, but I don't see why Nick should be annoyed by that.

"Why do you care that those ladies are having a good time?" I ask Nick.

"Because I know what they're doing." He rubs his forehead. "The official meeting of the American Wives Club is in session."

Chapter Nineteen

Nick

Siobhan stares at me for a moment like she can't comprehend why I've slouched down in my chair or why I'm holding a hand up to shield my face from the group of women who keep looking at me from across the lawn. Then she finally asks, "Why do you care if those ladies are having a meeting of their informal club?"

"I told you. It's because I know what they're about."

"Which is what?"

"Meddling."

Siobhan met the American Wives Club earlier, but I don't know if anyone explained to her what those nosy women like to do as their primary hobby. Well, it's more like their life's mission. I love them all—like sisters, not like I want to shag them—but sometimes they go so far overboard that they might need life preservers. In their zeal to ensure every couple finds a "happily ever after," as those women call it, sometimes they engage in tactics that border on harassment. All right, it's not quite that bad. But those women need to have more babies, strictly to keep them too busy to "help" me.

And that's what they're conspiring about right now. I know it is.

"What are they meddling with?" Siobhan asks.

"My life."

"To what end?"

I squirm in my chair and try to slump down farther, since I've caught Emery MacTaggart, the ring leader of the American Wives gang, watching me with too much interest. "They think every man needs to have a wife."

"But you don't want one."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. How am I meant to find out when they're poking their pretty little noses into my life?"