"Well, it appears to be a waltz, doesn't it?" he said, his eyes smiling but his mouth remaining quite serious. "Now you will see just how badly I managed in cotillion classes."

Cotillion classes? He had to be joking.

Fear swept through Caroline. "Um, ah, I didn't go to cotillion classes. The truth is I don't know how to waltz, and I'm just a little..."" She let her voice trail off. No sense telling him she was heading toward serious inebriation.

But Lord DeBracy seemed to know everything without being told. He placed his hand at the small of her back, lower than she expected, his palm pressing over her spine in a move that was utterly possessive, even though he was not very close to her. He adjusted her left hand down from his shoulder onto his upper arm, where her palm connected with the skin, just below the edge of his shirtsleeve. The warmth of it jolted through her, just as he took her right hand in his left.

His hand caught her by surprise. An aristocrat's hand should be soft, but Hugh's hand was dry and rough and seemed to have more than a few calluses on it. It enveloped hers, and her pulse climbed right into the stratosphere.

They stood almost eighteen inches apart. And yet she had never been more aware of a man in all her life. God help her, she had the hots for this guy, and that was a ginormous problem.

"Just start on your right foot and let me lead." He arched his eyebrow. And then...

Well, then he created magic. He accomplished this feat despite her lack of skill, the slightly seedy dance floor, and the copious quantities of whiskey she had imbibed.

Every little girl who has ever seen Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast has a moment when she longs to transcend the story and become the heroine in the arms of the hero, wearing some wonderful dress, moving lightly and gracefully on her feet as he waltzes her around the dance floor. Caroline might have devoted her life to career advancement, but down deep, she wanted romance in her life even if she knew it was a silly desire for a working girl like her.

But for one shining moment, Hugh deBracy gave her romance. Never mind that it took place in a honky–tonk bar, or that she was wearing a white sleeveless golf shirt and a pair of khaki capri slacks, instead of some fabulous gown.

It didn't matter.

Hugh glided her across the floor, his right hand aiming her in the proper direction, while his left hand connected them in a carnal way that took her breath away. He never lost the beat of the music. He made her feel completely beautiful despite her casual clothing. He twirled her until she became dizzy with more than the alcohol.

And all the while, he never once broke eye contact. He sucked her into the fantasy with his dark eyes. As the music died, she knew she would never, in all her life, forget this moment.

God help her. She suddenly wanted to rush headlong into what was clearly a fantasy of her own making. And that was just plain stupid. She had crossed a line, and she needed to get safely back on the other side of it.

So she did the only sensible thing she could think of. She turned on her heel and ran from Dot's Spot like a raccoon with a hillbilly dog on her tail.