Enlisted by Love by Jenny Jacobs Page A

to do was go in search of said ladies.
    Now Greta was talking to a tall blonde man dressed a little too elegantly in a charcoal suit, a foppish handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket. Probably wearing French cuffs and a pair of jeweled cuff links his mama gave him.
No competition,
Ian told himself firmly. As he watched, Greta laughed again. What was with all the laughing? When had Greta turned into such a carefree, laughing woman? He took a slug of punch. And she called
him
infuriating. She didn’t have to look so happy to see other men, did she? As he glared, the blonde man said something and stepped away from Greta. She nodded, the smile staying on her lips as she sipped from her glass.
    All right. So he wasn’t interested in flirting with any of the other ladies. That was fine. Nothing wrong with admitting you had an incorrect objective as long as you identified the correct one before it was too late. He was going to show Greta that he was not infuriating, and see what happened then.
    Of course, if Ian wanted her attention, he needed to do something more proactive than glowering at the men who approached her. What was wrong with him? He knew how to handle women.
    He made his way determinedly across the room, keeping his objective in view at all times and letting no challenge — waiters with trays of glasses, other wedding guests — imperil his progress. Who said all those years of Army training would go to waste in civilian life? Arriving at her side, he touched her elbow and was outraged when the smile left her lips the moment she turned and saw who it was.
    â€œYou,” she said with a lack of enthusiasm that might have stopped a lesser man and probably would have stopped him, but people were watching and he couldn’t let any witnesses see him retreat, suitably crushed by her setdown.
    â€œWould you care to dance?” he asked, just as if she’d been laughing with him and not with the foppish blonde man.
    â€œYou can two step?” she asked, raising a brow.
    â€œI — what?”
    Greta inclined her head toward the dance floor. “It’s a country band.”
    Ian stopped and listened to the music, which had not previously penetrated his awareness. Then he laughed and shook his head. “But the wedding was so elegant.” He imagined what Michael’s mother would make of this.
    â€œTess is whimsical,” Greta said, sipping her punch and looking over the rim of her glass at him. “She and Michael share a special fondness for George Strait.”
    â€œApparently,” he said, looking at the dance floor where the two danced together, eyes only on each other, as if they were the only people in the room. Then Belinda cut in and Tess and Michael drew her into the dance and Ian had to look away. What would his daughter would look like, if he had one? Which he didn’t. He’d never spent much time thinking about the possibility because of his military career, which had taken him to countless hotspots all over the world. He hadn’t wanted to be like his own father, just a photo in a child’s scrapbook. Now he was a civilian, though, and there was nothing keeping him from having six kids if he wanted. Well, except for not having a wife.
    He thought of Greta buttoning a miniature version of herself into a carefully tailored coat. The thought made him grin like the fool he so very obviously was.
    He quaffed the rest of his punch and turned back to Greta only to discover that the blonde-haired man had reappeared at her side and was whispering something in her ear. Ian stiffened. If anyone should be whispering anything in Greta’s ear, it was Ian. Before he could act, the intruder was leading her out onto the dance floor.
    Ian’s mouth dropped in outrage. How had she been lifted from right out in front of him? The moment his attention was distracted, the competition had cut in and left him standing on the edge of the dance floor, alone.