Reed downed a swallow of champagne, wishing he had something stronger to quench his thirst.

Travis Jacobs took the chair next to him, nudged his elbow, and offered him a single malt, neat, in a heavy crystal glass.

Reed gratefully accepted. “Thanks.”

Travis slouched back, propping his elbow on the opposite chair, his voice a drawl. “I see the way you’re looking at my sister.”

Reed took a swallow of the Scotch. “Same way every other guy in the room is looking at your sister. You don’t like it? Don’t let her dress like that.”

“You Terrells need to keep your hands off the Jacobs women.”

Reed gave a snort of derision. “Caleb’s marrying one of them, and I haven’t touched any of them.”

Kissing Katrina didn’t count. It was a well-accepted fact that touching in this context meant something considerably more than kissing.

Just then the orchestra came up and the lights went down. Reed and Travis both watched as yet another man approached Katrina. His gaze scanned her thoroughly from head to toe, then he stood far too close, his expression animated, his hand too familiar on her arm. Katrina took a step back, but the guy didn’t let her go.

Reed firmly set down his Scotch glass and came to his feet. “I assume dancing is acceptable,” he said to Travis, even as he moved away from the table.

“If it gets her out of that jerk’s clutches, go for it.”

Reed nodded in response, already pacing his way toward Katrina.

Once there, he snaked a proprietary arm around her slim waist. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his hard glare causing the jerk to pull back as if he’d been scalded.