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She grinned. “No way. Not those baby blues. You’ll just have to live with the memory like the rest of us.”
He groaned and pulled her out on the dance floor. They danced together for a moment before Quint pulled her in close and spoke in her ear.
“Promise me that we’ll embarrass Hampton on his wedding day by badly doing whatever stupid dance is hot in the future.”
“I promise. We’ll make it a tradition,” she said.
He cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her until she was breathless. When he let her up for air, she felt herself growing warm as the couples dancing near them applauded and cheered.
She pushed on his rock hard chest. “Masher.”
“Masher? Where’d you get that?” he yelled.
She waved at the room. “You know, art deco, twenties. Masher.”
He nodded with a grin. They resumed dancing. She rubbed up against him and enjoyed his sexy air.
She looked around and realized with satisfaction that she no longer felt out of place in the stylish, old-world and rich Forsythia Heights Hotel. And it had nothing to do with any change inside of her. It was because of Quint and Hampton.
Wherever Quint was, she would feel at ease, whether that be in a hut or a mansion or a tract house in the suburbs.
This woman who had always looked upon other people’s families as her responsibility, had finally found a family of her own. With Quint and Hampton, no matter where she was, she was home.
They danced on.
