“Want to dance?” he asks, but his eyes drift from hers.
The first sign of Tolly’s return is his hand landing gently on her shoulder. And his voice in her ear, “Anna.”
It’s remarkable how many meanings he can convey with that one word.
She is preternaturally aware of the contact. The heat spreading over her skin belying the familiarity of his gesture, as if they were old friends. The way he delivers her name, with satisfaction, as if pleased to find her once again. She glances up at his face to find him watching Randy. His hand drops away as he steps forwards, leaving her even more confused.
“Tolly,” he says needlessly and offers his hand to her companion.
“Randall MacIntyre.” Anna notes Randy isn’t taking any chances with his name this time. Or maybe it’s a movie thing. After all, who has to introduce themselves to the host normally? Only a plus one, and she doubts Randy is anybody’s add on.
“Randall, we’ll speak later, but I need to consult the doctor here.”
Tolly’s hand returns to capture hers and he gently pulls her away. Randall, realising he has been trumped, walks off, probably in search of even younger prey.
Anna allows herself to be led. “And with what do you need my help?”
Tolly stops on the dance floor and pivots to face her. “I think I’ve got an allergy. I’m becoming allergic to talking business at a party.” Leaning forwards, he takes her other hand and pulls her in. The music is a boppy Latin number Anna doesn’t recognise, but Tolly sets the pace with a salsa and all she has to do is to follow.
“We usually recommend avoidance, but I don’t think you need me to tell you that,” Anna says.
“On the contrary. I can now tell Ryan I’m following doctor’s orders.” He twirls her around and Anna sees Tolly’s agent on the edge of the dance floor watching them.
“He won’t interrupt,” Tolly says. “The only problem is, now we dare not leave.” The DJ melds the fast beat of the song into a slower ballad and Tolly pulls her closer. Close enough to smell his cool, fresh scent. Close enough to feel the brush of his shirt against her bare skin. Close enough to feel the pant of his breath whispering down her neck. His hand leaves hers and his fingers slide up her arm to cup her shoulder, trailing a line of goosebumps in their wake.
She wants to step into his embrace, lay her head on his shoulder, feel the length of his body along hers, but she dare not. This is dangerous. She likes him too much. She should berunning after Randall, not flirting with dynamite. Of course, it may not be a problem. He may not like her that way at all. She is used to men interpreting the slightest sign of friendship as an attraction. She will not make that mistake with him. And her usual ability to detect a man’s affection seems to have become scrambled, like a compass brought too close to an alternating current.
Instead, she rests her hand on Tolly’s chest, her elbow folded between them. Close enough for intimacy but far enough to avoid misunderstandings. Anyway, this way she can see his face. She tells herself it is for the better to judge his intentions, but she cannot help but enjoy the way his dark stubble frames his jaw, how his eyes crease with his pleasure, and the gentle ocean breeze lifts and stirs his unruly hair.
“You’re a good dancer,” she remarks.
“I’ve had lessons. A lot of actors get their start in student productions and local theatre. You never know what a role may require. I can’t do ballet or tap, but I can waltz and jive.”
“And Mr Darcy spent an uncommonly large amount of time in ballrooms,” he adds.
Which is when Anna realises she is going to have to come clean. “I have to confess that I read the book a while ago and I’ve seen the BBC production, but I’ve never watched your remake.” She’s avoided it out of a sort of loyalty to her sister. And yet here she is, practising the worst sort of disloyalty, dancing in Tolly’s arms.
“But you recognised me?” he asks.
“From the billboards. They did advertise the series hard. You were on the side of the bus I caught to work for months.”
“So when you look at me, you don’t expect Darcy?”
Anna shakes her head.
Tolly huffs out a breath and it sets of a trail of sparks along Anna’s spine. “It’s one of the reasons I accepted this new role. To break the hold of Darcy in people’s minds.”
“Surely all the right people see you asyou? And not as a character or a celebrity?”
“You’d think. Sometimes the image is too strong. Especially when image and reality are not that far apart.”
“Tall and handsome?”
“I’m flattered, but I meant rational and reserved.” Anna remembers Serena’s story of the end of his last relationship and holds her tongue.
But all ballads come to an end, and the beat picks up again with a lively rock number from the fifties. Tolly effortlessly adjusts his grip and spins Anna out and back. He lifts her into the air and twirls her around, which is when she sees it – a man and woman getting decidedly frisky on one of the sun loungers by the pool. It’s obviously nighttime and it’s a party, not a sports tournament, but there are sufficient lights strung through trees and dotted around columns to allow the eye to see. And Anna is sure she recognises the woman’s shaggy blonde locks. Still, she seeks reassurance from the only source available.
On the next move that brings them chest to chest, Anna asks, “Is that Bella, by the pool?”
