The hope that Min would be there, too, had been the only reason he’d finally agreed. He imagined they could find a little corner to sit and discuss Hemingway or Wilde. The fact that there were a few other things he’d like to do with her in the dark corner of a club were beside the point.
He wouldn’t let that happen anyway. He wouldn’t put her in that position. He wouldn’t puthimselfin that position.
“Not really my scene,” she replied.
“Mine either,” he sighed. Maybe he’d misread it all. Maybe she didn’t want to go because she didn’t want to have to spend any more time with him. “You sure you won’t reconsider? I promise I won’t step on your feet when we dance,” he teased, looking up at her through his lashes.
“I know you won’t,” she said, her words heavy with the memory of the last time they’d danced together. She avoided his gaze, but he saw the way her pupils dilated, the desire blooming there.
This is inappropriate. There was no pretending that this was an innocent conversation anymore, not with the way he was looking at her and the way she was subtly leaning towards him. He should let it go. But their morning walks weren’t enough time for all the things he wanted to talk to her about. And Christ, being near her feltgood.He wanted to flirt with this woman all the time. He wanted to do all manner of things with her.
The sounds of a string quartet playing ABBA’sDancing Queenfloated from his jacket pocket and he fumbled to silence the ringtone. Min pressed her lips together to stifle the laughter bubbling up and making her eyes dance. The phone continued ringing as he stabbed at it with fingers suddenly unable to find a simple button, swearing under his breath. She doubled over, infectious bursts of laughter spilling from her lips, and he couldn’t help but join her.
“Don’t let me keep you from your call,” she said between fits of laughter.
“Damn Noah keeps swiping my phone and setting these stupid novelty ringtones for himself,” he explained.
“Uh huh, suuure,” she said, laughing. “So Dr. Van Aller’s the ABBA fan?”
“Oh, God, no,” Liam smiled. “He can’t stand them. That one’s all me.”
She shook her head. “You are just full of surprises. And here I thought you were Mr. Serious.”
“Shh,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips despite his smile. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Dancing Queen,” she laughed.
“And you’ll come to the club with the rest of the cast? I’d owe you one,” he teased, lightly bumping her shoulder with his.
“Abigone,” she said.
He winked and chuckled when she immediately blushed at the innuendo, her mouth falling open in surprise. The smirk lingered on his lips.
“Deal.”
It was time to leave before he took this too far. He was already taking more liberties than he should. “I better get back,” he said reluctantly. “But I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“That you will,” she said, meeting his eyes again, letting him glimpse the naked hunger there for just a moment before she blinked and shuttered herself from him again.
Chapter Eight
Saturday nights meant the cast’s weekly pilgrimage to Central Park, a dance club on the eastern outskirts of the city. Preparations began in the boarding house immediately after dinner. The girls all vied for precious shower time and space in front of one of the mirrors to fix their hair and makeup. Once satisfied with their appearances, they gathered in the largest of the bedrooms with the guys and a bottle (or two) of wine. While Min usually joined in on the wine and conversation, she normally did so in yoga pants and a tank top, not the high heels and miniskirts worn by the other girls. And at eleven, when the group made their way across town, swaying slightly from their pregaming, Min would excuse herself and curl up in bed with a book and a bag of fresh apricots from the shop around the corner.
But not that night. She had promised Dr. Jacobs she would be there, and she wouldn’t let him down for anything in the world. Besides, she missed him. He’d been off with some potential donor all day, an alumni family vacationing in the Tuscan hills. So she strapped on her heels with the rest of the girls and made the trek across town to Central Park.
As soon as they entered the club, Min ordered a cranberry juice and vodka. Liquid courage. A mural of a white picket fence and flowers decorated the interior walls, and a large farmhouse style trellis separated the upper and lower dance floors. It was quite apparent that no one involved in the club’s décor had any idea what New York’s famous park actually looked like.
Making her way to the dance floor, drink in hand, she found a group of her castmates mixing with a cluster of Italian men, all of them wearing wedding rings. She downed the rest of her drink and handed it to a passing waiter. She was in for a long night and was starting to wish she hadn’t agreed to go out in the first place. She could be curled up in bed with her book, safely beneath the mosquito netting. Instead, she leaned into the dance with Bobby, letting him guide her around the crowded space. It was surprisingly easy dancing with him like this, laughing like there had never been a time they were uncomfortable touching each other, any awkwardness smoothed over by the alcohol.
It didn’t take long for her to spot Dr. Jacobs at the bar, a German beer in hand. Even from across the room she could see the furrow of his brow.Is he watching me?Testing the theory, she swung her hips in a wider arc and dragged her hands up over the silhouette of her breasts and back into her hair, a big enough motion that she could see Dr. Jacobs tracking the movement from across the room. Her heart hammered in her chest and their eyes locked. He scowled, raising his beer to his lips and took a long pull from the bottle, but he never broke eye contact.
Bobby’s hands settled low on her hips, rocking her back and forth as he laughed into her shoulder. Min’s eyes never left Dr. Jacobs. The scowl on his face intensified and goosebumps broke out on her arms, her nipples furling into hard peaks.He’s jealous.
She stilled her swaying and made a motion of apology to Bobby, who shrugged and sidled up to dance between the soprano from Maryland and the baritone from Georgia. Her legs shook as she made her way through the crowd to where Dr. Jacobs sat, his relentless stare pulling on that invisible tether she always felt strung between them, drawing her to him. She slid onto the stool next to him, noting the way his gaze skimmed over her body. His grey blue eyes were aflame – desire and jealousy slashed across his face – and he flashed a wolfish grin that nearly made her catch her breath.
He leaned in, his hot breath on her ear reminding her of that first night at the opera. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. She wanted– needed – to keep her wits about her. “One’s my limit tonight,” she said. “How did your meeting go?”
