“Dance Kitchen,” he says, nodding as if this coupling of words makes complete sense.
“Excuse me?”
“We would dance in the kitchen until we felt better.” A dazzling smile spreads over his mouth, his eyes turning vibrant. “We’d climb right up on the island and perform like it was a stage.”
I break into a grin. This man issoadorable. The idea that he’d be willing to dance around his kitchen to cheer his daughter up delights me. “Really?” I ask.
“Yup.” He slides his phone out of his pocket, scrolls, and a moment laterI Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)by Whitney Houston blasts from it.
He places his phone on a shelf nearby and holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
Whitney croons, and the suggestive lyrics set me alight; I’m hot all over. Did he have to choosethissong?
I shake my head, hardly able to believe he’s offering to dance with me at all. Stupidly, I blurt, “But it’s not raining.”
He frowns, but it’s paired with a bemused smile. “It’s never raining inside. I promise, it’ll make you feel better.” He beckons me closer, but I can’t move.
“This isn’t the kitchen. I can’t dance with you in here. Not to this song.”
My gaze drifts to the huge double bed just visible through my open bedroom door. His eyes widen, and in that split second I know exactly where his mind went. Where Iledit. He reaches for the phone, fumbling to stop the music. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He pauses to drag a hand through his hair. “Awful song choice.”
His obvious embarrassment is even more endearing than his willingness to dance with me; I want to throw my arms around his neck and hug him while apologising profusely for making him uncomfortable.
I can’t let him feel bad for the offer, so I’ll accept it in the spirit it was meant.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll pick the song,” I say with renewed enthusiasm. “I want to see you climb up on that island.”
He laughs, seemingly relieved that I’ve shifted the tension between us. “I haven’t done that for years. I prefer to stay on the floor.”
My smile is so wide, my cheeks ache. There’s no way he’s escaping now. “Too late. Come on.” I head in the direction of the kitchen, and without a word, he follows.
When we reach the spacious kitchen, the enormity of the island strikes me afresh. It’s huge, almost as big as two cars parked side-by-side, and the marble surface is satin smooth. It takes me a moment to hook my phone up to the speaker system, but when I doI Love Rock ‘N Rollby the Joan Jett & The Blackhearts booms out.
Rafe glances up at the ceiling. “Oh, no,” he says, half laughing.
“Oh, yes,” I say, climbing on a stool and standing barefoot on the island. “You have to now. Unless you just want to watch.”
I can’t help the suggestive tone I throw out, teasing him like he’s any other guy I could mess about with, but he only rolls his eyes, kicks off his shoes and starts taking off his socks.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I don’t want to slip,” he explains, balancing on one foot and continuing what he’s doing, then shifting to the other.
I keep staring, inexplicably captivated by the slow exposure of his feet.
“It’s not a striptease, Diana.” He smirks. “You don’t have to watch so closely. These are the only things I’m taking off.”
Holy shit.Is he flirting with me?Warmth permeates my body, and I let out a tiny bubble of a laugh, which I hope he doesn’t hear. He climbs up opposite me, bare feet and all. I crank the music up even louder, striking my best air guitar pose and shaking my head as I let the beat take me.
He’s slow to move, standing an arm’s length away, watching me headbang and strum my imaginary guitar.
“Sorry you suggested it now, aren’t you?” I yell over the music.
“No.”
“Go on then. Dance. You won’t slip.”
He eyes me like I’m taunting him, daring him, which I kind of am. And then he starts strumming an imaginary guitar, his body loosening up. Seeing him relax like this is the best thing ever. It’s also really hot because he’s unexpectedly convincing, but I try to ignore that.
