Page 51 of A Whim and a Prayer

Back at their table, Beck, Abby, and the rest of the cast were laughing and chatting when Winnie and Poppy returned, the band winding down with one final song.

Beck lounged back in his chair with a lift of his Coke, his dry smile indicating he knew exactly what Winnie had been doing in spending all her time with Poppy. He zeroed in on the little girl with a wink. “I hope you know how lucky you are that the star of the show danced every single dance with you, little girl.”

“Oh, believe me, I do!” Winnie said, turning the tables on Beck with a tweak of Poppy’s neck, which made the little tyke giggle. “This little stinker stole the show for sure.”

“Hey, Poppy, did you get the prize Mrs. Cullen was giving out to all the children in the cast?” Abby asked with a secret smile.

“A prize?” Poppy’s brows shot high. “No kiddin’? Where do I get it?” She jumped up, suddenly forgetting all about her coveted game of dots.

Abby rose and held out her hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you, sweetheart,” she said with a pointed look in Beck’s direction, towing the little girl away while Beck stood and rounded the table to stand over Winnie like a bad omen.

“Wanna dance, Pooh?” he asked, and she peeked up with a scrape of her lower lip.

“These boots are killing me, Beck, so I’d rather not if that’s okay with you.”

“Nope, it’s not okay.” He squatted and yanked off her boots so fast, she could do nothing but blink in shock when he tossed them aside and hauled her up on her bare feet. “Because I want to dance, kiddo, and I want to dance with you.”

“You show her, Frank,” one of the crew members shouted as Beck practically dragged her onto the floor. He never said a word as he scooped her way closer than he ever had before, and to the tune of “Let’s Fall in Love,” no less.

Let’s not, Winnie thought, wiggling to loosen his arms. “You’re holding me too close, Beck,” she said, squirming in a sad attempt at a tease, “people will talk.”

“They already are, Winnie,” he said as he tightened his grip, his voice just as taut while he gave her a spin, “because it seems everybody can see how we feel about each other but you.”

“Oh, Beck, not this again!” She huffed out a noisy blast of air, desperate to convince him once more that she didn’t feel that way. “I’ve told you umpteen times that I’m not attracted to you romantically, so why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because you’re lying through your teeth, Dennehy, and it only took one kiss for me to figure it out—that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you.”

“It’s-called-acting,” she said in a terse tone, enunciating each word to get it through his stubborn head, “on-a-stage … in-a-play.”

“Oh really?” He arched a thick brow as he whirled her around. “Well, how ’bout we prove it right now? Not on a stage, and not in a play?”

“No!” She jerked back, her brain freezing ice cold while her renegade body flushed red hot.

“Why not?” His lips clamped in a tight smile while he studied her with a piercing gaze.

She looked away, mouth compressed and refusing to talk.

“I’ll tell you why, Winnie, and I dare you to deny it”—he jerked her close, forcing her to look at him—“because the minute our lips meet, our pulse rates go crazy, our breathing is out of control, and fire courses through our bloodstream like molten lava, strong and hot.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she whispered as she tried to twist free, desperate for the song to end while she looked away.

He jolted her back, forcing her gaze to his once more. “Well, too bad, Dennehy, because we’re going to talk about it tonight when I take you home, once and for all, understood?”

She broke loose when the music ended, rushing toward the restroom while tears blurred in her eyes.

No, she didn’t. Didn’t understand why it had to be this way.

Not even a little.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I knew it!” Abby said with a smack of the herringbone seat in Beck’s jalopy as he drove her home after the cast party. “I just knew she wasn’t telling the truth.”

No joke. Beck grunted, his jaw as tight as his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, still hot under the collar over Winnie dodging him once again after the party.

“Beck, I need to talk to Mrs. C about something,” she’d said, picking her nails as she avoided his eyes, “so she’s going to give me a ride home.”

“Not necessary, Winnie,” he’d said with a hard clamp of his jaw, “I’ll wait.”