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We’ve been moving across the dance floor for nearly five minutes when her eyes narrow with suspicion. “And you’re sure you’ve never danced before?”
“Not a day in my life,” I lie, and then stumble and smile apologetically. “Sorry, I stopped counting.”
Guilt stirs in her green gaze. “I distracted you. The fault is mine.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I deny as I mentally flail myself.
It was mine.
I let her lead the dance for another five minutes. “Shouldn’t we have music?”
She peers up at me. “Music?”
“It might make it easier to count steps,” I add.
Hell. That’s what you deserve, Cian Barnes. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her brow furrows as she glances around the room. “I didn’t think you had music in here.”
All we have in the room are a couple of heavy antique chandeliers overhead and three tables pushed up to the side of the room. The tables came with the house when we bought it, and since we never use this room, we left them where they are.
If we hadn’t been having this dancing lesson, the floor-to-ceiling sage green drapes would remain shut, and the room would be another closed door we passed on the way to the office.
I force myself to let her go. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
In the office, I grab a portable speaker, ignoring Rune’s raised eyebrow at my deception. Kylian shakes his head, and I ignore that too as I scurry back to Everleigh.
I find her peering at the garden through the window, two steps closer to the sliding doors than where I’d left her.
She jumps when I clear my throat, and I decide not to ask her about her reaction to the pencil and the sketchpad. She’s jumpy enough as it is. I can find out some other way.
After finding a jazz station on the radio, I take her right hand, place my left palm low on her back, and resume our dance.
Nearly a minute later, she narrows her eyes at me. “I was supposed to be leading.”
Shit.
I smile down at her. “I thought I would see if I’d been counting the steps right. How’d I do?”
“You didn’t put a foot wrong. Are you sure you never danced before?” The suspicion in her eyes is growing.
Need to do something about that.
“I’m a fast learner, and you’re an excellent teacher.”
Her eyes narrow further. Anticipating a question I might not have an immediate answer to, I beat her to it, “You wanted to know why I wear a fake Rolex.”
The suspicion morphs into curiosity. “I did. Is it an heirloom?”
As we approach the far end of the ballroom, I turn us, drawing her body closer to mine. “I feel like we need to be closer,” I tell her. “And it helps with my balance.”
“Well, we don’t,” she says, but I notice she doesn’t move away.
Lowering my head, I drag her vanilla-coconut scent deeper into my lungs.
She pauses. “Did you just sniff my hair?”
“I was watching your feet,” I lie without hesitation. “It’s easier to count my steps when I’m looking down rather than up.”
