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“Aw, such a gentleman.”
As the chorus strikes a booming chord, Lizzie whirls into action, spinning against my arm, then spiraling back out. One arm lifts over her head, her hips twist and jive. She moves back towards me, reaching for my other hand.
The second we’re entangled, everything becomes much simpler. Her hip brushes mine and I know to shift back. Her weight pulling against one hand over the other tells me when to turn. I keep to the thrumming of the guitar and otherwise try to let go.
“See?” Lizzie calls over the music. I lift her hand overhead to spin her on the spot and smile as she laughs. “I told you you could dance!”
And dance we do. Back and forth, around and around. Close and then separated, but always joined by one hand or two. As if we instinctively can’t let the other go.
As she spins in, her back to my front, I smell her hair, feel her shape against mine… She spins back out and my gaze is caught by the beautiful length of her legs, the swirling of her skirts. The smile on her face.
She does a silly little flicker with her feet and I’m brave enough to match her, making her laugh out loud.
Who knew making a total idiot of yourself could be this much fun?
Halfway through the song, I catch Lizzie mouthing the words along with the band…
Any way you want it… That’s the way you need it… Any way you want it…
Any way I wanted it. Damned but if that wasn’t a tempting idea.
I’m so distracted by my inappropriate thoughts, I nearly trip over my own feet. But Lizzie absorbs the mistake with a pretty spin and we carry on as if nothing happened. Only now, I’m feeling everything a whole lot more below the belt than I was before. The feel of her fingers in mine, the way her hair brushes my throat when she spins in close. The soft skin of her arms when I hold her near me.
It overwhelms me. Captivates me. Reduces the entire barn to background noise.
No matter what I do, all I see, hear, and feel… is Lizzie.
When the song finally draws to an end, I know I’m in trouble and need a moment away from Lizzie. A minute or two away from her scent and her body, away from that look of pure happiness in her eye. I need to collect my thoughts. And Darryl Winston, my old headmaster is there to relieve me.
“Mind if I cut in?” the old man asks, “I can’t go the whole night without a song with this evening’s star.”
Lizzie glances between the two of us, flushed and breathing heavily. Had the dancing done that to her, I wonder? Or is it about more than that?
“I kissed you because I wanted to. Because you’re a good-looking guy and I find you sexy as all hell.”
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that,” Lizzie hedges modestly.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Winston argues. “If you can get Caleb to shake a leg on the dance floor then you’re a miracle-maker. Embrace the power.”
Lizzie laughs, allowing one of her hands to take his. The other is still entangled in mine. The tips of her fingers are curled snuggly against my palm. For a moment, she holds on with dangerous familiarity.
“I don’t suppose I can say no to that,” she admits. She looks at me. “So long as Caleb doesn’t mind?”
I swallow, shake my head, and then release her completely. For a moment, I can’t tell if it’s my touch that lingers or hers.
“No problem,” I say. “I need to sit this one out, anyway.”
Any longer in close proximity to Miss New York and half the town was going to be more than aware of her effect on me.
There’s a momentary, dark flicker in Lizzie’s gaze—disappointment?—but she’s quickly being pulled away to join Mr. Winston for the next dance.
I deliberately turn my back on them.
By the time I reach my old haunt by the punch table, there’s a lump in my throat the size of Kansas and a whole lot more happening in my gut. My hands itch, my fingers are curling and flexing over and again. There’s an angry tension in my shoulders and a stiffness in the small of my back. Everything in me wants to go back and plant myself beside Lizzie. To occupy the space not only for my own enjoyment but so that other men couldn’t.
Stupid man…
“Well, that was a surprise.” Mrs. McKitrick is restocking the cups, clearing away used platters, and straightening the tablecloth when I arrive to reclaim my position as beverage gargoyle. “I may have to ask you to take me out there for a spin, Caleb Walker. Who knew your mother’s lessons had stuck, huh?”
