Make Me Over_ Getting Real - Leslie Kelly [31]
“Yeah.”
“How come?”
He looked surprised by the question. “Well, it’s a chance to be alone with you, outside of this place.”
“With cameras and millions of TV viewers watching.”
“We’ll ignore them.”
Impossible.
“I’m looking forward to dancing with you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Dancing?”
“Of course. We’re attending a holiday party at a local country club.”
Tori scrunched her eyes closed and groaned. “I can’t dance.”
“Sure you can.”
“No,” she said, finally opening her eyes again. “Even the dance instructor is ready to declare me the two-left-feet girl.”
“You can move your hands and feet in a race car with perfect precision, Tori. You’re not clumsy.”
Shrugging, she rolled her eyes. “That’s natural.”
“So’s dancing,” he said. “If you have the right partner.”
“Meaning you?” She wondered if he heard that hopeful sound in her voice.
He nodded.
“I’ll step all over your feet.”
“You can’t weigh much.” His boyish grin didn’t make her feel any better.
“I’ll look stupid.”
He brushed some hair off her face, his fingertips lingering on her cheek. “You’ll look beautiful.”
Gulping, she managed to whisper “I won’t know what to do. The only dancing I know is line dancing in the honky-tonks. Or else slow dancing, which’s more an excuse to make out while standing up than anything else. Girl’s arms are around his neck, and the guy’s hands are on her tush, and they just sorta stand there rubbing up against one another in time to the music.”
Instead of replying, he rose to his feet, then bent down to offer her his hand. Tori put her fingers in his, letting him pull her to stand before him. She raised a brow, not sure whether he wanted to fold up the blanket to leave, or…something else. Then he drew her into his arms.
“What’re you…”
“Dance with me,” he murmured, holding her close.
Any protest she might have made faded right outta her mouth. She was back in his arms, exactly where she’d wanted to be for days. And oh, my, he felt wonderful.
The warmth in the greenhouse had made them both dress a little lighter for their mornings together. So now Tori wore a tight T-shirt with her jeans; Drew, a golf shirt. Tori had never considered her arms erogenous zones, but the brush of her bare skin against his had her rethinking that idea.
“There’s no music,” she murmured, not caring, hoping he didn’t care, either.
“Sure there is,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers, while his other hand, splayed against the small of her back, pulled her even closer. Until she gasped at the contact.
This, she realized, might be even better than the dancing she saw other couples doing in the darkness of the honky-tonks back home. He was still close, but it almost seemed proper, as if they were satisfying all the proprieties, but secretly flouting them at the very same time. She could enjoy this in public, she surely could. “Drew?”
“Shh. Close your eyes and feel it.”
She closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of his hands. The press of his firm chest against her nipples, which were taut and hard against her shirt. Never having a whole lot up top, Tori was in the habit of going without a bra, so the contact of her cotton shirt—not to mention his body—was especially sweet torture.
She couldn’t help it. A teeny sigh escaped her lips as she fell into step with him, catching his rhythm as he moved to some unheard music. And suddenly, unbelievably, she almost did hear it. The hiss of the equipment, the whir of the overhead fan. The swish of the palms swaying under that breeze. Her heart provided a steadily pounding drumbeat and a bass note sounded with her every inhaled breath.
“There is music,” she said, her eyes still closed as she turned her face to rest her cheek on his shoulder.
Their legs brushed against one another. Their hips moved together in about as intimate a touch as a body could have while clothed. But she didn’t want to be clothed. She wanted to dance like this, upright, then, there on the blanket, without a bit of clothing between them.
He stopped moving. Tori slowly opened