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“I didn’t…” She sucks in a breath. “I don’t take people here much, Ryder. You like beautiful things and this… I think this is beautiful.”
“It’s a nod to the past but modern,” I say, looking about and clapping as the band finishes a song. “It’s also not kitsch. At least, not in the cringe-kitsch way so many places have. I really like it.”
“I believe this actually used to be one of those supper clubs,” she says. “The owner bought it years ago and revamped it from a beer soaked dive to this. I guess tonight is big band, but sometimes it’s salsa, or jazz or whatever pops up. Anyway, I’m glad you like it.”
I try and ignore the tone that holds surprise. She doesn’t think I’d like a place like this, but she’s wrong. I want to say one reason I like it is because it seems so utterly her. And it’s got depth. But that all sounds so…I don’t know…pathetic, that I keep it to myself. Instead, as the band starts a slow number, I get up and hold out my hand.
“You want to dance?”
“Of course I do. You were the one who suggested it and taunted.”
She doesn’t move and I frown.
“What’s the matter?”
Elliot looks at me, the people slow dancing behind me, then picks up her glass and drains it and I’m honestly not sure whether to be insulted or laugh. “Dutch courage?”
“Something like that.”
She places her hand in mine and it’s cool, a small zing to the senses. Just the reaction to the temperature change from the glass, I tell myself, but as I close my fingers around hers, I wonder.
Because she’s a bundle of sparks and barbs and depths and mountains. She’s secrets and wide fields. Storms and sunny skies.
The song is slow and smoky and winds around us as I settle her in against me. And we sway to the music.
Elliot’s warm and soft and the curves perfect to hold. And the gardenias are there, twined with that something belonging to her alone. A something which slides in low against the senses. It’s something I can get behind.
“Loosen up, Perry.”
“Not every woman falls at your feet,” she snaps.
I laugh. “I’m aware. God forbid if they did. But I’m not that repulsive that you can’t put your arms around me.”
Those sweet eyes meet mine. “And if I don’t want to?”
“Pretend, that’s what the evening’s about, remember.”
Elliot makes a small sound of huffy suffering and I laugh against her ear as she slides her arms up and around my neck.
It’s not much of a dance, but it’s the kind that any man worth his salt loves. A woman to hold, her body against his. The possibilities are endless. And I know I have to stop thinking like that. First off, it’s Elliot. She’d probably punch me if she thought my mind kept going there with her. Second…I need to prove to myself I can actually do this. Just be with a woman like her, one with so many possibilities, and not twist it into anything. I need to just be.
Because if I’m like this around her, thinking of that mouth, the taste of her, and what else would be good with her, then I’m a hopeless case.
I don’t want to change.
I shouldn’t have to change.
But if I can’t, even for a while, then I’m just as pathetic as she seems to think I am.
Jesus. Did they put self-pity juice in the side car?
“Happy?”
“Yeah,” I say, easing her a little closer. “I am.”
And apart from that self-pity juice, it’s true. She feels right. If she feels right, then…
“You know, Perry, I think this is going to work.”
