A Dash of Temptation. Jo Leigh
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shouts were good-natured, but insistent, and she felt utterly out of her element. Dash’s arm tightened around her but his body felt loose and easy. This wasn’t a big deal to him, of course, and she tried to adopt his casual air. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.
A photographer breached the tacit space agreement and popped up inches from her shoulder. “Hey, babe!”
When she turned, he snapped her picture, blinding her with the flash, and she stumbled on the step. Dash held on to her, although it was a near thing, and his hold tightened as he straightened her up. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him tense like a bow string. Their pace changed into a quick march past the reporters and past the reception line until they were safely inside. He didn’t let her go, though.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. The black dot that was her vision dimmed and his features came into focus. “That was interesting.”
“Whoever that jackass was, he’s not going to be around for long. I’m sorry that had to happen to you.”
“It’s okay. He just scared me a little. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He relaxed a bit as he smiled. “But you will be as soon as I can make my way to the bar. Another apple martini?”
“That would be nice.”
“Stay right here. I’ll return in a trice.”
His hand disappeared from the small of her back and took some measure of confidence with it. She watched him walk into the large room to her right, skimming past women in Versace and Prada and men in Armani tuxedos, all of them perfectly coifed, smiling with even white teeth, holding drinks with their manicured hands.
Dash caused a remarkable stir. Everyone looked at him and either smiled broadly or moistened red lips, depending on the gender. Conversations broke midsentence. Men stepped back, stood up straighter. It unsettled her. She’d realized she’d be on display, but her imagination hadn’t been up to the task. Being in the company of Dash Black had its price.
She didn’t envy him this. How difficult to always be at the center. It was as if he’d run a gauntlet of starving beggars, and he was a juicy steak. Even from this distance, perhaps because of the distance, she could feel the pull on him. They all wanted something.
Was she any different? Sure, he’d asked her to this shindig, but still, hadn’t she been doing the happy dance because she’d be with him? Didn’t she fully expect the world to react to her differently?
Man, she needed a drink after that sobering thought. She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel some of her nervousness. As she let the breath go, she realized the focus of the crowd in the foyer had switched from Dash to her. Her first instinct was to hide. If she’d known where the bathroom was, she would have run. But Dash would be back soon, and then things would be all right.
The stares wouldn’t quit. People were undoubtedly curious about who she was, but at least when Dash was next to her, he ran interference.
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Her jaw was starting to ache from holding her smile in place. Where was he?
A painting on the far wall caught her attention. She’d hardly registered her surroundings, which was astonishing considering the room. It was a foyer, and it was larger than her apartment. The floor was marble, the walls eggshell, and the décor screamed money.
The painting in question was a Monet, and she’d be willing to bet the house that it was real. No regular prints for the Nicklebys. Every piece, from the secretary under the mirror to the wall sconces were perfect and gorgeous. And so were the flower arrangements.
She headed over to the nearest pedestal, one of six that lined the room. Whoever did the flowers was a master. They were gorgeous and lush and perfectly suited that space. The central focus was calla lilies, her personal favorite, and the way the florist had used the stargazers was nothing short of exquisite.
“I should have known that’s where you’d be.”
She turned at Dash’s voice. “They’re fabulous.”
“Certainly no more beautiful than the arrangements at the office.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I’m counting on it.”
She flushed a little at his rejoinder as he handed her the martini. He’d gotten himself a drink, too, more of what he’d had in the limo from the looks of it. “This house is amazing.”
He looked around. “There is a certain art to ostentation, isn’t there?”
“Indeed.”
He took a sip of his drink and met her gaze. “Think you’re ready for the ballroom?”
“Why not?”
He held out his arm. “Let’s do it.”
She linked her own arm with his, praying her trembling wouldn’t spill her drink all over the floor. They headed toward the sound of live music and the murmur of a great many voices. She sipped her martini a little too quickly, but dammit, she needed the courage.
The second they passed the doorway, she was struck still at the size and scope of the party. The music she’d heard was from an honest to God big band, like Tommy Dorsey’s or the Eddy Duchin Orchestra from the forties. They began “Moonlight Serenade” as Dash guided her through the beautiful people.
The ballroom itself reminded her of the one from Beauty and the Beast, including the domed ceiling. Hundreds of sparkling lights dotted the dome and it felt as though it was raining stars.
“Wow,” she said.
“I know what you mean.”
She caught the humor in his voice and sure enough, when she looked at him he wore a gentle smile. “It must be old hat for you.”
He shrugged. “Being with you is remarkably refreshing. It’s like seeing the place for the first time.”
“I’m glad I can keep you entertained.”
“Oh, there’s no problem with that. In fact…” he plucked her martini out of her hand and put it, along with his drink, on the tray of a passing waiter. “…come with me.”
His arm went around her waist again, and nope, the last time hadn’t been a fluke. Her tummy did that strange little dance and her breath caught as the heat of him warmed her.
He led her to the dance floor, and the panic rose again. She was about as good at dancing as she was at bullfighting. The band was playing another Glen Miller song, “String of Pearls,” and the other couples on the dance floor swayed easily to the music. Maybe if you’re rich enough, you could buy rhythm.
Dash grabbed her hand and swung her into his arms. They touched from chest to thighs, but by the time she opened her mouth to tell him she couldn’t dance, they were.
His hand on the small of her back steered her with gentle caresses. Moving with incredible grace, he made it seem so easy. When she didn’t step on his feet after the refrain, she relaxed. As much as she could, that is.
She smiled into his handsome face, and he rewarded her with a grin and a slight lift of his right brow. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “But don’t get all excited and start doing a tango or anything.”
“I promise. No tangos.”
She thought of that film, The American President, when Annette Benning dances with Michael Douglas for the first time. When he tells her everyone in the room isn’t looking at him, but at her.
If Tess didn’t look around, she’d be okay. Of course it was no hardship to keep her gaze on Dash. The longer she stared at him, the more she liked his face. The more real he became.
They danced as if they’d danced