The Night that Changed Everything. Anne McAllister
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that wasn’t what he was doing. He grinned. “No.”
“You are, too. You’re ogling my feet.”
He laughed and pulled her even closer. “There. Now I can’t see them. Better?”
“Er, um,” she muttered into the wool of his lapel. He felt her body stiffen again, but she didn’t pull away. And seconds later, the tension seemed to ease, her body settled against his as they moved together.
Much better, he decided. Except that his body was becoming increasingly aware of how very appealing she was. Nick might have sworn off the idea of marrying after Amy’s death, but he hadn’t sworn off sex.
And thoughts of taking Edie Daley to bed were very appealing.
She seemed to fit in his arms, and as they moved together, he rested his cheek on her hair. She had amazing hair, not at all like the straight platinum curtain Rhiannon wore. Edie’s was thick and dark and wavy. He suspected it had started out the evening tamed by a pair of gold hair clips just above her ears. But it was a long while since those clips had done their job. Even as she danced, her hair was escaping, curling wildly with a life of its own.
He wanted to thread his fingers through it, bury his face in it. He imagined what it would look like spread out against the sheets. He began to consider again how to get her there when the last strains of the waltz died away and the orchestra segued into something louder, faster and with a pounding of drums, which matched the thrum of his blood coursing through his veins.
“Well,” Edie said, abruptly drawing back and pulling her hand out of his. “That was nice.”
Nice? Nick stared at her, jolted.
She nodded, dimpling as she smiled. “Very nice. Thank you for the dance.” There was something almost impishly polite in her tone, as if she knew the effect she was having on him—and wasn’t going to even give him a chance to try his moves.
But Nick wasn’t going to give up without an effort.
“I can do better than nice,” he promised, holding out his hand, silently urging her to take it, to come with him.
Resolutely Edie shook her head. “Thank you, but no. And it isn’t impolite to refuse a second dance,” she informed him before he could claim otherwise.
“How about a glass of wine? We can sit this one out.”
But again she shook her head. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Savas. Thank you for being kind to my sister. And thank you for the dance. I … enjoyed it.”
Had he heard an infinitesimal hesitation in her words? Before Nick could decide, Edie held out her hand and shook his politely. “Good night.”
No!
He didn’t say it. Blessedly his mouth stayed firmly shut. But a thousand things ran through his mind that he might say to stop her, to prolong the moment, to keep her there.
That he wanted to so badly surprised him. He wasn’t used to feeling any such compulsion. Didn’t want to feel it.
Bedding her, yes, he’d like to do that. But just keep her there to talk to him? There was no point.
So he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and nodded.
“Good night, Ms. Daley,” he said equally politely. “Thank you for the dance.”
She turned away. But as she did so, he couldn’t resist. “If you ever do want to see the architectural renovations in my bedroom, Ms. Daley …”
She spun back, her eyes flashing green fire.
Nick’s heart kicked over. He turned on his best millionmegawatt come-hither grin. Edie turned and, with a toss of her head, disappeared into the milling dancing crowd.
Only when the crowd had swallowed her up did he turn away. He felt oddly flat.
He should have gone back to his room then. It was nearly midnight. He’d done his duty. Showed up. Even danced. No one would remark on his vanishing now.
But he didn’t go. He prowled the edges of the dance floor, restless and out of sorts. Edgy. Hungry. And not for food. His body was still aware of how neatly Edie Daley had fit into his arms.
“Damn it.” Abruptly he turned and asked the nearest unattached female for a dance.
Why not? He’d danced once tonight already. It was just more of the same.
But it wasn’t the same. This woman was nothing like Edie Daley.
She didn’t settle into his arms with a reluctance that gave way to rightness. She plastered herself against him, locked her fingers together behind his neck and nibbled on his jaw. She didn’t so much dance as slither and move against him until at last the music ended and Nick was finally able to peel her off again.
“Another?” she murmured.
“No.” He’d had enough. More than. “I’m done dancing,” he said firmly, though years of having good manners drilled into him made him try to look regretful as he stepped away. “I’m calling it a night.”
Even as he did so, someone’s hand touched his arm from behind. “I’m glad to hear it,” an unexpected female voice said.
Nick spun around—and stared with shock into Edie Daley’s gray-green eyes. She linked her arm firmly through his and gave him a blinding smile. “Because I’ve just decided that I’d love to see those architectural renovations.”
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