responded with a really, really terrible
“I said them because I believe them. I’m trying to keep things friendly because my purpose is to help you find out what being the Infinityglass means. But …”
“But?” She sounded hopeful.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her face in my hands, thread my fingers through her hair, and kiss her until neither one of us could see or breathe or worry about what was coming next. Then I wanted to go back to the room and … yeah.
“But maybe my purpose has skewed a little.”
“Why did the Hourglass send you?” She looked up into my eyes. “Why not someone else?”
“My knowledge base is broadest.” I was quiet for a minute. “And I’m glad, because I wouldn’t want anyone to be here but me.”
“Why?” She leaned in, and her eyes were on my lips.
“Because I wouldn’t have met you. The Infinityglass would’ve been cold and impersonal to me, and I needed it to have a face.”
Because now that it did, everything had changed.
“I’m glad you’re here, too.” She stopped for a moment, thinking. “What you did in the lobby was so
“Just the small things.”
“Then you practice with the big things. It’s a gift, Dune, not something you can shove in between your mattress and box spring like a diary. You can’t lock it up and forget about it. There could come a time when you need it.”
I ran my thumb over the smooth skin on top of her hand. “I’m afraid of losing control. The very last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt someone, even a stranger.”
“I understand control. I never feel like I have it, except when I dance.”
“I wish I could see you.” I pressed my lips together right after I said it. “I mean …”
“The Samoan boy blushes. You want to see me dance?”
I searched her face. “I do.”
She nodded slowly. “Then follow me.”
From the landing where we sat, I followed her up to the second-story lobby. A tapestry hung on one wall above a huge wooden cabinet. Ornate golden carvings on the door displayed a roaring lion with a flowing mane. The more I looked at it, the more it seemed to be a warrior wearing a mask. Two sets of double doors were across from it.
“Locked.” Hallie looked around before stepping in front of the lock. I heard a
“What did you do?”
“You don’t want to know.” She tucked her hand in her pocket. “Come on.”
She let the door close behind us, and we stood in silence as I took it all in.
A ballroom. A row of windows dressed in golden velvet draperies was divided by a small, simple staircase with four steps. The late afternoon sunlight blurred the edges of a windowed doorway that led to a wide gallery overlooking Orleans Street.
Hallie couldn’t take her eyes away from the chandelier hanging in the center of the room.
“Are you going to stare, or dance?” I asked.
“Only if I dance with you.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.” I felt a little hectic.
“If you want to see me dance, I’m going to do it in your arms.”
“Too shy to dance by yourself?” I said. “Afraid, maybe?”
“No. Why?” She raised one eyebrow. “Are you going to double-dog dare me?”
“If I have to.”
“Dance is personal.” Hallie always had excellent posture, but when she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, the dancer in her took over. Breathtakingly beautiful. “It’s the only time I get to be free. I don’t perform very often, and a cage or a stage in a dance club doesn’t count.”
“You … wear clothes when you do that?”
“You’re really dropping judgment on me right now?” She knew I was teasing. I could tell by her smile.
“No. I’m doing everything in my power not to picture it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should,” I said. “I could pass out. That would be embarrassing.”
“You’re a terrible tease.”
“I know. I’m not sure how to approach this.” I’d have been more comfortable trying to figure out how to hack into the pope’s e-mail.
“You can start by shutting up and putting your arms around me. Take my hand in yours. Put the other one on the small of my back.”
“According to online surveys, the small of a woman’s back is one of the places she most wants to be touched.”
“You touch me there all the time. Do you read a lot of surveys about where women like to be touched?”
“Um.”
“Where are some of the other places?” She met my eyes dead on. “If you think I’m going to let this go, you’re so, so wrong.”
“Clavicle.”
“And?”
“Crooks of elbows. Backs of knees. Nape of neck.”
“You’re leaving out some really obvi—”
“Hallie?”
She grinned and batted her lashes. “Yes.”
“Maybe we should just dance.” My palm met hers while my other hand settled on her waist.
There was a subtle, slight hitch in her breathing.
“Your breath just caught.” I said it without thinking.
“Maybe it did. So what?” She angled her chin up at me.
“Nothing. It’s just … it’s only fair. You make mine catch all the time.”
But if Dune kept talking sweet to me, I was going to need a fainting couch and smelling salts pronto.
His touch was gentle, and he smelled like the ocean. Not fishy ocean, but expensive, man-made, bottled interpretation of the ocean. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was in his arms, or how overwhelmed I was by my emotions when he pulled me closer.
Then the world melted around us.
Rivulets of the past flooded over the present, and the song playing in my mind bloomed from a few simple notes to a full orchestra. What I thought would be a waltz became a quadrille. Dune’s face faded. A masquerade mask replaced it, and the rip world replaced my own.
