“It looks like I’m about to learn,” he replied as he released her hands.
“Oh, yes you are!” Full of excitement, she crouched down, like all the other dancers, and then arms held out at her sides, she playfully shook her torso, making the lace on her dress flip and flop as she rose back up.
He followed suit, but when he was standing straight again, he grasped her waist and lifted her high in the air and spun around before setting her back on her feet.
The crowd cheered loudly, and it was a moment before she realized they were shouting the number three.
“They are cheering for us!” she shouted above the roar of the crowd and the music. She’d never had this much fun dancing.
“I believe they are!” He grasped her hands. “If we want to win, we have to give them a show.”
Excitement flared inside her. “Let’s! Let’s give them a show and win!”
They crouched down together, hands held, and rose back up, shaking and shimmying, toward one another until their torsos touched before shimmying away from each other again. Laughing as the crowd cheered louder, they did it again. And again.
The enjoyment inside her grew as they continued to dance, as the crowd continued to applaud. He was a spectacular dancer and led her through a course of dips and twirls, jumps and shimmies that had the crowd cheering and clapping louder and louder.
During the next song, which was a tango, they gained more cheers while dancing cheek to cheek, chest to chest, up and down the floor. On every turn, he’d add in several overly flourished dips and bows that kept the crowd shouting their number.
When the beginning chords of the final song struck, he threw his head back in laughter while grabbing her hand, leading her backward several steps, and then forward. Having the time of her life, Betty kicked up her heels to the fast beats of the Charleston tune the piano man was playing.
She pranced back and forth next to him, with the hem of her purple skirt flapping against her legs as she tapped the heels of her shoes with her palms, slapped the floor with her fingers and crisscrossed her ankles. It was so fun, so exhilarating, she danced faster and faster.
So did he.
He grasped her hand when a couple fell down in front of them, and then another. Without missing a beat, he pulled her forward. They leaped over the fallen dancers and kept on dancing.
Her heart was pounding in her chest faster than the piano man was striking keys, and she loved it. Loved dancing. Loved the freedom of not caring about anything except having a good time. No other partner had ever made her feel this carefree, this alive. Every time she looked into his eyes, saw them shimmering, the exhilaration inside her grew even more.
At the edge of the dance floor, rather than turning back in the other direction, he grasped her waist and lifted her high in the air so she was looking down on him, and then he swung her downward, alongside his right hip and then his left hip before setting her feet back on the floor at the precise moment the music ended.
She was so light-headed, so dizzy, she had to grasp on to his shoulders with both hands. The roar of the crowd echoed in her ears as she looked up at him. He was so handsome, his eyes so unique and striking, a warmth swirled inside her, and grew as he brought his face closer to hers. A memory, a hope, filled her so quickly, she barely had time to contemplate it, other than the recognition that she wanted to kiss him again. Kiss him like she had on the beach three years ago.
The moment his lips touched hers, that hope came to fruition, and she looped her arms around his neck to kiss him in return.
The fun, the excitement, he’d been caught up in came to a crashing halt the moment Henry Randall realized what he was doing.
Kissing her.
In the eight years he’d been an agent for the Bureau of Investigation under the federal Justice Department, since the day he’d turned eighteen and his uncle had assigned him the position, he’d never once forgotten who he was, or what he was doing.
Until tonight.
Until the sea nymph he’d carried ashore three years ago had reentered his life.
What the hell had he been thinking? He was working undercover, on a major case. A case that seven years ago, when he’d still been a rookie, had propelled him to the top. Made other agents look at him as an equal, not his uncle’s nephew.
Henry pulled his lips off hers, which were as soft and sweet as he’d remembered and took a step back. Telling himself not to look at her. Not to meet the gaze of those dark blue eyes again because that had been his first downfall tonight. He’d thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he’d first noticed her. Thought it couldn’t be her. But it was.
The investigator in him rose up. She’d been in Seattle, and now she was here?
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
He glanced around the room, beyond the crowd that was encircling them. Congratulating them.
His attention snagged on a man, one who he’d leaped over on the dance floor a short time ago. A wave of dread washed over him and kicked his senses back where they belonged. At least his common sense.
Lane Cox. If anyone would recognize him, it would be Lane. Cox was not only the owner of the local newspaper, he was the best reporter in the state. If not the nation.
Although his instincts were to stay at her side, find out who she knew and why she was here, Henry knew what he had to do, and took a step back. Then another.
He bumped into someone, and shifting aside, to see who it was, he nodded at the
