Man Overboard. Karen Leabo
with her father’s band, she had practically grown up in nightclubs, learning everything from the tango to the twist to the Texas two-step.
Harrison was watching her, too, seemingly interested in her response. She felt a sudden, illogical urge to show him that she wasn’t completely inept when it came to social skills.
She smiled up at James. “All right, one dance.”
The band had just launched into “In the Mood,” and she and James fell into an easy jitterbug. James was an adept partner, if not an inspired one, and Paige found that she was almost enjoying herself. They fit well together, James’s less-than-towering height complementing her petite size.
“I think you’re the one who should be giving lessons,” he said when the song ended. “How did you learn to dance like that?”
“My parents taught me,” she said, choosing not to elaborate.
The band started a slower number, and James drew her into his arms for a waltz. She wasn’t as comfortable dancing so close, and she did her best to maintain some distance between their bodies while James did his best to maximize contact.
She glanced wistfully at their table, wondering how she could end the dance without sounding horribly rude, when she saw Harrison watching them, his black gaze practically burning a hole through her.
Rather than pleasing her, as it should have, the look on his face disturbed her.
Fortunately a beeper in James’s coat pocket chose that moment to chirp. “Damn,” he said under his breath as he reluctantly released Paige. “Looks like I’ll have to go take care of some small emergency. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Paige murmured her insincere regrets over his leaving, breathed a quiet sigh of relief and went back to the table.
“How about it, Aurora?” Harrison was saying, apparently oblivious to Paige’s return.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aurora demurred. “I’m not much for dancing, not tonight, anyway. My feet hurt.”
What? Paige thought. Since when did her mother not like to dance?
“Besides, I need to go powder my nose,” Aurora continued. “If you’re set on dancing, why don’t you give Paige a try?”
Paige gave a small gasp as they both looked expectantly at her. Dance with Harrison? The mere thought made her dizzy. Or maybe that was just the wine.
“Would you like to dance, Paige?” Harrison asked politely. “If James doesn’t mind, that is.”
That infuriated her. “James was called away on business,” she informed him icily. “But I’m sure he doesn’t give a fig whom I dance with, nor would I care if he did.”
“Good.” Harrison stood and took her hand, urging her out of her chair.
Aurora leaned over to Paige and whispered, “Don’t let him dance with anyone else, particularly not that stacked brunette who keeps making cow eyes at him from across the room. I’ll be back shortly.”
It appeared Paige had no choice but to acquiesce. It irked her that her mother thought her to be far less of a threat than the silicone-implanted bimbo. It irked her again that she even cared.
The band was playing another slow, dreamy number, and Harrison drew her easily into his arms. He was not so skillful a dancer as James, but he was obviously comfortable with his own body and his movements. In moments they were dancing in harmony, despite the height difference between them. He held her not too stiffly, yet not too close, either.
“Could you at least try to appear as if you’re enjoying this?” Harrison said. “People will think I’m pulling your fingernails out one by one instead of dancing with you.”
Little did he know that he was inflicting a very different brand of torture on her. His nearness caused her body to respond, despite her efforts to remain indifferent. She was acutely aware of his hard, lean torso brushing against hers, the warmth of his hand enveloping hers, the strength of his shoulder where she touched him, the subtle, spicy fragrance of his after-shave.
And the way he looked at her. She could have easily drowned in those brown eyes, which seemed so sincere.
She forced a smile.
“That’s a little better. Why do you dislike me so intensely?
“It’s habit,” she replied, not even bothering to deny the accusation. “I’ve never liked any of Aurora’s suitors. She tends to attract a certain brand of man.”
“What if I’m different?” he countered, his hand making slow, sensual circles at the small of her back. “What if I’m gainfully employed, financially secure and a gentleman without designs on Aurora’s matrimonial status?”
Paige didn’t answer. The feel of his hand, warm and insistent through the silk of her dress, had paralyzed her brain and turned her body into one big nerve ending.
“Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?” he prompted.
With no small effort Paige collected her wits. What was she doing? What was she allowing him to do?
“You may be gainfully employed and financially secure,” she said evenly. “But a gentleman? For the past few minutes you’ve been rubbing circles on my back, and now your hand is perilously close to a part of my anatomy that shouldn’t be fondled in public. In conclusion, only a cur dog pursues two females at the same time, much less two females who are close to each other. This dance is finished, Mr. Powell. And when I tell Aurora what you’re up to, you’ll be finished with her, as well.”
Looking a bit startled at her vehement outburst, he dropped his hands, allowing her to escape.
Paige resisted the urge to run. Her face flaming, she left the dance floor, bypassed their table and headed straight for the exit. A detached part of her applauded her blistering speech. Her outrage was perfectly justified; the dressing down was no more than the cad deserved.
But another, more frightened part of herself was forced to admit that she’d liked the way he’d been touching her. For the first time in years she’d felt the full force of her own healthy, feminine response to a man’s touch, complete with watery knees, fluttering stomach, heart palpitations and an insistent tug deep in her abdomen, an ache that begged for fulfillment.
If she hadn’t willfully summoned up that anger, she would have melted against him, turned her face upward and accepted the kiss she knew had been on his mind.
She probably would have enjoyed it, too.
Three
The next morning Paige was determined to put the previous evening’s disturbing events behind her. The weather outside was gorgeous, she had a new, sleek, emerald green swimsuit, and the breakfast buffet on the Lido Deck beckoned. After she sated herself, she planned to find a deck chair, an umbrella and several undisturbed hours to lose herself in Stephen King’s latest bestseller.
She didn’t have to worry about her mother. She’d heard Aurora come dragging in after 2:00 a.m., giggling like a teenager as someone—Paige didn’t want to think too hard about who—had walked her to her door. If Aurora was true to form, she wouldn’t be out of bed until noon.
Paige did, however, need to borrow Aurora’s bottle of sun block. She eased the connecting door open and tiptoed inside her mother’s room, where Aurora snored softly, a satin sleeping mask protecting her eyes from the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains.
Now, where would her mother have hidden the suntan lotion? Paige wondered.
“Mmm, Paige?” Aurora said muzzily.
“Sorry, Mother,” Paige whispered. “I’m just looking for the sun block.”
Aurora leaned up on one elbow and pulled off the mask. “‘S