Reckless Abandon(74)
It is when those golden eyes find mine and the full, luscious lips curve up slightly that I realize what he was looking for.
Me.
Asher courteously excuses himself from the men he is chatting with and walks toward where I’m standing with my feet frozen on the black and white tiles on the floor. I wait for him like I am the bull’s-eye about to be struck by an arrow. When he approaches, he stands in front of me looking directly into my eyes. Taking a moment, he gives me an adorable half grin and extends his hand.
“Hello. My name is Alexander.”
I place my palm in his and quiver at the memory of what it feels like to have these hands on my body.
“Emma Paige,” I say, shyly. I laugh inwardly at our little exchange.
Asher releases our hands, our palms skimming as they pass, our fingers lingering just a little too long. He raises his left hand lacing his fingers through my hair and curls a strand behind my ear. “You changed your hair.”
I nod and blush at the fact he noticed. My head wants to fall into his hand but I keep it upright.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice smooth like caramel.
I accept his compliment and offer him one in return. “You look very handsome, yourself.”
And, by God, he does.
“I’ve missed you.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that, so I don’t know what to say in return. We are a ball of electricity, the two of us, standing here in the middle of a crowded reception surrounded by hundreds of people yet feeling like we are the only two in the room. He looks down at me and takes a small step forward and speaks in my ear, his words almost a whisper. “Dance with me.”
My hand instantly finds his as I allow him to walk me over to the dance floor. The band is playing a slow melody, the lead singer now crooning to an Adele ballad. His right arm snakes around my waist and pulls me in tightly. His left hand encloses my right, delicately, as if he might reinjure it if he’s too rough.
He pulls our hands into his chest. His eyes on me as we dance.
I follow his lead, dancing slowly, but with rhythm and purpose. Being this close to him again, it triggers every feeling I have for him. From the moment I fell in love with him in Italy to the day he shattered me into a million pieces.
Walking hand in hand through the streets of Capri I got to know him. On a boat in the middle of the ocean I let him into my heart. Playing the strings of a cello I fell so deep for him I have been trying to claw my way back to the top ever since.
Looking up at him, flecks of brown dance in his honey-wheat eyes. My tongue absentmindedly skims my lower lip and his pupils dilate.
“I have been dreaming of this.”
I blink back at him, unsure of his meaning. “You dream of dancing with me?”
“I dream of holding you.”
His strong hand places pressure on my back, pulling me in tighter so we are virtually melded together. His other hand raises mine and his lips skim my scar. He is so beautiful and his words are equally as gorgeous . . . but they are just words. And he is just a man.
“Asher—”
“Alexander.”
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.”
I push away from him but he pulls me in, holding my tight. My voice takes on a serious tone, low and questioning. “No. What are you doing with me? The roses and the songs are perfect. The man who you are pretending to be, right now, is perfect. But you are not perfect. Why are you acting this way?”
Asher stops moving, our bodies halt, and he loosens his hold on me, although we’re still touching. His jaw squares, sharper on the sides. “Emma, I’m trying to tell you that I want you. I want what we started in Italy. I don’t know how to make you see that I’m sorry.”
“Then show me,” I say. “Prove to me something more than the lyrics of someone else’s song and roses of a different color. I fell for a guy on a boat who spoke honestly and deeply; who showed me how to be free. Did he ever exist or was he made up?”
Asher’s brow furrows in as he takes in my words. I use the opportunity to free myself from his arms and step back. The band is ending their song and the people clap.
My eyes still on Asher, I speak the one thing I have been asking from him from the very beginning. “I need something real.”
The cool disdain of Asher’s body language shows me he is wary of what I am asking. I want to know who the real Alexander Asher is but I don’t think he’s willing to let me in. I want to know more about the man I met months ago. Instead, I am face-to-face with a man who is a hardened imposter.
Our moment is broken when Frank takes the mic and asks everyone to find their seats. We stand on the dance floor a beat too long as I wait for Asher to give me something, anything. When it is clear he has nothing to offer I walk away, leaving him there. When I’ve gotten to my seat at the table, Crystal and Lisa are instantly on me, asking questions about dancing with Asher.
I ignore them, because I must look over the speech I worked on with Frank. It’s heavy on statistics and a diatribe on how learning an instrument teaches skill, purpose, and raises the IQ. It’s interesting and it’s insightful. It’s also boring as hell but it’s what the two of us worked on together and what the Juliette Academy needs these people to hear.
When Frank calls my name, the crowd offers a polite applause. I rise to my feet and try not to trip as I walk to the podium. My hands are shaking from nerves. I haven’t given a speech in front of a crowd this size before.