The Trouble With Love(54)

Julie’s goal of dancing her matrimonial ass off?

Achieved.

And then some.

Mitchell was not as much of a dancer, which was a surprise to absolutely nobody, but Julie wasn’t out on the dance floor alone. Emma and the other women were right there with her, from the Electric Slide to Britney Spears songs Emma hadn’t heard since high school (the bride’s request).

Of course, it wasn’t all champagne-fueled booty shaking or wild arm waving. There were a handful of slower songs.

Songs that demanded slow swaying and sexy touching and romance.

For those songs, Emma quietly slipped off the dance floor to make room for the couples. Again and again, she watched Julie wind her arms around Mitchell’s neck, whispering something that earned a rare smile from the buttoned-up Wall Street broker.

She watched Grace and Jake, entertaining herself by trying to figure out which of the two looked happier, only to give up when she realized they were both as happy and as in love as two people could be.

And then there was the newest couple, Sam and Riley, who fit together so perfectly, who held each other so tightly, it brought a new lump to Emma’s throat, even though she thought she was all dried out after the ceremony.

Of course, Emma wasn’t a wallflower all the time. Jake had claimed a dance, as had Sam. She hadn’t danced with Mitchell, although she knew that was because the few times the guy managed to separate himself from Julie, he was snapped up by some adoring female relative. Most of them either elderly or children, and all adorable.

Emma had also danced with Cole Sharpe, who, she hadn’t realized, was friends with Mitchell, and who was every bit as sarcastic and charming as she’d been warned. But though he had a devil-may-care smile, damn good hair, and what Riley called sex eyes, and though he flirted wildly, there was nothing between them. Cole didn’t make a move, and Emma didn’t want him to.

By the time the DJ announced the last song of the night, Emma was pleasantly buzzed on champagne, heading toward a blister on her left pinky toe, and almost unbearably happy.

Almost.

Because the last dance of the night was a slow one—and a song she hadn’t heard in years, but loved.

So as she and the other singles filed off the dance floor and couples of all ages walked hand in hand onto the dance floor, something crept in around the giddiness of the evening.

Longing.

She told herself she was fine being single—wanted it, even—but when the lights dimmed and the music slowed and the touching started, Emma wanted that. Wanted all of it.

Julie caught Emma’s eye over Mitchell’s shoulder and lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. Assuming that her friend was worried about her, Emma gave her a happy wave and grin before deciding that maybe she wasn’t above hiding out in the bathroom.

She was happy for her friends—she really was—but she didn’t want to be the wallflower right now. Not when she was feeling so damn vulnerable.

But when Emma turned to take the coward’s way out, she ran smack into a hard chest and realized what Julie had been trying to tell her.

Cassidy had been right behind her.

He reached out to grab her arms to steady her, but her emotions were more off-balance than her body, and she reflexively jerked back before he could make contact.

His smile was fleeting, his eyes sad as he let his hands drop.

And it was the sadness that had her reaching out, touching his arm briefly. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I just—”

“Self-protecting,” he said. “I get it.”

She’d barely seen him throughout the reception—intentionally—and at some point in the evening, he’d lost the tux jacket, but the bow tie had stayed. With the white sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows but the tie perfectly tied, perfectly straight, he was a compelling combination of formal and relaxed, and she inexplicably…wanted to touch him.

She was touching him.

She let her hand drop back to her side when she realized, but at the same moment her hand fell, his came up. He was asking her to dance.

Emma looked at his extended hand then met his eyes. And in the end, it wasn’t the perfect bow tie or the sexy white shirt that made her set her fingers in his.

It was the look in his eyes. Not quite pleading, not even passion…just a quiet sense of rightness.

Like they were supposed to dance this song, on this night. With each other.

And just like that, Emma let it go. For tonight, at least, she let the pain go.

His eyes flared—green tonight—when their palms touched, and he closed his thumb on the back of her hand as though to prevent her from changing her mind.

But Emma didn’t change her mind.

She let him lead her onto the dance floor until they mingled in with the swaying couples. Instead of releasing her hand, he tugged, using the contact to pull her closer so his other arm could move around her waist.

The palm of his hand was hot against the small of her back, and she let out a shuddering breath as she lifted her free hand to his shoulder.

The hand holding hers twisted slightly, gripping hers more tightly.

And then they were dancing.

“You were right, you know,” she heard herself say, as she stared at the pristine collar of his shirt.

He didn’t answer, but she knew he was listening.

“The other night, when you put your hand on my back…you said I’d liked it when you touched me there. I did.” Emma swallowed. “I still do.”