Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(14)

I shook my head again.

“Also,” Joe said, “the accident happened on my birthday.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

I lifted my gaze heavenward. “That’s so sad. That’s…” I paused, fighting my better instincts. “Okay,” I found myself saying. “One dance.”

“I knew the birthday would do it,” he said in satisfaction.

“A quick dance. In the corner, where as few people as possible can see.”

Joe took my hand in a warm grip. He led me past sparkling groves of potted trees and palms, back to a shadowy corner behind the orchestra. A sly, jazzy version of “They Can’t Take That Away from Me” floated through the air. The female singer’s voice had an appealing rough-sweet edge, like broken candy.

Joe turned me to face him and took me in a practiced hold, one hand at my waist. So this would be a real dance, not a side-to-side sway. Tentatively, I placed my left hand on his shoulder. He pulled me into a smooth pattern, his movements so assured that there could be no doubt about who was leading. As he lifted my hand to guide me into a twirl, I followed so easily that we didn’t miss a step. I heard his low laugh, a sound of pleasure at discovering a well-matched partner.

“What else are you good at?” he asked near my ear. “Besides dancing and wedding planning.”

“That’s about it.” After a moment, I volunteered, “I can tie balloon animals. And I can whistle with my fingers.”

I felt the shape of his smile against my ear.

My glasses had slipped down my nose, and I briefly broke our hold to push them back up to the bridge. I made a mental note to have the earpieces adjusted as soon as I got back to Houston. “What about you?” I asked. “Do you have any hidden talents?”

“I can scissor dribble a basketball. And I know the entire NATO phonetic alphabet.”

“You mean like Alfa, Bravo, Charlie?”

“Exactly.”

“How did you learn it?”

“Scouting badge.”

“Spell my name,” I commanded, testing him.

“Alfa-Victor-Echo-Romeo-Yankee.” He twirled me again.

It seemed the air had turned into champagne, every breath filled with free-floating giddiness.

My glasses slipped again, and I began to adjust them. “Avery,” he said gently, “let me hold those for you. I’ll keep them in my pocket until we’re done.”

“I won’t be able to see where we’re going.”

“But I will.” Carefully he drew the glasses from my face, folded them, and slipped them into the breast pocket of his tux. The room turned into a blur of glitter and shadow. I didn’t understand myself, why I had surrendered control to him so easily. I stood there blind and exposed, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

Joe’s arms went around me. He took me in the same hold as before, except now we were closer, our steps intimately constrained. This time he no longer followed the orchestra rhythm, only settled into a slow, relaxed pace.

As I breathed in the scent of him, burnished with sun and salt, I was confounded by the yearning to press my mouth against his neck, taste him.

“You’re nearsighted,” I heard him say on a questioning note.

I nodded. “You’re the only thing I can see.”

He looked down at me, our noses nearly touching. “Good.” The word was scratchy-soft, like a cat’s tongue.

My breath caught. I turned my face away deliberately. I had to break the spell, or I was going to do something I would regret.

“Get ready,” I heard him say. “I’m going to dip you.”

I clutched at him. “Don’t, you’ll drop me.”

“I’m not going to drop you.” He sounded amused.

I stiffened as I felt his hand slide to the center of my back. “I’m serious. Joe —”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t think —”

“Here we go.” He lowered me backward, supporting me securely. My head tipped back, my vision filled with the twinkling firefly lights entwined in the tree branches. I gasped as he pulled me upright with astonishing ease.

“Oh! You’re strong.”

“It has nothing to do with strength. It’s knowing how to do it.” Joe caught me against him, closer than before. Now we were matched front to front. The moment was charged with something I’d never felt before, a soft voltaic heat. I was quiet, unable to make a sound if my life had depended on it. I closed my eyes. My senses were busy gathering him in, the hard strength of his body, the caress of his breath against my ear.

All too soon, the song ended with a bittersweet flourish. Joe’s arms tightened. “Not yet,” he murmured. “One more.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you should.” He kept me against him.

Another song started, the notes flaring softly. “What a Wonderful World” was a wedding staple. I’d heard it about a thousand times, interpreted every way imaginable. But every now and then an old song could pierce your heart as if you were hearing it for the first time.

As we danced, I tried to gather every passing second for safekeeping, like pennies in a Mason jar. But soon I lost track, and there was only the two of us, wrapped in music and dream-colored darkness. Joe’s hand covered mine, and he pulled my arm around his neck. When I didn’t resist, he reached for my other wrist and pulled that one up, too.