Somebody to Love(79)
“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed. “I can barely stand, let alone dance, sweetheart!”
“I’m extremely handsome and strong,” he said. “You sure you want to turn me down?”
“Fine. You’ve convinced me,” she said, standing with the help of her cane. She came up to his chest. “What’s your name, young man?”
“James Francis Xavier Cahill.”
“Oh! What a lovely name! I always did love the name James! I was so sorry when they shortened James Stewart to Jimmy.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “You can call me Bess. Do you know it’s been at least a dozen years since I danced?”
“I think you’re lying,” he said, maneuvering very carefully among the other dancers. “You’re too pretty to be on the sidelines. You must have at least three boyfriends.” He grinned as she laughed.
Parker had made herself scarce.
Well. They happened to live together, so she couldn’t hide forever.
James also danced with Lavinia, danced with Maggie’s mother, dodged a pass from a woman he didn’t know, and made his way back behind the bar and stayed there, watching the crowd. Parker stayed on the sidelines, though she did dance with one of the Three Musketeers, the guy whose wife died earlier this year.
She didn’t come his way again.
A while later, his uncle approached, sweaty from having danced with Maggie’s twin. He sat down in front of the bar and eyed James. “Why don’t you go home, kid?” he said, wiping his forehead. “We’re all set here.”
“No, I’ll stay, Unc. Help you pack things in later on.”
“Nah. You did all the setup. Don’t worry. The McConnell kid will do it. He needs a little money. Going off to Dartmouth this fall.”
James hesitated. “Okay.” He started to walk off, then stopped. “Dewey,” he said, “I wanted to thank you.”
“What for?”
“For letting me come stay with you when I was a kid. When things were tough.”
Dewey’s expression changed. “Sure, kid. Now go home. Go. Git. I’m gonna see if Chantal will dance with me for old times’ sake.”
* * *
LITTLE MONKEY WATCHED the other monkeys swinging through the vines. Gosh, it looked like fun! But what if she missed the vine? She might fall, breaking her bones as she crashed through the branches, possibly rupturing some organs as she fell to the jungle floor, where Hungry Jaguar was waiting to gobble her up. On second thought, maybe she’d stay in the tree instead, make a martini and call it a day.
Parker sighed, put aside the red notebook and sat back in the old wooden chair. She’d slipped away from the wedding and was down on the dock, still in her dress. Beauty lay at her feet, contentedly staring out at the water, which was a purplish-blue under the darkening sky.
Lovely wedding. Just lovely, all that happiness so palpable. She’d laughed and eaten and truly enjoyed sitting with Lavinia and watching the bride and groom. Little Violet Jones fell asleep on her lap, an achingly wonderful moment, the sweet smell of the little girl’s head, her limp, warm weight so welcome.
But mostly, she’d felt James. Felt his every smile, directed at her or not. When he’d touched her face, his eyes so dark, she’d been unable to even breathe. Thought he might kiss her for a second. So, in typical fashion, she bolted, but from that moment on, she’d felt him. His laugh hit her in the stomach in a warm, aching squeeze, and each time those smiley, dark eyes met hers…well, hell, there it was again, that strong, tingling pull she’d only ever felt around him.
Music from the reception drifted down from the green and out over the water, the thump of bass and occasional roll of laughter easily heard from the dock. The music changed from fast to slow…something by Norah Jones, the words just out of reach.
The tingling pull started again. She turned her head, and there he was, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, his tie loosened, standing at the foot of the dock, watching her. Beauty’s tail swished.
“Hey, James,” she said mildly.
Mildly, right. Her heart was shuddering, it was beating so fast. Jump him, Spike advised. He’s a guy. He’ll love it. In her mind, the former child angel wore a black leather jacket and squinted through a haze of cigarette smoke. She should look into medication for this.
James came over to her, the dock rocking gently. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Come on, coward,” he murmured. “You owe me a dance.”
His hand was warm and sure. He pulled her to her feet, right against him, and Parker thought she might actually swoon, because he smelled so good, was so warm. Her entire body seemed to melt into his as his arm slipped around her waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and James tipped his head and smiled at her, just a little. Parker swallowed, then put her cheek on his solid shoulder.
Norah Jones’s smoky voice floated across the water, and the waves lapped against the dock, and she and James stood there, barely moving. Do something, James, she thought. Help me out here.
Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers through hers. His hair tickled her neck as he bent his head, his lips warm as he kissed her shoulder, and the relief was so immense that her knees wobbled. He smiled against her neck.
Parker slipped one hand against his chest, feeling the solid thumping of his heart, such a sweet, intimate feeling that the ache in her grew sharply. His lips moved higher up her neck, his beautiful mouth smooth and warm against her skin.