Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(26)
“Have you made up your mind about that tango?”
“You can’t tango to ‘Stormy Weather.’”
“I can’t tango at all. Will you dance with me anyway?”
She tipped her head back and stared at him for a long second. He could smell the wine on her breath, mingling with that astounding perfume. “You’re trouble, Theodore Wilde.”
He grinned. “Not trouble. Fun. I’m a good time.” He stood and held out his hand. She shook her head but put her hand in his, and he led her onto the dance floor.
She had downplayed her ‘tendency’ to lead. It was more of a demand. But Theo knew only how to lead, so there was a bit of awkwardness at first, until he stopped trying to gain her cooperation and simply moved her. Her eyebrows went sky high as he used his strength to force her into following, but he merely grinned at her—right at her; she was eye to eye with him in those shoes—and kept moving. Finally, she acquiesced, and they moved smoothly together.
As a writer, Theo thought in metaphor. If he had a religion, it was symbolism—which was, in his estimation, all any religion really was. The metaphor of their first dance, vying for the lead, was not lost on him. He considered it a primer for the future with this woman, however long that future might be.
That wasn’t the only metaphor occurring to him as he moved her around the floor, her body fitted perfectly with his, moving fluidly under his hands. He knew that she knew how being this close to her, smelling her, feeling her, affected him. She could feel it for herself, and she gave him a sardonic look, cocked eyebrow and all, and shifted against him in such a way that the inane, small-talky comment he was trying to make was totally derailed mid-inanity.
When she did it again, flexed on him in that decidedly sexual way, he spun them, clutching her more tightly to him. He put his face to her neck and drew a deep breath, filling his head with her scent.
“What is it you’re wearing? The perfume?”
She laughed. “I don’t even know. I bought it today. I don’t usually wear perfume, but I guess their shopping mania rubbed off on me a little. I like the smell—kind of spicy. And warm, if that’s a smell.”
“It’s bottled sex, is what it is.”
She pulled her head back and smiled at him. “Is that what this is about?” Again, she pressed her leg on his erection.
“You’re what that’s about. What do you think about claiming that rain check?”
The current song ended at that moment, and the music stopped. So did Theo and Carmen, though he didn’t let her go. They stood in place, staring at each other, while the diners applauded and the orchestra started a new song. As they began to move again, Theo asked, “Carmen?”
“I need to stop drinking around you. Wine makes me think with the wrong part.”
“Are you drunk?” Christ, he hoped not; he didn’t want to give her that excuse. She didn’t seem to be.
She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. “No. Just excessively romantic.”
He changed his hold, wrapping his arms around her. “Is that a yes?”
“Work it out so your kids and my sister aren’t watching us, and yes. It’s a yes.”
oOo
Theo scanned the liquor cabinet in Hunter’s grand dining room for something that might appeal to Carmen. “There’s no wine, but there’s brandy. That’s almost the same thing, I think. Do you drink brandy?” There was wine, actually, a whole temperature-controlled, oak-enclosed room of it, but Hunter was a collector, and Theo didn’t want to decant some thousand-dollar bottle accidentally. He knew nothing about wine. The brandy, Jordan had bought. That he could offer.
She was in the salon, so they had to raise their voices a little to be heard. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had brandy. Sure, I’ll try some.”
Working it out with the youngsters had turned out to be easy. Jordan and Rosa had been on the dance floor, too, and Eli had walked over to cut in. The five of them had stood under the gently turning lights over the floor and discussed their plans for the rest of the evening.
It had only been ten o’clock, and none of them had been ready to call it a night. They’d known why Theo and Carmen wanted to separate from them, and they’d made their remarks, both snide and encouraging. Carmen had admonished Rosa to keep her head this time. Rosa, who still had not had anything alcoholic to drink, flipped her big sister off with a swipe of her middle finger down her nose. Carmen had returned the gesture.
Theo gave Eli cab fare, and then he’d brought Carmen back to Hunter Anders’ swanky digs.
He filled a snifter half full and poured himself three fingers of bourbon, then joined Carmen in the living room. No—she’d moved on to the library. He found her examining Hunter’s wall array of vintage posters from famous opera houses. At the moment, aptly, she was considering a poster of Carmen from its engagement at La Scala in 1946.
He stood behind her and reached around to hand her the snifter. She looked over her shoulder as she took it. “Thank you.”
“You like opera?”
“My parents do—did—I mean…” She sighed. “My father does. My mother did. So I know a lot about it.” She’d already told him that her mother died some years before. “I was named for this one. My mother’s favorite.”