The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(40)
When they were younger, they’d used fake IDs to sneak into Dusty’s Roadhouse two towns west of Sanctuary Sound. In those days, they’d danced so close their bodies were as one, unlike now. Their relationship had ended well before her twenty-first birthday, so being on this hometown dance floor together tonight was a first. The notion of sharing a new first with Ryan prompted a smile she didn’t try to hide.
Their past might be riddled with pain, but the future could be different.
Her gaze wandered nervously, propelled by a myriad of sensations as the sensual effect of dancing pooled in her core, reminding her of the security of his embrace. The tenderness of his touch. The heat of his kiss.
Those memories clouded her mind—in a good way, for a change. Loosened her up enough to risk moving closer. Thanks to her daydreaming, she wasn’t sure if she’d lost her balance, been knocked forward by another dancer, or if she’d subconsciously acted out her fantasy. In any case, she fell against Ryan’s chest.
When the lead singer belted the refrain, the irony of the lyrics wasn’t lost on Ryan, especially not with Steffi’s body pressed against his. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d held her by the waist, but this time the shock of it awakened every nerve ending. She blinked up at him, her cheeks as pink as one of Emmy’s dresses.
He couldn’t help but smile. Rarely did Steffi look bewildered or at a loss, but he welcomed the momentary vulnerability even as he knew she wouldn’t let it last long.
Up close, he stared into the warm brown tones of her irises limned in gold, made even prettier for the depth, compassion, and regret that came with age and experience. He still didn’t trust her, but he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t wish he could. Wish they could be friends. Wish . . .
“Sorry.” She eased from his grip, finding the song’s beat again. To his chagrin, he missed the weight and heat of her. “Lost my balance.”
He nodded, unable to speak because an unholy stew of beer, hormones, and memories pickled his brain. The song ended to rampant applause. He thought to make a break for the table, but his hesitation doomed him the instant the band transitioned to the classic Eagles ballad “Best of My Love.”
All around them, the crowd paired up and began the slow sway couples manage on a tiny dance floor. Claire and Ben were still dancing and laughing, which left him no easy excuse to bow out.
“Thirsty?” His voice croaked just a touch as the lead singer began his best Don Henley impression.
Steffi shook her head and glanced around, then looked at him. “Shall we keep dancing?”
Trapped.
Yes. No!
Why did I come?
Answers. He’d come for answers.
“Sure.” He held out his arms, his skin prickling in anticipation of her touch.
She clasped one of his hands and then settled her other hand on his shoulder. For a few measures, neither made eye contact nor said a word. The melody wove them together, and it seemed equally natural and uncomfortable to hold her this close. He wondered if, like his, her throat was dry. Her back sweaty, her heart squeezing hard in her chest?
The lyrics drifted around them like a catalyst for a long-overdue conversation. Damn, it was a sad, sad song. No wonder he’d punched it off whenever he heard it on the radio.
“It’s weird, right?” Steffi’s face was so close that the heat of her breath brushed against his jaw. The hint of some kind of grapefruit or lime perfume wafted around them. She didn’t need it—or earrings or makeup or those heels—to be attractive, but he liked it. Not because of how she looked, but because he knew that she’d done it for him. Arrogant, perhaps, but he still knew her . . . a fact that both comforted and terrified him.
He remembered she’d asked him a question. “What’s weird?”
“This. Us.” She grimaced. “Dancing. Talking. A few weeks ago, I’d never have predicted it.”
He grunted. “Me neither.”
“I’m glad, though.” She took a deep breath, and he felt her hand flex on his shoulder. “I meant it when I apologized and asked if we could be friends.”
He could simply accept her apology, but he needed more. She owed him a better explanation than the simple one she’d shouted at him a couple of weeks ago on the back patio.
“Why, Steffi? Why’d you blow me off that way instead of talking to me and giving me a chance to fix things? And don’t just say you were too young and couldn’t handle it.” When she didn’t answer, he asked that nagging question that had always haunted him. The one that had caused him to spend too many nights drinking that first semester. “Was there another guy?”
He swallowed hard, his heart bruising itself against his ribs while he waited. Maybe he didn’t want the answer. In some ways, it might be easier to never learn the truth.
“There wasn’t anyone else.” She frowned.
“Oh.” Relief loosened the knot in his chest. “I assumed that was the real reason why you couldn’t face me.”
“No. I told you, I wanted freedom.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds lame, but if I’d have spoken to you, you could have talked me out of it if you’d wanted to, just like you talked me out of Barcelona. I needed to be my own person for a while, and I didn’t think you’d let me go unless I made you hate me. I’ve regretted that ploy almost since I made it. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.”