He turned toward her slowly, counting backward to bring himself under control, but when their gazes locked, her eyes sparking and challenging and her blond eyebrows arched in annoyance, he wanted to let go and fall toward her, to collide and see what the hell might happen.
She bit her lip, looking momentarily uncertain, and that inadvertent show of vulnerability was like ice water being dumped on him.
She’s innocent, and I’m screwed up and from another century.
“I’m game if you are.” Christ, that had sounded like an invitation to sin. Luckily, she looked confused by his word choice. He jerked a hand through his hair. He was not an inexperienced teenager. He could be around this woman and control his attraction to her. “I want to learn the dances,” he clarified.
“Verra well. Follow my lead.” She held out her hand to him, and when he took it, the contact was like lightning in his veins. It was a streak of pure need, a longing so intense he inadvertently squeezed her finger. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide. “Are ye all right?”
No. Hell no. He was apparently finally losing his very loose hold on sanity. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Adamnfine liar.
With a nod, she pulled him toward the circle that was forming, and he took the hand of the woman to his left. She had brown hair and a young face. She could have been a supermodel, and it wouldn’t have mattered. His brain and body were homed in on Deirdre. Even not looking at her, he saw her: the dimples in her cheeks, her pert nose, the lower lip that was just slightly fuller than her plump upper lip. The long, slender column of her neck, and her pulse hammering where her collarbones met. He affected her, which his male ego loved.
The music started slow, high lyrical notes of instruments joining the cacophony of laughter and talking. Theirs was not the only circle. There were six scattered around the great hall floor and all around the circles stood women and men, talking, drinking, watching, waiting their turn, he assumed for the next dance. As the music began, Deirdre pulled on his hand as the circle moved to the right, so he had to look her way.
She was looking at him, a crease between her brow. “Step three times to the right, then kick,” she said above the music. “This is called the circle.” He did as she told him to, and then she said, “Now to the left three steps and kick.” Again, he followed her instructions. “Now the circle moves in so release my hands and clap three times.”
If this dance went on like this, he’d only need to practice it once, which was a good thing. He and Deirdre could part ways for the night, and he could put her out of his mind.
“Back ye go,” she said with a laugh that made his chest tighten. He went back three paces and then kicked his feet out three times as Deirdre did.
“Is that it?” he asked, starting to pull his hand away.
“Nay, ye clot-heid. That’s just the beginning. Now the speed increases.”
“No thanks,” he said. He hadn’t had this much physical contact with a woman he wasn’t having sex with since Amanda’s death. He wanted to be alone, to brood, to be dark and remember what he had lost and why. It’s what he deserved.
Deirdre’s eyebrows arched high. “Are ye scared ye will misstep?” she asked, starting to move with the circle of people and pull him with her.
“Yeah,” he lied. He was worried he’d forget who he was, who she was, and what could never happen.
“Do nae worry, Reikart. I’ve got ye.”
Say no thanks. Say no thanks. Walk away.
“Don’t let go,” he said, his voice rumbling out of his chest. His desire for her was making him an idiot.
She gripped his hand tightly, and around they went to the right, then to the left, then in toward the center of the circle, and out. Then they did it again, the music increasing in tempo and volume, his movements speeding up, his desire increasing, too. Before long, they were flying to the left and the right, forward and back, and he was light and laughing. He looked at Deirdre, her eyes shining, smile radiant, cheeks flushed, and lips rosy, and he felt so damn good.
They swung so fast to the right the next time that Deirdre missed a step and started to stumble. Reikart released the hand of the faceless woman to his left, lunged toward Deirdre, and caught her up by the waist, swinging her up and back against his chest. She was laughing when he spun her to face him. Strands of her blond hair fell forward over her eyes, and impulsively, he reached out and tucked them behind her ear. It was an intimate gesture, one he hadn’t performed in years, one he had thought never to do again. What the hell was he allowing?
“I’m done dancing,” he said, stepping away from her.
She frowned. “What about the other dances? Ye need to learn them all.”
“I’ll watch from the sidelines,” he said, quickly turning from her and walking away before she could respond. He wanted to stay, to dance with her, to be happy, and that was something he could not allow.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hope” is the thing with feathers–
That perches in the soul–
And sings the tune without the words–
And never stops– at all–
