something about that.” The candlelight threw shadows in the hollows of her cheekbones.
She swallowed. “Do you have any ideas?”
In the background, there was a thump of bass and the snick of brushes on snare as the combo tuned up. Gabe remembered his assurance to Richie. “I can think of one. Do you dance?”
“Dance?”
“Yeah, like to music.” He rose and held out an arm.
It was on the tip of Hadley’s tongue to say no. She never danced. On her very rare nights out, she might go to a ballet, but that was about as close as she came. Certainly, she wasn’t in the habit of taking to an empty dance floor in front of a roomful of people. Somehow, though, she found herself pushing back her chair and rising.
She had to look up at him, even in her heels. Amusement flickered in his eyes. In the subdued light, they looked darker than before. Hadley hesitated, then tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the fine-weave wool soft against her fingers. She was far more aware of the hard solidity of the arm beneath the fabric as they threaded their way between tables. He smelled of something clean and woodsy and completely male.
On the polished wood of the dance floor, he stopped and turned to her. “Do you know how to waltz?”
From somewhere in the distant sands of time, she dredged up cotillion lessons. “I did when I was thirteen.”
He laughed and took her hand to pull her into dance position. “It’s like riding a bike. Just hold on and go where I lead you.”
Heat sang up her arm at the shock of palm against palm. In defense, she rested her left hand against his shoulder. He was close, so close. Close enough for her to see faint flecks of gold in his green eyes.
Close enough to kiss.
“The count is one, two, three. Back, side, touch, basic box step. Smile,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
The song was “Moon River,” dreamy and slow. His hand pressed against her back; if he pulled just a bit more, they’d be embracing. Suddenly, it felt as outrageous, as daring as dancing must have back in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when women and men barely touched in public.
At first, he counted the steps for her, but with the urging of his hands the old motions came back. The awkwardness evaporated and they began to move, dipping and flowing around the floor. Hadley laughed aloud. “This is wonderful.”
“Didn’t I tell you? You should trust me.” Expertly, he led her into a whirling turn. Then several other couples drifted onto the floor. Aware of the people behind her, she stiffened, stepping forward when she should have gone back, stumbling on his sleek leather shoes.
He stopped for a minute and leaned toward her. His eyes darkened.
Adrenaline sprinted through her veins. A touch? A kiss?
“Look at me,” he murmured instead, his mouth just a breath away from hers. “Trust my lead.”
This time, when they started again, they moved as one. It was like floating, she thought, anchored by his eyes, the light press of his fingertips at her back. When she’d walked into the hotel she’d felt as if she was stepping into another world. And she had. This wasn’t her, this woman being swept around the floor in the arms of a handsome stranger. The rest of the room ebbed away until only his face mattered. The rest of the world—the rest of her life—was irrelevant. In that moment, that glorious moment, all she wanted was him.
She didn’t notice when the music ended. She couldn’t look away. It was as though she was diving into him, seeing the answer that he wanted as much as she did. When he leaned his head toward her it seemed completely natural. Her lips parted. Just a taste, just a touch. She held her breath—
“You are extraordinary,” he murmured. And bowed.
Blinking, Hadley realized the band was on to a new song, a swing tune, and he was leading her off the floor.
It was over.
“You should tell your parents to tip your cotillion teacher,” he said as they walked back to her table. “You did well.”
“Was that before or after I stepped on your toes?” His arm under her fingertips felt natural now. She didn’t want it to end.
“It’s always hard with a strange partner. You slid right into it.”
“You were pretty good yourself,” she said, sitting in the chair he pulled out for her. “Where did you learn all that?”
“During the swing dance craze I dated a woman who wanted to learn ballroom.”
“And you indulged her?”
“We aim to please.”
“I’d like—”
“Nice moves, Mr. Trask,” commented a waiter walking by with a silver-domed tray and Hadley froze.
She knew the name, dear God she knew the name. “Your name is Trask?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“Gabriel Trask,” her dashing stranger confirmed, holding out a hand. “I suppose I should have confessed earlier. I’m not just a dance host. I’m the general manager of the hotel.”
Chapter Three
Hadley’s feet thudded on the treadmill with metronomic regularity as sweat trickled down the side of her face. Idiot, idiot, idiot. The word repeated in her mind in time with her stride. What in the hell was she thinking, flirting with a stranger on a business trip? Losing her focus, getting all doe-eyed over a man she knew absolutely nothing about.
And look where it had gotten her. It was embarrassing, the sort of mistake a rank beginner might make. And on a personal level…
On a personal level it was downright humiliating.
She stifled a groan. That moment at the end of the dance when she’d thought he was going to kiss her, she could only imagine the look on her face. She’d been thinking romance; he’d been the hotel manager attending to a guest dining solo. And now she had to work with him. She was disconcerted, annoyed, mortified.
She’d have crawled over broken glass before admitting she was disappointed.
Of course, if he’d told her who he was up front, everything would have been different. The treadmill chirped, informing her that she was shifting into cool-down mode. Cool down? Not likely to happen anytime soon. A day and a half later, irritation still bubbled through her. There was no way she’d have chatted with him, certainly no way she’d have danced with him if she’d known who he was. All it would have taken was a name badge, something that was standard in every hotel she’d ever been in. Apparently Gabriel Trask was more interested in preserving his Armani than being professional.
Even spending all day Sunday searching out flaws in his hotel and drafting a plan for cuts hadn’t salved her pride. She still had to contend with the embarrassment of facing him.
And
