well.”
He and Eve were the first couple on the dance floor. The only couple, in fact. They might as well have had a spotlight shining down on them. The music was too loud to hear, but Dawson imagined the murmurs coming from the crowd as he took Eve in his arms.
In addition to feeling conspicuous, he felt wooden and awkward as the past and the present intertwined, making way for comparisons that he didn’t particularly like. Sheila had been petite, her build small and delicate. Eve was tall for a woman and her heels made them nearly the same height. He rested one palm just above her hip and grasped her hand, determined to keep a respectable distance between his body and her dangerous curves.
As soon as they began to move to the music, however, that space began to evaporate. Thighs mingled. Their hips bumped. Sheila had been pliant in Dawson’s arms, going in whatever direction he chose. Not Eve. It was clear almost immediately that he was not the one in control.
A tendril of her hair tickled his nose when he turned his head to whisper, “You’re leading.”
“Yes, I am.” She said it without a hint of apology. Then she asked sweetly, “Do you have a problem with taking instruction?”
“A problem? No. Not really. I simply prefer to give it.” He attempted to back away, but the scent of her perfume followed right along with the rest of her. Before he knew it, she was close enough to his body that he swore he could feel the vibration when she made a tsking sound.
“And here I thought you were original, Dawson. But that’s such a typical male response. It’s a good thing I’m wearing high heels or I’d be drowning in testosterone.”
“Funny.”
Eve executed a turn that Dawson wasn’t prepared for and he stepped on her toes. She grimaced.
“I should apologize for that, but I find myself wanting to say it serves you right. I’m a far better dancer when I’m allowed to take the lead,” he said meaningfully.
“Funny. I feel the same way.”
That had him frowning. “Do you mean to tell me you always lead?”
“For the most part. You could say it’s a habit.” Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug.
“Just what kind of men do you date that leading while dancing has become a habit for you?” he asked.
“The kind who are secure in their manhood,” she replied. She leaned back as she said it. Amusement glittered in her dark eyes. She knew she had him. There wasn’t much he could say in response to that without impugning himself.
Dawson exhaled slowly and shook his head. He felt irritated, frustrated and, God help him, invigorated. “You’re something else.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not sure I intended that as a compliment.”
“No? Well, that’s all right.” She brought her cheek close to his and he felt her breath caress his ear when she added, “I’m going to take it as one anyway. Lemons from lemonade, that’s my motto.”
Dawson gave in and let Eve lead for the rest of the song. It was either that or he was going to continue to knock knees with her and step on her toes. He preferred not to make an even greater spectacle of himself, even if it meant handing over control.
Thankfully, by the time the song ended, they weren’t alone on the floor any longer. Several other couples had joined them, including his parents. Clive and Tallulah were smiling at him. He could only imagine what conclusions they were reaching, especially when, as another slow song started, Eve was still in his arms.
“Care to do this again?” she asked. She sweetened the deal by adding, “I’ll be good and let you lead.”
Because he felt just a little too tempted, he shook his head and released her. “Maybe another time.”
They stayed at the ball for another hour and a half, which was long enough to hear the results of the silent auction. Eve didn’t win the theater tickets, but then Dawson had known that her bid, generous though it was given her means, ultimately wouldn’t be enough. Indeed, the winner had outbid her by nearly five hundred dollars. This was for charity, after all.
“Oh, well,” she said when the winner was announced. “I’ve got the musical’s soundtrack.”
“Maybe you can listen to it while you dine on lobster,” he said, referring to her earlier mention of having to eat salads if she won.
But she was shaking her head. “Lobster? I’m from Maine. Once you’ve had it there, where it’s caught in the morning and on your plate that afternoon, you’re pretty well spoiled. I’ll have a steak. A nice, juicy T-bone cooked so rare that it melts in your mouth.”
His own mouth began watering when she made a little humming noise. To his mortification, her benign talk of red meat was whetting far different appetites. He glanced at his watch. It was just after ten. He was relieved that the evening was almost over, and not just because of his unexpected attraction to Eve.
Even though the point of bringing her had been to introduce her to his family and some of the other people on his Christmas list, he wasn’t sure he appreciated the way she’d been received. Everyone liked her. No surprise there. She was a likeable woman, not in spite of her outspoken nature, but in some ways because of it. But it was more than that. He saw the speculation in their gazes and read between the lines in their comments. He knew what they were thinking: he had finally moved on with his life.
Nothing illustrated this more than his mother’s question while he and Eve were saying their goodbyes.
“Will you be coming to dinner tomorrow afternoon?” Tallulah inquired.
Sunday dinner with his parents was a tradition, or at least it had been until the accident. He, Sheila and Isabelle had rarely missed it. In the intervening years, however, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d shown up.
So he shrugged. “I don’t know, Mom. I have a lot I want to wrap up.”
Tallulah nodded, not quite able to hide her disappointment. “Before you leave for Cabo.”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
She forced a smile to her lips and sidled closer. “Well, if you change your mind, I hope you’ll bring Eve. She’s delightful, Daw.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not what you think, Mom. Eve and I aren’t … serious.”
“Maybe you should be.”
Dawson thought about his mother’s remark during the ride home. Eve was seated next to him on the limousine’s plush leather seat. She was wrapped up in her long wool coat. Even so, the scent of her perfume kept drifting to him, just as it had on the dance floor. It was sexy, dangerous. It slipped over and around him and cinched like a lasso. He found it a small consolation that the woman was completely unaware that his insides were being trussed up like a rodeo steer. She was talking business.
She had pulled a personal digital assistant from her clutch and was entering in some notes as she talked. “I couldn’t help but notice
