Page 64 of Flirting with Forever

It was only a matter of time before Mary ran into Doug in the bar he considered to be his home turf. It just blew that it had to be onthisnight, when she’d been so determined to have a good time. Her shop was put back together and glittering again, she was caught up on her insurance paperwork and all of her closest friends were here, celebrating with her. It should have been a night for the ages. Instead she was just feeling defeated.

These were the moments she missed Cora the most. Cora would have told Doug to take a long walk off a short pier. She would have intercepted him before he’d even approached Mary. She would have told him that the bar was closed for him tonight but try again later, ding-dong.

Instead, Mary had been caught unawares when she’d heard his voice in her ear. She’d been unable to think of anything to do besides play nice when she’d turned and seen Doug and Anna. And now all she felt was the dizzying absence where her good mood had just been. It had been a hard two weeks, so there were plenty of bummed-out feelings to rush in and set up shop.

Richie, sensing her change in demeanor, leaned in to ask her something, but the music was too loud and she couldn’t hear him. Beth too was looking at Mary in concern. Mary glanced over one shoulder and watched as Doug pulled out a barstool for Anna, boxing her in against the bar the way he used to do with Mary.

It hit Mary that it wasn’t just Cora that Mary was lonely for. She was lonely for a partner. She wanted someone who knew the whole story. Her whole story. She wanted someone who was going to crawl into bed with her tonight. Someone who would lower the stakes on her sadness and discomfort. Because what would this fleeting feeling really matter if there was someone who could roll his eyes at Doug? Who made sure her drink wasn’t empty. Who looped an arm around her neck from behind and whispered in her ear. Who wanted to leave with her.

She just wanted someone to want to leave with her.

“Mary?” Richie was saying, obviously concerned, leaning toward her.

She shook her head, horrified when the backs of her eyes started to tighten. No. Not now. No crying right now.

“Mary,” a different voice said into her ear. An exhilaratingly familiar voice. A two-toned voice. A voice made up of two voices mixed into one. A man with so many different facets he couldn’t be contained by one sound.

He didn’t loop an arm around her neck the way she’d just been fantasizing about, but he did put two of his heavy fingers on the inside of her elbow and press in, just a bit, to get her to turn toward him.

And turn she did.

She’d never seen this look on his face before.

Oh, Christ. She knew that look. That was a you-might-not-know-it-yet-but-I’m-kinda-the-man kind of look. That there, ladies and gentlemen, was a knee-knocker.

Mary gaped up at him. What was happening? Was he about to kiss her?

The hand that was on the inside of her arm trailed down until palm met palm. He gave her a gentle tug that had her half stepping into him.

“Dance with me,” she watched his lips say.

Dance with him? With John? Never in seven million years would she think that John Modesto-Whitford was a bar dancer.

“Oh,” she said, thrown off by his unexpected mood and still conscious of Doug on one side of the bar. “I... I don’t know.” She dug her heels in.

He didn’t tug her again. Instead, he let her hand drop, but he held her eye contact. Those formerly icy eyes of his were backlit with some confident determination. For just a moment, she could see his resemblance to his father—in a good way. She could see that buried somewhere inside John’s gorgeous heart was a man who knew how to get what he wanted. And what he wanted, apparently, was Mary on the dance floor.

That intoxicating stare still glued to hers, John took one step back and then another. He was five feet out from her, on the edge of the dance floor, his eyes reeling her in. A familiar song played, the beat dropped, John’s feet stepped to one side, his shoulders hit on the downbeat, one finger came up, he pointed at Mary.

Her mouth dropped open.

He was dancing for her, in a room full of people, tempting her to come play with him. He pointed at the ceiling next, back to her, his hips getting in on the rhythm. He was a sexy-dorky dancer, confident and—gah—smiling.

It was the smile that did it. He had a smile that utilized every single one of those lines on his face, this time for good. It was like every inch of his face smiled, not just his mouth. Sure, his teeth flashed and his lips widened, but it was his smiling eyes, his squinched-up nose, his ears lifted a quarter inch that really did Mary in.

Unexpected, a laugh of pure joy bubbled up out of her. Mary threw her hands over her mouth, laughing with radiant happiness as she watched John two-step for her, his eyes still on hers.

It wasn’t a choice, really, it was just what happened next. Mary took four little steps and ended up in John’s arms, the momentum of her impact spinning them one hundred and eighty degrees. He took her hand and spun her out and then back in so that she landed against him again, their hip bones clacking and their unabashed grins only six inches apart.

She remembered how much she loved this song and threw her arms around his neck. His hands were firm at her hips and back, guiding her against him. She’d danced with both Tyler and Sebastian before, but never likethis. It wasn’t indecent, definitely PG-13, but he held her closer than he ever had before, the sexiness offset by the grinning, ebullient joy emanating from him. She knew then, she justknew, that John wanted nothing more than to be close to her. At this moment at least, she was getting what she wished for, a man who wanted to be next to her.

God, that felt good. He dipped her a little, swung her a few feet farther into the crowd, away from the edge. The other people on the dance floor were simply blurs of color and clothes. Only John was in high-definition. The ever-present shading on his jaw, the undone top button of his shirt, the springtime blue of his eyes, the visible heartbeat in his throat.

It was there that her eyes bottomed out. On his pulse point. On the physical evidence of John’s heart. The grumpy-sweet heart she had such an unbelievable soft spot for. She planted a palm against his throat as the beat to the song intensified, all the dancers really caught up in it now. He hadn’t taken his eyes from hers for minutes, but now his gaze truly searched her.

She finally tore her eyes away, only to rest her cheek on his sternum and experience his heartbeat from the main source. His heart hammered under her cheek. He wanted her. He’d crossed a crowded room to be closer to her. He held her.

And with every speeding beat of his heart, every slide of his feet, every press of his hands at her back, John gave Mary everything she needed.

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