Page 52 of Sweetheart

Then I was flying.

Or at least it felt that way.

I gasped as Sam lifted and turned with me in his arms.This wasn't on my list, but for the life of me,I couldn't figure out why. It was wonderful.Sam's hands were warm on my waist, and butterflies danced in my stomach as I clung to his neck.

"Oh yeah," he said into my ear, "this is much more believable."

"Whatever, Bishop," I said unable to hold back a breathless laugh.

Round and round, we went, and when he finally set me down, I felt unsteady.

"I think you should leave the romantic gestures to me," he said.

"Not a chance," I replied.Looking around, I didn't see Brisa anywhere. The crowd of onlookersbegan to disperse, and there weren't as many people left in the hall. But she had to have walked by us."Did Brisa see?"

"Don't know," he said. "Your hair was in my face."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It was nice."

Brow furrowed, I gave him a look.

Sam just shrugged. "You have nice hair."

"You still say the most random things," I said, thinking back to when we were younger.

"You're random," he replied.

"And come up with the lamest insults."

"You're the lamest."

"Thank you for proving my point."

Residual dizziness hit me then.All those circles had apparently gotten to me.My hand went to my forehead—but a second later, Sam pulled it away, holding my palm between his own and examining it with a frown.

"What happened?" he said, sounding suddenly serious.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"To your hand."

I followed his gaze down and tried to seewhat he saw.Rough callouses, a few cuts, fingertips reddened.

"Who did this?" he said.

I shook my head, startled by the intensity in his voice. "No one," I said. "I just played my violinfor hours last night and this morning."

My breath caught as his touch slowly glided across my palm and along my fingers.

"My left hand always looks like that after I practice too long."

"Looks terrible," he said.

Embarrassed, I went to tug my hand away, but before I could Sam brought my hand to his lips. Slowly, one by one, he placed a soft kiss on each of my fingertips. It was like he had all the time in the world. Like we weren't in public. Like it was just him and me. Each time his mouth touched my skin,it became harder to breathe. And at the same time, every kiss fed my soul in a way I couldn't explain. When he was done, Sam stood back up and met my gaze.

"What was that?" I murmured.

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