Page 36 of Stolen for Keeps
I groaned. “It’s really not necessary.”
Sheryn clasped her hands together and gave Noah the full treatment. “Please? Just for the rehearsal? We’re one short, and I’d hate for Maya to miss out.”
He looked my way, then quickly back to Sheryn, dodging an awkward stare-off.
We’d all gathered now at the tent flap, too many bodies and too much attention.
“Wait a second,” Sheryn said, tilting her head. “You look so much like Elia. Are you?—?”
“Yeah,” Noah said stiffly. “I’m his brother.”
“You two haven’t met?” Claire winced. “Oh gosh, I should’ve introduced you. I’m so sorry, Sheryn.”
Noah’s mouth twitched, like he found the whole thing mildly entertaining. I, on the other hand, was doing everything I could not to ogle the man’s torso, which was like it was carved by divine commission. Abs. Man-chest. Nipples. The V. My thoughts weren’t holy.
“You can dance, right?” Sheryn asked.
Before he could answer, Elia jumped in and said, “C’mon. He was in media. Of course he can dance.”
Noah shot his brother a look. “That’s not how it works.”
“Itishow it works,” Elia said.
I forced my eyes upward. To his face, this time. He looked equal parts wary and amused, unsure if this was a setup but still tempted to play along.
“Well?” I asked. “Can you?”
His eyes flickered to mine…and damn if there wasn’t something playful in them.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” he said. Then, glancing down at himself, he added, “But seriously, at least let me…”
While I wouldn’t have minded taking him exactly as he was, Sheryn was more sensible. “Five minutes.”
For Noah’s sake, I was glad she called it.
A few minutes later, he was back, his hair damp from a quick shower, wearing a casual blue shirt open at the collar, slacks that actually fit, and a respectable pair of loafers. And that whiff of cologne? Perfect. Just enough to notice but not enough to announce itself.
The music started elegantly, a tune meant for fairy tales and grand ballrooms. Not a wedding tent on a ranch.
I swallowed, my hands hovering as I faced Noah. He did the same, standing there like he was walking a wire without a net.
“You ever done this before?” he asked.
I raised a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His mouth twitched. “Considering we’re supposed to dance, yeah.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. A little. You?”
He smirked. “I worked in media. Of course I can dance.”
I snorted. “Oh yeah? They teach you the waltz between power lunches and marketing strategy?”
“Something like that.” His grip was firm but not overbearing as he placed his hand on my waist.
I placed mine on his shoulder, and the moment our palms met, every muscle in my body clenched.
Great. The last thing I needed was to be hyper-aware of how strong he felt beneath my fingertips.
