Page 28 of Visions of You

Gabe lifted the glass with its amber fluid and took a sip, rolling it around in his mouth before swallowing. I tried not to imagine what it would feel like to be that whisky right now. “Never with ice. Distorts the purity of the drink.”

I lifted my pint glass. “To purity. I’ll stick to my beer.”

A slow smile rose on his face as he turned to me. “I can appreciate all kinds of fine things. Beer included.”

Our eyes locked. There it was again.

That live current running between us.

I took a deep breath and lifted the last bite of cheesecake, placing it in my mouth. Gabe’s eyes followed every movement, remaining on my lips. “I take it you got dinner?”

I nodded. “Felicia fixed me up. It was delicious.”

His eyes rose to mine at that last word. The small three-person band broke into an upbeat, funky version of the ’70s hit “Boogie Shoes”, making me smile as I tapped my foot on the barstool. I loved to dance, though it had been a very long time since I had. Ignoring the music, Gabe took another long, loving sip of his whisky. I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

Then he pushed the glass away, half empty, and turned fully on his stool to face me. “You want to dance?”

My mouth dropped open. Those were thelastwords I’d expected to hear from him, especially involving a song with a definite beat like “Boogie Shoes”. But Gabe’s eyes held a definite challenge, like he realized he’d surprised me and was waiting for my reaction.

I leaned toward him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He clasped my right hand within his left and led me to the small, cleared area of sand near the band. His hand was rough—the hands of a carpenter, not a businessman. The powdery white sand was warm and soft beneath my bare feet, while Gabe kept his gray Sperry Top-Siders on. As we stopped, I expected to settle across from each other, both of us dancing with our own individual motion.

That’s not what happened.

Gabe raised my right hand, held firmly in his left, and slid his right to the back of my waist. With gentle pressure, he guided us in a steady rhythm, stepping softly over the sand as he moved us in a basic swing dance.

Expertly.

To say I was stunned would be the biggest understatement ever.

But I was no stranger to dance myself, and easily fell into the matching steps, moving effortlessly with him. His eyes took on a new glimmer as he recognized it. I lost myself to the fun, upbeat music, a wide smile rising on my face. Gabe was more serious—of course—but an answering smile was beginning to tug at his lips.

He leaned in. “I’m going to dip you.”

After I nodded, he swooped me over backward, his right arm supporting me. He folded over me, our faces inches apart, and he held me motionless for a long moment, just staring at me until he raised me back up.

I swallowed, a deep thrumming running through my body now as we continued moving, circling, and swaying with each other. My blood pulsed in rhythm with the music, singing through my veins.

He arched a brow. “How about a spin?”

“Only one?”

He broke into a wide smile as he removed his hand from my waist. Raising my clasped hand with his left, I twirled underneath. The differences in our heights made the maneuver effortless, like we were made to do this. Instead of stopping after one rotation, I continued, spinning to look at the center of his chest and orient myself with each round. It wasn’t easy because the sand was uneven, but I held my balance. After four rotations, I stopped.

Standing completely still, I faced him, arching a brow of my own.

Gabe burst into deep laughter, a sound that was carefree and unreserved. It was so unlike him, and I couldn’t get enough. He pulled me tight, and we moved back into our former rhythm, twirling and stepping in tandem. Our motions were effortless. He only had to hint with his hand, and I knew what he wanted. I shot him a level stare and he immediately dipped me, our lips an inch apart. With a smile that melted my insides, he stood me back up. We moved again in a different swing dance pattern but still completely in sync with each other.

I didn’t care that the man I danced with was my boss. And an owner of the resort. All I cared about was that he made my body soar.

Finally, the song ended with a flourish, and both of us nodded at the band. Then we broke into wide grins as we turned back to each other. He still held my left hand, his right pressed against the small of my back. Not my upper shoulder, the correct position for formal dancing.

And I was sure Gabe knew that.

Before either of us could say anything, the band started into a slow, atmospheric instrumental rendition of “Fields of Gold”. The song was sumptuous and melodic, inviting motion.

We instantly swayed to the music, not needing to discuss it. No fancy steps this time, Gabe tightened his hold on me, bringing his arm closer so my hand rested against his shoulder. His eyes were dark in the dim light.

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