by Whitley Cox
Relief filled her eyes.
“My parents were young when they had me.” Adam started. “Like teenagers. I was born in the south, and my father’s parents didn’t think my mother was good enough for their son. My paternal grandfather was a preacher and devastated when his son knocked up the daughter of a fisherman. As if being a fisherman wasn’t a noble job. Anyway, they cast my father aside, disowned him, wanted nothing to do with Zak or me. My mother’s parents were a lot more supportive. But because of how my grandfather treated his own son, my dad was determined to make it on his own. He didn’t want help from anybody. They worked their tails off, those two. My mother had numerous jobs, in addition to caring for Zak and me, and she did mending on the side. My dad worked in a factory during the day and attended night school a few days a week. He was determined to get a college degree if it killed him.”
“That is so commendable.”
His throat grew tight. It had killed him. “My dad’s car wouldn’t start one night after night school, so he called my mom to come get him. She asked the neighbor in our apartment complex to come sit in the house with Zak and me so we weren’t alone, even though we were sleeping. She drove to get him, and”—he brought his voice down low, then realized the girls would still be able to hear him, so he whispered, practically mouthing it instead—“they were hit by a drunk off-duty sheriff. They were killed instantly.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes. “No.”
He nodded, whispering and cupping his mouth so the girls couldn’t see. “They were pushed right off the road. Car flipped and landed in the river.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He inhaled deeply, his eyes suddenly landing on Jayda and Mira. They were both ghostly white and unblinking. Shit.
Swallowing, he plastered on a big, fake smile. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to bring everybody at the table down.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were raised by my mother’s parents, who are incredible human beings. My grandfather taught us to fish. My grandmother taught us—well, mainly me—to dance.”
“And cook, Daddy,” Mira added.
He nodded. “That’s right. And cook. Grammy is the best cook in the world, right?”
Mira nodded with a big chocolate-covered smile.
“Sounds like you were raised by some really wonderful people,” Violet said quietly.
Mark stood up from the table with his empty plate. “I really was.” He reached for Violet’s plate as well. She thanked him.
“Let’s dance, Daddy,” Mira said, pushing her plate away and sliding out of her chair. She made her way into the living room and reached for Adam. Abandoning the dishes, he went to her with a damp paper towel.
“You need your face washed first,” he said with a chuckle, wiping her mouth to her groan of protestation.
“Enough, Daddy. Twirl me.” He tossed the paper towel onto the table and twirled her. “Dip me.” He dipped her. “Lift me.” With a grunt, he lifted her.
Giggles not belonging to his daughter made him turn his head as he set Mira down on her feet. Jayda and Violet were dancing next to them, twirling and swaying to the rhythm.
Violet’s smile stole the oxygen clean from his lungs, and the way her eyes glowed with happiness as the music flowed through her caused every cell in his body to wake up and take notice.
“Great taste in music.” She smiled, spinning Jayda around twice, all to the little girl’s squeals of delight.
He bobbed his eyebrows. “Thanks. Same stuff I listen to when I’m running.”
Mira grabbed his hand, and he felt it bump another hand. His eyes fell to where Mira and Jayda were pushing Adam and Violet’s hands together.
“Dance together,” Jayda ordered, before she and Mira took each other by the hands and started jumping around in circles.
Violet’s mouth opened and her eyes flicked up to Adam’s.
He shook his head and pulled his hand away. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”
Something flitted across her face, her uncertainty disappearing the moment she threw her shoulders back and held her head high. “No, let’s dance.” She reached for his hand and placed her other hand on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and placed his fingers at the small of her back.
She felt good in his arms.
They began to move.
Violet was probably a pro at every dance on the planet, but Adam was rusty. He knew he couldn’t mess up the foxtrot, though. Around and around the living room they danced. never missing a step, never missing a beat, never bumping into each other. She really was a professional dancer. The perfect partner. Her body knew how to move, knew how to respond to the music, how to anticipate the next step, as if it were as natural as breathing.
She was graceful and lithe, floating in his arms as they twirled around the room and then into another. Through the kitchen, then back around through the laundry room and down the hall until they were back in front of the hearth. Her smile was radiant. Because she was a performer. She knew how to please a crowd, and that was not only with a flawless performance, but it was also with her captivating presence, her poise and the way she made everyone in the room feel the joy she felt.
At least that’s how Adam felt dancing with her.
Her green eyes glittered back at him as he spun her out, their arms going wide, but still attached at the hand. Never letting go. He pulled her back in, and she spun flawlessly into his embrace, her back now to his front, their bodies swaying perfectly with the music.
“Ready for the big finish?” he asked, his grin so wide his cheeks were sore.
“Live for it,” she breathed.
He spun her out again, spun her back in, then dipped her low.
The way she smiled up at him made him nearly drop her. If it wasn’t for the song coming to an abrupt end with the crash of a cymbal, he very well could have sent her crashing to the floor.
With a giggle that he enjoyed far too much, she raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to haul her back up. He did, and like true performers, they separated and bowed, laughing as they lifted their heads, expecting to get cheers and claps from the little girls. Only neither child was anywhere to be found. The room was empty.
“They’re gone,” Violet said, her chest a flushed pink and heaving just slightly.
Adam shook his head and laughed. “Attention span of gnats.”
They were still holding hands. She hadn’t made to let go yet. Neither had he. A slower song came on, and rather than drop their hands and retreat like wallflowers to separate corners in the room, wordlessly, they came back together.
“You’re a terrific dancer,” she said, her hand effortlessly floating back up to rest on his shoulder.
“Nothing compared to you.” He could feel the heat of her body through his cotton T-shirt. Her breasts, although not huge, were pressed lightly against his chest, her hips against his hips.
“I hardly consider it dancing anymore.”
All he did was lift an eyebrow.
“It’s really more a way of life,” she went on. “I’ve been dancing for as long as I can remember. Without dance … ” She trailed off, averting her eyes and fixing them to a spot on the wall. She bit her lip as if to keep herself from saying any more.
“You may as well not live?” he finished.
Her eyes flicked back up to his. Pain swirled around in the golden-green. Pain and hurt, longing and grief. He knew that look well. He saw it staring back at him every morning in the mirror.
“Something like that,” she whispered.
“But you are alive. Thriving. Dancing.” He spun her out slowly. Her smile was small, her eyes still sad.
Her hand fell back to his shoulder after he spun her back into his body. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. I haven’t danced with anyone in a very long time.” She clenched her jaw. “Not since … ”
He squeezed the hand he held and nodded solemnly. “Mitch told me. I’m very sorry.”
>
Her fingers bunched on his shoulder in the fabric of his shirt. A tear slipped down her cheek. He wanted desperately to wipe it away, take her in his arms and take away the pain. Take away the hurt. He’d felt so helpless with Paige. She wouldn’t let him comfort her, wouldn’t let him get near her, share in her grief, in their grief. She went at it alone, and in turn, made him go at it alone too. As much as he knew his wife was grieving the loss of their children, particularly Anthony, and that her body was in recovery, and her hormones were making her life a nightmare, he’d lost children too. She pushed him away, and he was forced to grieve all alone, for not only the loss of his children, but also his wife, his marriage, his family.
They’d stopped dancing and were simply standing in his living room, soft, slow now Viennese waltz music playing around them. He lifted his hand from her waist and cupped her cheek, brushing away the tears. Her damp, spiked lashes blinked a few times, and she gazed up at him with big, soulful eyes. Eyes he could so easily get lost in. Eyes he could imagine himself waking up to every morning.
He’d only known Violet for a week, but there was something special about her. She had a softness to her, a calmness and class that he was missing in his life.
“You’re a really great dance partner,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his shoulder.
“Helps when the woman you’re dancing with knows the steps. Knows how to move.”
He hadn’t removed his hand from her cheek. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned into his touch, her eyelids dropped to half-mast, and a small smile drifted across her mouth. “Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a nice birthday. I needed something like this.”
He brought their clasped hands down to their sides and instead wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand falling to the small of her back, fingers splaying against her slender frame. “You deserve a happy birthday,” he said softly, his gaze sliding to her plump, red lips. Her tongue darted out and ran along the seam, moistening them and making them shine. Adam had to push down the groan inside him that wanted to break free.
Her lips parted. Was it an invitation?
He wanted it to be an invitation.
He wanted her to welcome his lips, his kiss, his body. Welcome him to wrap his arms around her and absorb the hurt, give her nothing but happiness. She deserved happiness. They all did.
“Adam … ” she whispered. Their faces were close enough now he could feel small, warm puffs of air from her breath on his chin. She lifted her gaze to his. Her bright eyes, the color of hanging moss, were warm and curious.
He dipped his head low and tightened his hold on her cheek and back. She didn’t resist him. Instead she melted into his arms, her body seeming to find comfort in his strength, in his closeness. At least, that’s what he hoped. Gently, he tilted her head up to give him better access to her mouth. Again, she didn’t resist. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted. He took his opening and brushed his lips against hers.
Her pulse raced wildly under his thumb where it rested against her neck, and when a soft moan slid up her throat, the vibration of it ran right through him, landing firmly between his legs. Her chest expanded rapidly against his. But again, she didn’t pull away. No, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, opening for him, allowing him to slip his tongue inside to explore and taste. She met his demands with her own, sucking on his tongue and nibbling on his bottom lip. The woman could kiss.
Adam’s hand slipped down from her cheek to wrap more tightly around her back, supporting her as he bent her low, taking what she offered. She went with him, clinging to him with an almost frantic desperation.
They fed off each other, their tongues tangling, their breath mingled. She whimpered into his mouth, and he took the kiss deeper. Her legs parted slightly when he dipped her, and he wedged a knee between them, feeling the heat of her against his thigh. He pressed against the V of her legs, and she ground up against him. He pressed again. She bucked up harder. He was hard as granite, and she knew it. She also didn’t seem to mind.
He was about to reach up and grab her breast, pluck the hard nipples that been torturing him on Tuesday and Thursday like high beams in a rearview mirror, when noise on the stairs caused them both to pause.
Little voices and heavy stomps that one would assume belonged to sumo wrestlers drifted into the kitchen.
Adam’s eyes flew open. Violet had already opened hers. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from hers and stood them both back up straight, wiping a hand over his lips.
Violet straightened her dress and stepped away, averting her gaze and then focusing her attention on a painting on the wall just as two little girls with dress-up princess dresses, tiaras, and scepters in hand came waltzing into the living room
“You still dancing?” Mira asked, her eyes darting back and forth between her father and Violet.
Adam smiled down at his daughter and swallowed. “Just finished.”
“That was a lot of dancing,” Jayda said, pushing the tiara back up into her long blonde hair after it slid down over her eyes.
Violet spun around. Her face held a sexy flush to it, and her lips were gorgeously puffy. She looked more stunning than he’d ever seen her. Disheveled, bright-eyed and totally fuckable. “You know how much I love to dance,” she said to her niece. “Mira’s daddy likes to dance too.”
He let his gaze slip to Violet. “I love to dance. Haven’t danced like that in a long time.”
She let out a big breath through her mouth. He took it to mean she was still coming down from the high of their impromptu make-out session, and a dash of crimson flooded her cheeks. “Me either.”
7
Violet wiped her mouth and tossed her napkin into the garbage. The clock on the wall said she still had seven more minutes before her evening adult dance class started, and she just couldn’t get enough of these cheesecake bites. They’d ended up being her dinner. Whoops!
Her lunch consisted of a tray of grocery store sushi and a chai latte. So when six o’clock rolled around and she was still busy with emails and reworking the website for the studio, her stomach didn’t just grumble, it thundered in protest. No way would she be able to make it to eight thirty without gnawing off her own arm or at the very least finishing the jar of jelly beans Kathleen kept on her desk. But then she remembered the cheesecake bites from Adam that she’d stashed in the studio fridge, and what was going to just be one to stave off the hunger until supper quickly morphed into six and a very pleasant sugar high. So much for just making Sunday her “cheat” day.
She stared at the last bite in the bottom of the box, and her mind immediately went back to Adam and last night. That had been some dance.
She touched her lips with her fingers and smiled. That had been some kiss.
She hadn’t danced with another man since Jean-Phillipe, hadn’t kissed another man since Jean-Phillipe. But something about Adam and the way he looked at her, the way he moved with her, held her, kissed her, didn’t feel wrong. It felt foreign and different than the way she danced or kissed Jean-Phillipe, but it was also exciting. Adam excited her.
After the girls had interrupted their kiss, things between her and Adam grew a touch awkward, and she made haste to get Jayda out of there. It was encroaching on her niece’s bedtime anyway, and Violet wasn’t sure she could continue to be in Adam’s presence without asking for an encore performance. Of both the dance and the kiss.
He’d been nothing but an absolute gentleman, though, handing her the box of cheesecake bites and seeing her and Jayda to the door. She could tell he was getting a kick out of their interruption, and the heat she felt in her cheeks was probably painted all over her face.
Jayda was with Adam now. He’d gone and picked her up from school and brought her back to his house with Mira. Violet had back-to-back classes all afternoon until the evening, so Mitch was going to have to pick up his daughter from Adam’s when he returned from Portland.
Violet couldn’t d
ecide if she was disappointed she wouldn’t get a chance to see Adam tonight or relieved. Her heart had been rather conflicted over the past day. On one hand, she felt as if she was betraying Jean-Phillipe and his love. That she would never be able to love another, should never be able to love another, because for her, Jean-Phillipe had been it. The love of her life. Her one and only true dance partner.
But on the other hand, she couldn’t get past her attraction to Adam, couldn’t get past how he made her feel, how he woke up something inside her she had long thought was dead. Maybe it was best she wasn’t going to see him until tomorrow. She needed another night to sleep on it. Needed another night to analyze her heart and whether it was ready to open up to the possibility of love again. Whether it could love again.
The jingle-jangle of the bell at the front door had her reaching into the box and popping the last cheesecake bite into her mouth. She shut her eyes and fought the urge to roll them into the back of her head at how incredible it tasted. Red velvet with a cream-cheese center. Oh my freaking God.
Chewing a few times and swallowing down a chunk of it, she rounded the corner out into the waiting room, hoping she didn’t resemble a chipmunk with full cheeks.
A woman with curly chestnut hair in a ponytail pulled off big black sunglasses. Her eyes were wary as she took in the posters and photographs on the wall. Mitch had taken several photos of Violet and Jean-Phillipe dancing on stage in New York, and she’d had them framed and placed around the waiting room. A reminder of the past and how it had gotten her to where she was today.
She approached the woman, who slowly walked through the room, her eyes glued to the photos. “Hello, may I help you?”
Startled, as if she hadn’t known Violet was there, she gasped.
Violet offered her a welcoming smile. “Are you here to dance?”
She swallowed. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate with flecks of gold leaf, blinked nervously. “I am. Yes. Is it too late to sign up for your beginner adult contemporary?”
