Another flash of anger rose up inside her. She couldn’t get them disqualified, that could cause a scene, and that went against another one of her rules.
“No wonder you couldn’t find a partner,” he said. “They all must have known you can’t dance.”
They were dancing the fox-trot, and she was excellent at the fox-trot. “Put me down.”
“Why, so you can prove you can’t dance?”
“No!” She glared at him. “So I can show you how to dance.”
He laughed. “I know how to dance.”
She was going to prove who knew how to dance. Her. “No, you don’t, you’re supposed to be bending at the knees.”
“Like this?” Grinning, he bent his knees until her heels barely tapped the floor, then straightened upright again.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, put me down!”
He lowered her to the floor but kept his hands on her waist. She kept hers on his shoulders and, determined to prove him wrong, took two steps back, slid one step to the side, bent her knees, and straightened. He’d matched each of her steps, nearly perfectly, but still, she said, “That’s how you do it.”
“Oh, so you mean like this.”
He led her through the steps so quickly, and so perfectly, she nearly forgot she didn’t want to dance with him.
Nearly.
“Somewhat,” she said.
“Let’s try this, then.”
Once again, his steps were quick, smooth, and in perfect time with the beat. He then released her waist, grasped her hand, twirled her around beneath their clasped hands, and pulled her back into his arms so swiftly, it almost made her dizzy.
“And?”
“And what?” she said, pretending not to know.
“How am I doing now?” He twirled her again. “Or do I need more instructions?”
She huffed out a breath. “You are doing fine.”
“Just fine?”
She was not going to compliment him on his dancing. Absolutely not. Even if he was one of the best partners she’d ever had. She didn’t need to concentrate on the steps at all; they were gliding around the floor as if they danced together every day.
While continuing to glide her through the steps, he asked, “How long have you been in Los Angeles?”
“My entire life,” she answered. “What are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“Do you live in Seattle?” She’d dreamed of going back to Seattle to look for him, just because he’d made her so angry by kissing her and then walking off, she’d wanted to... Oh, she wasn’t even sure what she’d wanted to do to him, but no one had ever made her so angry. Not even the way her father kept them locked up at home. Him, this kissing bandit had made her believe that maybe her father was right. That he had to choose husbands for them because most men couldn’t be trusted.
“No, I was only in Seattle for a short time three years ago. Working.” He spun them around at the edge of the floor and started back in the other direction. “What were you doing there three years ago?”
“Visiting family.” She wasn’t interested in learning more about him, but talking kept her mind busy on something other than how handsome he was. Especially when he smiled. That nearly took her breath away. “What type of work do you do?”
“This and that,” he said.
Her heart skipped a beat. Could he know her father? “Construction?”
“No. I’m not very good with a hammer and nail.”
Thank goodness. She’d always feared they might run into one of the men who worked on the crews building houses in Hollywoodland. She and her sisters were never allowed near the building sites until the homes were done and the crews all gone, but she still worried.
The music ended and she questioned escaping his hold and leaving the Rooster’s Nest altogether, but Patsy was dancing and Jane was helping the piano player, and the rule was they all left together.
He was looking at her, as if waiting for her to decide.
She lifted her chin and gave a small nod as the music started up again.
They were off, with him leading them around the dance floor all over again.
The bright overhead lights with their stained-glass lampshades made his blue eyes stand out even more. They truly were unique. Captivating.
She pulled her eyes off them because she certainly didn’t want to be captivated. Not by him or any other man.
He was tall, so tall she couldn’t see over his shoulders—very broad and firm shoulders. She eased backward, trying to put more space between their bodies, but his hold on her waist tightened, keeping her right where she was at, close to him. Very close.
She’d danced with many men since she and her sisters started sneaking out, and she’d never been this aware of a single one of them. Her heart was thudding, her insides tingling, and she didn’t dare look at his face again, because every time she did, she remembered the way they’d looked at each other for a moment, just before he’d kissed her.
She remembered kissing him back, too. That was another part that had made her so mad. It had probably been because she’d been scared of the water rising. The water he’d carried her out of. She’d been happy, so happy to be on dry ground, she would have kissed it.
“We are going to have to do better than this if we want to win,” he said, and twirled her about.
The next thing she knew, they were dancing past the other couples, to the edge of the dance floor, where he dipped her, twirled her, and then they were heading back to the other end of the parquet floor to do it all over again.
Between the fast music, the gaiety of the other dancers and onlookers, and his gracefulness, she couldn’t help but be drawn in, and was soon challenging his every move with one of her own, including kicking a leg high in the air each time he dipped her.
The onlookers were cheering loudly when that song ended and the next one began. She let out a gleeful laugh, recognizing the fun, fast-paced tempo. This was a favorite of hers, because she didn’t need to even hold her partner’s hands. Not only his, but any man she danced with. “Do you know how to shimmy?”
“It looks like I’m about to learn,” he replied as he released her hands.
“Oh, yes you are!” Full of excitement, she crouched down, like all the other dancers, and then arms held out at her sides, she playfully shook her torso, making the lace on her dress flip and flop as she rose back up.
He followed suit, but when he was standing straight again, he grasped her waist and lifted her high in the air and spun around before setting her back on her feet.
The crowd cheered loudly, and it was a moment before she realized they were shouting the number three.
“They are cheering for us!” she shouted above the roar of the crowd and the music. She’d never had this much fun dancing.
“I believe they are!” He grasped her hands. “If we want to win, we have to give them a show.”
Excitement flared inside her. “Let’s! Let’s give them a show and win!”
They crouched down together, hands held, and rose back up, shaking and shimmying, toward one another until their torsos touched before shimmying away from each other again. Laughing as the crowd cheered louder, they did it again. And again.
The enjoyment inside her grew as they continued to dance, as the crowd continued to applaud. He was a spectacular dancer and led her through a course of dips and twirls, jumps and shimmies that had the crowd cheering and clapping louder and louder.
During the next song, which was a tango, they gained more cheers while dancing cheek to cheek, chest to chest, up and down the floor. On every turn, he’d add in several overly flourished dips and bows that kept the crowd shouting their number.
When the beginning chords of the final song struck, he threw his head back in laughter while grabbing her hand, leading her backw
ard several steps, and then forward. Having the time of her life, Betty kicked up her heels to the fast beats of the Charleston tune the piano man was playing.
She pranced back and forth next to him, with the hem of her purple skirt flapping against her legs as she tapped the heels of her shoes with her palms, slapped the floor with her fingers and crisscrossed her ankles. It was so fun, so exhilarating, she danced faster and faster.
So did he.
He grasped her hand when a couple fell down in front of them, and then another. Without missing a beat, he pulled her forward. They leaped over the fallen dancers and kept on dancing.
Her heart was pounding in her chest faster than the piano man was striking keys, and she loved it. Loved dancing. Loved the freedom of not caring about anything except having a good time. No other partner had ever made her feel this carefree, this alive. Every time she looked into his eyes, saw them shimmering, the exhilaration inside her grew even more.
At the edge of the dance floor, rather than turning back in the other direction, he grasped her waist and lifted her high in the air so she was looking down on him, and then he swung her downward, alongside his right hip and then his left hip before setting her feet back on the floor at the precise moment the music ended.
She was so light-headed, so dizzy, she had to grasp on to his shoulders with both hands. The roar of the crowd echoed in her ears as she looked up at him. He was so handsome, his eyes so unique and striking, a warmth swirled inside her, and grew as he brought his face closer to hers. A memory, a hope, filled her so quickly, she barely had time to contemplate it, other than the recognition that she wanted to kiss him again. Kiss him like she had on the beach three years ago.
The moment his lips touched hers, that hope came to fruition, and she looped her arms around his neck to kiss him in return.
* * *
The fun, the excitement, he’d been caught up in came to a crashing halt the moment Henry Randall realized what he was doing.
Kissing her.
In the eight years he’d been an agent for the Bureau of Investigation under the federal Justice Department, since the day he’d turned eighteen and his uncle had assigned him the position, he’d never once forgotten who he was, or what he was doing.
Until tonight.
Until the sea nymph he’d carried ashore three years ago had reentered his life.
What the hell had he been thinking? He was working undercover, on a major case. A case that seven years ago, when he’d still been a rookie, had propelled him to the top. Made other agents look at him as an equal, not his uncle’s nephew.
Henry pulled his lips off hers, which were as soft and sweet as he’d remembered and took a step back. Telling himself not to look at her. Not to meet the gaze of those dark blue eyes again because that had been his first downfall tonight. He’d thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he’d first noticed her. Thought it couldn’t be her. But it was.
The investigator in him rose up. She’d been in Seattle, and now she was here?
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
He glanced around the room, beyond the crowd that was encircling them. Congratulating them.
His attention snagged on a man, one who he’d leaped over on the dance floor a short time ago. A wave of dread washed over him and kicked his senses back where they belonged. At least his common sense.
Lane Cox. If anyone would recognize him, it would be Lane. Cox was not only the owner of the local newspaper, he was the best reporter in the state. If not the nation.
Although his instincts were to stay at her side, find out who she knew and why she was here, Henry knew what he had to do, and took a step back. Then another.
He bumped into someone, and shifting aside, to see who it was, he nodded at the piano player.
The guy nodded toward the other side of the crowd. “They are bringing your trophies. Two mugs of beer, one for you and one for your partner.”
Henry shook his head and stepped behind the man. “Accept it for me, will you, pal?” As deeper regret filled him, he added, “And tell my partner...” Tell her what?
He needed information from her. Find out why she was here and why she had been in Seattle three years ago. So had the mole. She could know the mole, could confirm he was right about which agent had been defying the oath he’d taken.
The piano man was looking at him like he’d just lost his mind. Maybe he had, but Henry couldn’t do anything about it right now. He couldn’t take the chance of his cover being blown by Lane Cox.
A cigarette girl was making her way through the crowd, carrying two mugs of beer over her head. Trophies for the winners of the dance-off.
Him and Lacy, or whatever her name was. He’d have to find that out, too.
She was twisting left and right, looking around. For him no doubt. A hint of remorse struck.
“Tell her what?” the piano man asked.
“That I’ll see her tomorrow night,” Henry said, slipping into the crowd behind him. As he neared the wall behind the piano, he took a final glance around to make sure no one was looking at him, and then ducked behind the curtain that hung along the wall. He would come back tomorrow night. Find out everything Lacy knew.
He opened the door that the curtain kept hidden and hurried through the long and narrow storeroom that was lined with shelves and crates full of various types of alcohol. If he was a prohibition agent instead of an investigation agent, the owner of the Rooster’s Nest would already be in jail and the contents of this room confiscated and destroyed.
Some of it destroyed. Some of it would be shipped elsewhere, where it would be consumed during secretive parties that the American people would be shocked to learn about.
Actually, not that many people would be shocked. In a lot of ways, prohibition had created more drinking than it had reduced. People seemed to love the idea of sneaking around, of drinking behind closed doors. It had become one of the most popular things to do. Throw in music and a dance floor, and joints across the nation were packed full every night.
Prohibition wasn’t a part of his job, and he was glad of that. That was a fine line the government was walking right now. He couldn’t see it lasting much longer. The Volstead Act hadn’t brought about the end results the followers imagined, and other than a select few, the number of people still supporting the act had dwindled over the years.
At the corner of the end wall, he found the little catch on the side of the shelf and swung it away from the wall. Opening the secret door the shelf kept hidden in the wall, he crossed over the threshold and pulled the shelf back in place. Then as he stepped onto the first step of the stairway that led down to the tunnel, he pulled the door shut behind him.
He stood there for a moment, on that first step, shaking his head. He’d never expected to see her again.
Never.
The odds of that had to be one in a million, which meant it wasn’t a coincidence.
Their past encounter had only lasted minutes, yet it had stuck with him.
Three years ago, he’d been in Seattle, undercover, which had grown into his specialty, and he’d just made a major break in the counterfeiting case by having gained access into a beach cottage where the perpetrators had been printing bills, when he’d seen her walking along the sand in the secluded bay.
She’d been wearing a pair of dark knickers and a white blouse and carrying her shoes in one hand and a bucket and clam-digging shovel in the other. Her long blond hair had been blowing in the wind as she’d walked, swinging her arms as if she hadn’t had a care in the world.
The tide had already been rolling in, and at the time, he remembered hoping she knew what she was doing. High tide in that small bay quickly flooded the entire area.
He hadn’t wasted any more time contemplating if she did or didn’t, because he’d known he’d only had minutes to complete his survey of t
he house and equipment.
He’d found what he’d needed to find, and made a hasty exit before being discovered, but upon leaving the cottage, he’d seen her again.
The tide had caught her off guard, and she’d been perched upon a cluster of rocks, clearly frantic at the water that had been sloshing around her shins and growing higher and higher.
He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shoes, just ran out through the rising water and plucked her off the rocks. She’d been crying and clung to him so hard she’d nearly strangled him by the time he’d carried her to shore.
Sobbing, she’d thanked him for saving her life.
He’d considered telling her the water hadn’t been waist high, but that had only been a part of it. The currents of the tide could have easily tripped her, and all the rocks made the water dangerous no matter how high it had been.
The first glance he’d gotten of her hadn’t prepared him for how pretty she’d been up close, even while crying. Her delicate features, dark blue eyes gazing into his, and her rosy lips had nearly taken his breath away.
Much like it had tonight.
As she’d started to explain what had happened, he’d seen a car pull up to the beach cottage.
At a risk of being caught, he’d acted quickly, and had done the only thing he could think of. Kissed her. A long, deep, passionate kiss that would convince anyone who might have noticed them that they were merely lovers taking advantage of the secluded beach.
They’d kissed until they’d both been breathless, and then they’d sucked in air, and kissed again.
By the time he’d lifted his head a second time, the men, having found the cottage empty, were climbing back in their car. He’d released her then.
She’d been gasping for air again, much like when he’d hoisted her off the rocks.
He’d told her to be more careful in the future, and to go home. Then he’d walked away, up the beach, to where he’d parked his car behind a cluster of trees. From there, he’d watched her hurry up the trail that led away from the beach, the opposite way of the cottage, and onto the road that curved around the hill and led to several houses.
Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 25
