The band transitions out of the two-step and into something slower…a lazy waltz.
Lark moves to set her beer down on the high-top. "Dance with me."
"No." It’s flat. Automatic. I’ve been saying it at these mixers for nine years.
She tips her head and her hair falls over one bare shoulder. I want to put my mouth on that spot.
"Come on, Garrett."
"I don't dance."
"I know you don'tdance." Her smile goes flirty now. “But a man built like you cansway.”
I should say no again. Why am I not saying no?
I set down my beer and hold out my hand. “Fine.”
She bites her lower lip and I take in a breath as she puts her small, warm hand in mine. I lead her onto the floor and let my palm settle at the dip of her back, low enough I can feel the hollow of her spine through thin cotton and high enough that I won’t get slapped. She slides her free hand up and leaves it on my chest, because she can’t reach my shoulder properly.
It lays over my heart.
Where she can, if she's paying the slightest attention—and I suspect this woman pays attention to every goddamn thing—feel how hard that heart is beating.
She fits under my chin as if somebody built her to fit there. One deep breath and I'd have my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweetness.
Andthe bulge in my jeans is a serious situation once again.
We sway slowly, and my body is aware of everything about her.
"Where'd you grow up?" she asks, looking up at me.
The rafter lights put sparkles in her eyes.
"Not far from here." I force myself to use words. "Forty miles south. Little town."
"You always been a blacksmith?"
"Not always. Did a lot of things before."
"Like what?"
"Ranch work. Roofing, one summer. Worked in a feed store out of high school."
"Mm." She nods. Her hand on my chest shifts a half-inch and I feel that touch everywhere. "What do you love about the smithing?"
Nobody asks me that. Guests ask how hot the forge gets. They ask if it's hard work. Nobody asks what Iloveabout it.
"The fire does what it does." The answer comes out of me before I've decided to give it. "Can't argue with it. You listen or it burns you. Metal's the same way. But it tells you what it wants, if you're paying attention."
She's quiet…and watching my mouth.
I thought I noticed a quick glance at the forge this afternoon, but I chalked it up to wishful thinking. Now, however, she’s definitely eyeing it, and I don't know how much longer I can take it.
"That's beautiful," she says.
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about what I just said. "It's just the job."
"No, it's not." Her brow furrows. “It’s your passion.”