by Ashley Logan
She looks down at herself and doesn’t answer. Taking a long drink of her beer, she avoids my eyes as she lowers it again.
“Thanks. You too.”
Finishing her beer, she sets her glass on the counter and studies her shoes a while before looking around the room slowly. “You think Vi and Serge got away alright?”
“Definitely. They haven’t come back and even that guy that was bothering them seems to have left. I bet they’re home, all loved up and sweaty by now.”
“Good.” Scarlett looks over her shoulder as the bartender makes to take her glass. “Fill it again please Maestro. All this dancing has got me thirsty.” He nods his understanding and sighs.
Catching my eye as she turns back around, she smiles a little. It bewitches me completely and I must know the reason for it.
“What was that?”
Looking as if she’s about to speak, she presses her lips together and shakes her head.
“Is that meant to make me less curious?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” she asks innocently.
“What I mean is, normally you tolerate my existence. Occasionally you might refer to me as your friend. But you have smiled at me more this evening than you have in the last month at least, and now you’re refusing to discuss it. Should I be worried? Have you hit your head? Do we need to scan you for brain damage, or is there an actual reason why your face is lighting up in my presence?”
Scarlett’s eyebrows knit together and she puffs another curl from her face.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” I add quickly. “I like that you’re smiling at me. With me. Whatever it is, I like it. I just don’t know what I’ve done to make it happen.”
Tucking the curled strands back into her professionally styled up do, she sighs when they fall straight back out. I can almost imagine her internal monologue cursing whoever invented curling irons and just wishing she could run her fingers through her hair and tie it in a simple, straight ponytail.
“You don’t know why I might smile at you?”
“Huh?” I stop imagining running my hands through her hair and meet her eyes. “Should I?”
Frowning more deeply, she purses her lips and shrugs. “Maybe not.”
Now I can’t stop staring at her lips. Closing my eyes to keep from looking insane, I squeeze them shut tighter. “Please just say what you’re thinking, Scar.”
Sighing, she remains silent. Opening one eye, I find her drinking and I take a gulp of my own beer. Looking at me sideways, she seems half puzzled and half annoyed.
“You didn’t feel anything when we were dancing on stage tonight?” she asks, lowering her glass.
I drain mine dry as my head spins. Wondering if I have visibly paled, I put my glass on the bar, hoping Scar doesn’t see the tremor in my hand.
Did I feel anything? Every second in her presence sends my blood thrumming through my veins and the same intense ache through my body as it heats beyond all reason to some feverish level of desire. On stage tonight, I got to touch her and hold her close as I danced the role of her lover. The sensation was overwhelming.
Is she saying that she sensed my attraction, or that she was feeling something of her own? How do I clarify without encouraging her? Encouraging her would end in tears - mine probably.
Rubbing my palms down my trousers, I try to get every scrap of information from her beautiful face. Her eyes are searching mine, intent, sweet and... nervous? Biting my lip, I watch as her eyebrows slowly lift in surprise.
“You did,” she whispers from the most glorious set of lips I have ever wanted to kiss. Her chin quivers a little and I imagine taking hold of it, tilting her lips to mine and making her blush beneath her light scattering of freckles.
At first, I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Trapped in her spell, I gratefully breathe the air she’s breathing, wanting her to close the gap, while wishing I could fulfill her every need.
Scarlett moves in as if to make my dreams a reality and I curse myself for letting things go this far. All the wishing in the world doesn’t make this possible. I should know. I’ve been wishing for years. I baulk, pulling away before her lips touch mine and I lose the strength to retreat.
“I can’t.”
Two words.
Two words that sum up my entire being.
Closing my eyes so she doesn’t see my pain and so I don’t have to see hers as I reject her much desired advances, I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t feel a thing.”
Pushing off the bar, I leave immediately.
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About the Author
Ashley Logan writes sexy, inspirational romances with a splash of cheek thrown in for good measure.
Ash lives in a house in the trees on the Kapiti Coast in New Zealand, with her crazy/awesome family. She hates folding laundry, but loves music, writing, a good belly-laugh, and of course, happy endings - especially for underdogs! Always a fan of stories and the amazing successes of human resilience, Ash traded a career in nursing for an armchair and a laptop when she became inspired by people's incredible strength of mind. Creating characters in her head started as an innocent hobby, but became terribly addictive when those characters began to dance and the compulsion to tell their stories became too much to resist.
Read more at Ashley Logan’s site.