“Consider this research for my wedding, then,” I suggested, instantly regretting the reference to our professional relationship. “I mean?—”
“Research,” she repeated, a small smile playing at her lips. “Of course. Very professional.”
She placed her hand in mine, and I led her to the dance floor, my heart beating faster than the situation warranted. As we reached the center of the floor, I drew her into my arms, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers gently.
The orchestra was playing something slow and vaguely familiar, the kind of music that required couples to stand closetogether. Anica fit against me perfectly, her body warm and soft where it pressed against mine. I was a little too aware of every point of contact between us: my hand on her back, her fingers twined with mine, the occasional brush of her thigh against my leg as we moved.
My body’s reaction to her proximity was immediate and embarrassingly obvious. I subtly adjusted our position to maintain a small distance between our lower halves, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Or more accurately, not wanting her to feel exactly how comfortable she made certain parts of me.
Think unsexy thoughts. Baseball statistics. Tax codes. Jellyfish. Actually, no, not jellyfish. Those floating death bags are too traumatizing. Gram’s bunion surgery. The time I walked in on my college roommate naked. Literally anything but the way her breasts press against my chest when she breathes.
“You’re a good dancer,” Anica observed, looking up at me.
“My grandmother insisted on lessons. Said no grandson of hers was going to shuffle around like, and I quote, ‘a drunk toddler on roller skates.’”
“She has a way with words.”
“You have no idea. She once described my first girlfriend as having ‘all the personality of baby food, but with less nutritional value.’”
Anica laughed. “Harsh.”
“The harshest. Gram is not easy to impress. Though she was right. My ex did bear a striking resemblance to mushy baby food.”
“And Angie? What did your grandmother think of her?” Anica asked, her tone carefully neutral. “I mean, did you tell her about the prenup from hell?”
“Thankfully, no. Gram would’ve probably seen through her before I did.”
“Smart lady.”
“You two are a lot alike in that regard.” I spun her around and pulled her closer. “She thinks the bet was stupid too.”
“Certainly has more sense than you, then.”
“Oh definitely.” I pulled back to catch her gaze.
She looked away first, scanning the room. “Everyone’s staring at us.”
“Let them. I’m only looking at you.”
Her gaze snapped back to mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. I wanted to kiss her again, right there on the dance floor, regardless of the gossip it would generate.
“Callan,” she began, her voice barely audible over the music.
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Edward Whitman, the hospital’s chief of surgery, smiling apologetically.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the speech is about to begin, and they’re asking for you backstage.”
I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to introduce the hospital’s director. “Right,” I nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Turning back to Anica, I explained, “I have to make a short speech. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“I think I can manage not to get lost or kidnapped,” she assured me. “Go. Be brilliant.”
With reluctance, I released her and followed Edward toward the stage. The speech itself was brief and straightforward—welcome, thanks for coming, introduce the hospital director, exit stage left. I delivered it on autopilot, my mind still on the dance floor with Anica.
By the time I made my way back to her, she was engaged in conversation with a small group that included the mayor and his wife. She looked completely at ease, laughing at something the mayor’s wife had said. I paused for a moment, just watching her. She belonged here, in this world of wealth and influence, notbecause she craved it, but because she was confident enough in herself to navigate it without being overwhelmed.
As if sensing my presence, she glanced up, her gaze finding mine across the room. She smiled, a small, private smile that made my chest tighten. I made my way to her side, sliding a hand to the small of her back in a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar.
“Nice speech,” she murmured as I joined the conversation.
