“Don’t go,” I ask him. “Give me the phone.”
Daniel looks torn for a second. “Management specifically called me in, Nina,” he says. “Besides, you and Lily have both been drinking and I haven’t, so I should definitely be the one to go.”
There’s no way to tell him that the call is absolute bullshit without raising serious questions about my relationship with Art. Lily is the only one who knows.
So I let Daniel rush away, to what he thinks is an emergency. He’s barely out of the room before Art appears with a thunderous look on his face.
He doesn’t ask, he just leads me to the dance floor.
“Nice performance,” he says with his eyes narrowed. “But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Nenoka. You’re not a good liar. If hebought that, he’s deluding himself.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t read minds, Art. I was having fun.”
“I didn’t buy you that dress so you could have fun with other men.”
“So why did you buy me this dress then, Art?”
He dips his head and speaks close to my ear. “So I could be the one to take you out of it.”
My stomach flips traitorously, and his hand moves a little lower on my back, so it’s just above the curve of my hip.
“Not happening,” I whisper, attempting to pull away with him, but his hands hold me steady.
We don’t even falter in our dancing, Art holding me exactly in place and moving us both to the music.
“I can’t dance with the owner of the hospital,” I hiss at him.
“Looks like you already are,” he smirks as he twirls me effortlessly across the floor.
“This is unnecessary. I’m allowed to dance with my friend.”
“I never said you weren’t. There was a workplace emergency that Daniel had to attend to.”
I glare up at the twinkle in Art’s eyes, trying desperately not to get lost in the depths of his gaze. I pull my focus to the crowds of people in the room. “There was not.”
“That wasn’t an innocent dance. Not with what you were doing, not with the way he was looking at you. Like he wants you.”
I unhook my arms from around his neck and push him away, but he keeps leading me in a dance, his hand splayed across the small of my back.
“Well, maybe he does want me. What would be wrong with that?”
“What would be wrong with that?” Art repeats in shock. His jaw tenses. “Everything would be wrong with that.”
He presses his lips together for a second, raising his eyes from mine to look out across the ballroom.
“Every time I see him with you, I’m holding back from breaking his fingers for putting his hands on you.”
The words land like a blow to my chest, sucking the air from my lungs and inexplicably kindling heat deep in my belly.
Then Art swings me around with more force. I think he’s changed our dance style, until I glance up and see his face pinched in concentration.
His eyes flick to the door. His hands tighten on me. Two bangs penetrate through the music.
His eyes fix on me and he yells something in Russian.
The next thing I know, we’re on the ground under the drinks table, Art taking the impact of our movement.
15
