Maybe not when she was hallucinating the smell of Chinese food.Her stomach, only recently tolerant of more than milk toast, churned and grumbled.
Anita picked up a stack of boxes and hefted them, the granola bar balanced between her teeth, and tottered back toward the studio.
A pair of tanned hands caught the top box just as it started to slide off the stack. Patrick, his blue eyes dancing in merriment, winked at her.
Anita huffed. Perfect. “Look, Patrick, I don’t have the time to talk to you right now. The party starts in two hours, and I have seven hundred things to do—”
“Three fifty.” He bent over and opened a box. “Maybe three forty-nine.”
She was definitely delusional and far too exhausted for a math lesson. All she could muster was a helpless shrug.
Without ceremony, Patrick led her into her office, where three takeout Chinese food containers, a bottle of water, and chopsticks were set out on a piece of paper towel.
At least she was not hallucinating about soy sauce.
“What is this?”
He propelled her by her shoulders toward the desk chair and gallantly pulled it out for her. “Eat. Rest a bit.”
It was so tempting. But—
“There’s too much to do.” Anita swallowed and shook her head. But was that orange chicken? And maybe sesame green beans?
“Let me help.” He smiled at her, that sexy dimple practically begging to be kissed. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Then he was gone.
****
Anita emerged from her office picnic twenty minutes later, stomach full of orange chicken, green beans, and brown rice but lighter than she had felt in days.
She walked onto the dance floor and gasped. He had gotten an inordinate amount done in just twenty minutes. He had set up the refreshment table and now was halfway through adjusting the fairy lights and stringing the bunting above the mirror.
He grinned when he saw her. He stopped her by holding up a single finger, then hit the play button on the stereo. Anita couldn’t help but laugh as she heard the Jacksons crooning “Blame it on the Boogie.” Her laugh intensified when Patrick started grooving.
“I can’t believe you did all this.”
“There’s still a lot to do, but you need to take time for the classics.” Patrick turned the music up louder.
He held out a hand to Anita, and she just could not help but start moving her hips, her shoulders. She hadn’t danced the hustle in ages, but she did love a good nightclub dance.
They both started to move around the empty dance floor, laughing, lip synching. Patrick whipped her around in a series of spins, and she could not find her spot. But she didn’t care. Nothing felt like this. Nothing felt so freeing and powerful as losing herself in the rhythm of a song. All of the stresses and trials of the last few weeks melted away, and at the end of the song, there was Patrick.
Patrick, who used to share junk food in empty ballrooms with her after competitions.
Patrick, who remembered every single dress she had ever worn.
Patrick, who adored her mother.
Patrick, who was panting and grinning at her with a smile so broad it seemed to lift him off the ground.Yes. Her body begged her.Yes.
His smile changed as his eyes fixed on her mouth. She moved her hand from his shoulder to cup his stubbled jaw.Oh God, yes.Her body thrummed and heated, and this had to happen. She was going to shatter if it didn’t and—
“We’ll have to play this tonight at the party.” She sounded breathless, wanton. She tried to force herself to pull away, but her brain was definitely losing.It was his eyes that loosened herresolve to stop. The glints of gold in the deep blue oceans. The air between them crackled and sparked and swelled. She leaned in, tilting her face just so.
Yes. Yes.
“My God, you two are the most adorable thing.”
