“Oh, naturally, naturally.” Simon paused and leaned closer. “She is rather lovely, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She and my wife are good friends, you know. And you could do a hell of a lot worse. The only thing is she’s got a mind of her own. You’d have to handle her.”
“I have no intention of handling anyone,” Maxwell said stiffly, but the words sent a tingle down his spine.
Oh, perhaps not her everyday life, but he could think of some ways he would like tomanageThalia.
“So you say,” Simon said, grinning.
The quartet began to play, signaling the beginning of the first dance, and Simon immediately left in search of his wife. Maxwell sighed, glancing around for Lydia and Joyce. Lydia was, naturally, being led to the middle of the ballroom by a young man who looked barely old enough to have left the schoolroom,and Joyce was standing on her own, a glass of lemonade in her hands.
On the other side of the room, the crowd shifted enough for him to see Elliot hold out his hand and for Thalia to take it, smiling up at him.
Enough of that.
Abruptly irritated, he moved to where Joyce was standing and extended his own hand. “Dance with me, my lady?”
“How charming,” she said with a droll smile, but she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the dance.
By some machination, or perhaps luck, he landed in the same foursome as Thalia and Calloway.
She barely seemed to notice him, laughing at something Calloway said.
Joyce’s brows slashed down her face when she saw which lady she had ended up beside, but Maxwell didn’t give a shake of a lamb’s tail what she thought about Thalia or the situation.
They had never been romantically involved, and he knew she had no aspirations in his direction. Even if it were not for his late brother, their characters were so very different; even coexisting took mutual work to stay civil and at least with the appearance of good friends.
The dance began, and he twirled first Joyce, then Thalia. She looked almost surprised to see him, her small, gloved hand sliding into his hesitantly. Her large brown eyes rose to his, and for once, he did not see overt defiance in their depths.
All he could see, instead, was… curiosity.
Heat prickled over his skin. He wanted to pick her up and whisk her away and then do unmentionable things to her.
He wanted her to beg.
It would be so very satisfying if she would beg for him. Proud Thalia, who tilted her chin whenever she looked at him, who never stooped to ask him for anything, would beg for his hands on her.
Focus, man.
The dance changed, and he stood opposite Joyce once more. Thalia and Calloway came together, and Maxwell watched them like a hawk, to see if she looked at the other man the way she had looked at him, but he could see nothing but friendliness in her face.
Calloway was older; could it be that they were nothing more than friends?
He and Thalia came together again, and he clasped her hand a fraction tighter than necessary.
“A moon and a wolf,” he said. “It’s as though we planned this in advance.”
Her chin tipped the way it did when she was feeling especially defiant. “I doubt anyone will think anything. We are not perfectly matched.”
“Did I say we were?” He eased her a little closer to his body, and her breathing hitched. “But to outsiders, it may look as though we aspire to be.”
“At least we know better.”
“At least,” he repeated.
Her eyes locked on his, and it seemed as though she didn’t know whether to remain by his side or sprint for her life.
