He held out his arms.
She stepped into them.
And as he slipped his right hand around her impossibly small waist and clasped her right hand with his left, he stopped breathing.
At this proximity, the seven- or eight-inch height difference between them was even more pronounced. As were the intriguing silver flecks in her blue irises. And she had a tiny freckle beside her soft-looking lips—which were moving.
Uh-oh.
She was talking.
With an effort, he tuned back in.
“...and see how it goes.”
He’d missed too much of her comment to fake a reply.
“Sorry. Could you say that again? I was, uh, distracted for a minute.” He tried to ignore the warmth seeping through his shirt and into his skin from the hand she’d placed on his shoulder.
A faint hint of pink crept across her cheeks. “I suggested that we start with a few triples, then instead of me calling out steps, you take over since I won’t be there to give directions on Friday.”
Unless he asked her to go with him.
A shock wave rippled through him as that notion popped into his mind.
Bad idea.
Even if the RSVP deadline wasn’t until tomorrow and he could technically still add a plus-one.
Even if having her with him would alleviate his worries about dancing with a stranger.
Even if the thought of a whole evening in the company of this caring, beautiful woman set off a tingle in his nerve endings.
But if he succumbed to temptation, he’d be playing with fire.
“Aaron?” She examined his face. “Does that work?”
“Yeah. Let’s give it a try.”
She counted them in, and after a few basics, she let him take the lead.
For a guy with two left feet, he managed to hold his own. In all likelihood due more to Devyn’s skill than his. She seemed to anticipate what he was going to do, and with her natural grace she’d make any partner look good.
After he ran through all the moves a few times, he stopped. Not by choice, but they couldn’t dance together all night, given his limited repertoire of steps.
“You did great.” She eased out of his arms, and he let her go. Reluctantly. “You ready to call it a night?”
No.
But what excuse could he dredge up to prolong this encounter?
“Yes. I should get home and check on Isabel.”
“Give me a minute to gather up my stuff.” She strode over to her bag. Sat on the chair beside it and exchanged her ballet slippers for street shoes. “This didn’t take as long as I expected. You have natural ability, and you’re a fast learner.”
“You’re being kind.”
“Truthful.” She gave him a judicious scan. “You’ve had a bad dancing experience, haven’t you?”
