Page 51 of Truly, Madly Viking

"It's not the right time," Natalie whimpered.

"Pfff! If you're waiting till the right time, you might never get your chance. In my land, there is a saying: 'Gold given by a beggar is no less lustrous than gold given by a king.' "

"Joe, that has no relevance to this case," Maggie chided. The big hunk had gone too far this time. "You had no right—"

"I told you, your storytelling skills stink," Steve added.

"Natalie, you don't have to go there if you don't want to," Harry advised her soothingly. "I'll go up and make your apologies. We can just slip out quietly."

"NO! Natalie cried, standing abruptly. Everyone just stared at her. "I'll do it. I will. I'm going to do it."

She looked at Joe then. "Will you walk me up there? I'm not sure my wobbly legs will carry me that far."

"For a certainty, m'lady."

Joe took Natalie to the side steps leading to the stage, where one of the band members helped her up.

With a few whispered instructions, Natalie walked up to the standing microphone. By the pallor of her face and her stiff posture, she seemed to think it was a guillotine.

But then everything changed.

With the first drawn-out, clear note of Patsy Cline's "Crazy," Natalie Blue had everyone's attention. Her voice was powerful and poignant and wonderfully unique as she crooned, "Cra-aazy. I'm cra-aazy for feelin' so lonely." By the end of the song, Maggie had tears in her eyes, and she knew—she just knew—that someday people would mark this place and this day as the time that Natalie Blue began her professional career. The crowd gave her a standing ovation, shouting for an encore. And Natalie, surprisingly poised for a person consumed with a fear of crowds, smiled and eased into the piercing "Sweet Dreams."

To no one's surprise, Natalie won the competition for the day, and promised to come back for the final event. Whether she would crumble once they left the club, or revert back to her old phobias, Maggie couldn't say for sure, but at least for tonight Natalie was a big hit. And New Year's Eve would be a goal they could aim for in therapy.

Joe glanced her way and winked smugly. "You may thank me now or later."

"Oh, really." She laughed.

"Methinks I will dance now."

"Huh?"

"Yea, you may thank me by dancing with me, Dock-whore Muck-bride."

"I already told you that a doctor is—"

He chucked her under the chin. "Must you always be so serious?"

"Hey, that should be my line to you. You're the one who's always serious."

Meanwhile, Joe had been leading her toward the sawdust-covered dance floor, where Steve and Rosalyn and Harry and Natalie were-already beginning to dance to, appropriately, "The Dance" by Garth Brooks.

A slow dance! Maggie realized at once, and shot a suspicious glare at Joe.

Expressionless, he was holding his arms open to her, but his gray eyes, usually somber and grim, were twinkling with mischief.

"I prefer this type of dancing to the line dancing. Not that I know how, but it does not look too hard. In truth, it resembles making love, only standing up."

Maggie gasped, but she wasn't sure if it was because of his words, or the fact that he pulled her into a full-frontal embrace that involved his arms being locked around her waist and her shoes dangling off the floor. Most important, they were chest to chest, belly to belly, and, well... you-know-what to you-know-what. Oh, my God! she thought.

"Oh... my... God!" Joe choked out, aloud. There was no satisfaction in knowing he shared her flash-fire arousal at their innocent embrace. No, she corrected herself immediately. There was nothing innocent about the chemistry that exploded between them at the merest touch, whether it was dancing or a scorching kiss.

"I told you this couldn't happen again," she said in a strained voice as he swayed from foot to foot... his Viking version of dancing, she supposed.

"Nay, m'lady. You told me we could not kiss again. You did not tell me that we couldn't dance."

"This is not dancing."