Use Somebody Read Free Page B

angel only to take him away again so soon.
    Pushing away my qualms, I followed, squeezing through the crowds and searching faces. Finding him wasn’t difficult. His large stature practically filled the small space, calling to me like a beacon. He had his back towards me, head tilted down, zipping himself into a black hoodie.
    “Thank you,” I called out, finally remembering my ingrained manners. At the sound of my voice, he stilled.
    Nervous, I stepped closer, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “This almost put a damper on my dancing,” I joked.
    When he finally turned and his twinkling blue eyes met mine, any feelings of not belonging were erased. I was so glad to be right here, right now.
    One side of his lips tilted up, revealing the sexiest smirk I had ever seen. It was a good thing I had just spoken, because I’d need another minute before I could do it again.
    “Well now, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He took a step forward and offered me a hand. Even a simple outstretched hand did things to me. “Shall we?” he said, in that old school classy sort of way.
    Without needing one single second to think about it, I placed my small hand in his.
    With an unwavering gaze, he led us back to the middle room. If someone were to shout my name right then, I wouldn’t have noticed. If people were still staring at me, I didn’t even care. The noise, the smoke and the bodies around us all paled next to the man with the musical voice and hypnotic blue eyes. My focus was solely on him. I would have followed him into traffic.
    We came to a stop, inches apart, still glued at the hands and the eyes. In one smooth motion, he lifted my hand in the air and spun me in a full circle, first one direction and then the other, until I came to face him again. I had to lean forward and lay my free hand on his shoulder to steady myself, placing us even closer. Twirling didn’t usually have such a dizzying affect on me, so it was safe to guess that it wasn’t the dancing that had me off balance. Or short of breath.
    He rested a large hand on my hip and pulled, bringing us into a formal dancing position. Barely breathing, I looked up at him, waiting for his cue. From this position I half-expected him to lead us in a sensual tango. Even though he appeared completely self assured, our contact had my heart pounding double-time.
    When he bent down to whisper in my ear, my eyes glazed over. “Dance with me, Scarlett?” Then he straightened and looked down at me, eyes expectant, once again holding me in a trance.
    If I opened my mouth, something overly enthusiastic and unladylike might’ve spilled out. Not trusting myself to speak, all I could manage was a nod.
    And right there in the middle of adolescent chaos, we danced.
    I loved that he wasn’t bumping and grinding against me, the way most boys danced. He moved fluidly to the music, connecting with the song and letting the rhythm guide us, using it to lead me. He wasn’t afraid to hold my hand or grip my hips as we danced, but he deliberately left a little space between us, which was refreshing.
    It’s not that I didn’t want him to touch me—I had never been more okay with someone touching me—but the respectful gesture stood out to me. A unique kind of tension built, and I liked it. I liked wondering what his next move would be rather than having to slow him down. I liked the mystery without the guilt of compromise. Such small gestures spoke volumes of the stranger before me. Had I actually met a gentleman at this party?
    One song melted into the next, yet he showed no signs of wanting to stop. It was easy to get swept away. His magnetic pull drew me in and like putty in his hands, I molded myself to his movements and tempo.
    Suddenly a country song came on, and we both laughed at the abrupt change in pace. I was an embarrassment to my southern roots, unaware of how to dance to this music. I paused in place, blinking up at him, blushing, and overall just trying to