My Man Pendleton(29)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

He gazed at her, nonplussed. “Excuse me?”

“Dance with me, Pendleton. The band is playing a marimba. It’s my favorite. Don’t they marimba in New Jersey?”

He laughed low. “Not in the neighborhood where I grew up. Do they do a lot of marimba-ing in Louisville?”

She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “They do at Arthur Murray. Come on. Dance with me.”

She laughed, too, as she stood, the ripple of sound bubbling up unbidden, effervescing in her chest with an explosion of warmth. It was a nice feeling, she thought. One she hadn’t experienced for some time. Funny, it coming out of nowhere like that.

When Pendleton made no move to accompany her, she extended her hand across the table. “Please?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss McClellan, but my job description is quite specific. And nowhere on page four, paragraph six, subheading A does it say that I am required to marimba with the boss’s daughter.”

She settled her hands on her h*ps and smiled the most winning smile she could rouse. “I’ll give you a dollar.”

He twirled his wineglass by the stem and avoided her gaze. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one evening. I think that, as soon as we finish with our dinner, I should take you home.”

“One dance, Pendleton. That’s all I ask. Pretty please?”

He glanced up with a look of put-upon patience. “Oh, all right. But don’t forget—you owe me a dollar.”

He stood and buttoned his suit jacket, then closed his hand over hers. And when he did, that explosion of warmth in Kit’s chest suddenly fireballed, shooting heat throughout her entire system. His dark eyes glittered with something she didn’t dare ponder, and his mouth was set in a smile she found irresistible. She wove her fingers with his and tugged gently, then guided him in the direction of the festive music.

By the time they reached the room where the band was playing—which actually wasn’t a room at all, but an open-air patio—the marimba had segued into something softer and slower and more suited to the sultry night. When she felt Pendleton hesitating behind her, she spun around to look at him.

“Marimba’s over,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “Guess you don’t owe me that dollar after all.”

Instead of answering, Kit tugged playfully on his arm, pulling him forward until his body brushed up and down hers. “Not so fast,” she said. “You promised you’d dance with me. Marimba, mambo, rumba, samba…it’s all the same to me.”

“It’s all the same to me, too,” he told her. “I don’t know what any of those are.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

Pendleton gazed down at Kit and tried to pinpoint the exact moment when the balance of power shifted. Until just a few seconds ago—right around the same time her body came moseying on up to his—he was thinking he had things under control. Now, suddenly, he found himself looping his arms loosely around Kit McClellan’s waist—and quite a nice waist it was, too—as she danced him backward onto the dance floor.

Dammit, she would want to lead.

Then again, seeing as he suddenly had no idea what he was doing, maybe he should just surrender to her. The thought of surrendering to Kit took on a way too erotic connotation then, so he set the thought aside and tried to concentrate on something else. Unfortunately, his concentration seemed to be intent on erotic thoughts this evening, and they kept zeroing in on things they had no business targeting. Like how warm and silky was the bare flesh above Kit’s skirt that his fingertips encountered when he settled his hands on her hips. Like how good she smelled all up close this way, sweet and decadent and tempting. Like how fluid and natural her movements were when she propelled her body forward into his again. Like how unspeakably lovely her eyes were when she glanced up to see how he was doing.

Like how he wondered what she would do if he kissed her.

“Getting the hang of things, Pendleton?” she asked as she executed a stunning pirouette that offered him quite a nice view of her bare back.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, the words coming out a bit rougher than he intended. “I’m getting the hang of things really well.”

“It’s all in the hips,” she told him.

“It certainly is.”

“And the legs.”

“I noticed that, too.”

She laughed with genuine delight, oblivious to the fact that the two of them were talking about entirely different things. “I knew you’d be a good dancer,” she said, spinning closer still.

“How did you know that?”

She smiled. “You got good moves.”

“Why, Miss McClellan, I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“I notice more than you think, Pendleton.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment. Something tells me you miss very little.”

“And something tells me you don’t miss a thing.”

The music changed again, and he found he couldn’t comment to her statement, because he was too busy trying to figure out where the hell she was going. The pace quickened riotously, the piano player’s fingers tripping up and down the keys, stopping and starting without warning. Kit kept up effortlessly, reeling and darting around Pendleton with the grace of a summer breeze, chuckling good-naturedly at his obvious and total confusion. Before he realized his own intentions, he snaked an arm out to halt her, pulling her to him until her body was flush against his.

Then the strangest thing happened. Although the music kept playing, faster and faster, and the dancers surrounding them still pranced and staggered merrily about, the world enclosing them gradually slowed down to a halt. So Pendleton slowed down with it, spinning Kit in a gradually more languid circle, pulling her closer with every turn, until the two of them stood utterly still at the center of the dance floor.

And then, although he never planned to do it, he kissed her.

As he dipped his head forward, Kit tipped hers back, and oh, so slowly, he covered her mouth with his. Her lips opened easily beneath his, and the taste of her filled him, nourished him, intoxicated him. But it didn’t quite satisfy him. Instead, the kiss only inflamed his appetite, making him hunger for more of her than he could ever hope to have. Despite that, he deepened the kiss, cupping her face in his hands, tilting her head back further, plundering her mouth at will. Kit acquiesced through all of it, curling one hand around his nape, knifing the fingers of her other through his hair with much affection. She returned his kisses with equal fervor, equal finesse, equal fire. For the life of him, he simply could not let her go.