The Billionaire Gets His Way(21)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

She lifted her hand to do so, but hesitated before touching him. She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, closer, even, than they’d been when he’d towered over her at his office. As had happened then, the air around them grew warmer, and the clean, spicy scent of him assailed her. She noted the lean, rugged line of his jaw and the finely honed cheekbones, the pale blue eyes fringed with jet lashes. As had happened then, her heart began to beat faster, and her thinking grew foggy, and the entire world seemed to shrink until it was only the two of them.

“Violet,” he said, his voice dropping even lower than before. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

After another small hesitation, she gingerly curved her hand over his shoulder. The fabric of the jacket was fine and smooth beneath her palm, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his skin seeping through it. Of course, it was her imagination. The man would have to be very warm indeed for it to penetrate layers of clothing. Then again, she was feeling more than a little warm herself…

“Now, do what I do,” he said. “Take one step forward.”

She stepped forward, then belatedly realized he’d meant that he was going to take a step forward, and she should follow him by taking a step back. The result was that the two of them pressed together even more closely, something that made Violet fancy she could feel even more heat emanating from him, and from a lot more than just his shoulder. She was already getting ready to defend herself against what she knew would be his charge that she should have realized what he meant—once her mouth stopped being so dry at the heat and nearness of him, she meant—but instead, he chuckled and muttered a soft apology.

An apology. From Gavin Mason.

“Okay, look,” he said, his voice gentling. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, and you follow, all right?”

Okay, now this was just weird, Violet thought. What had happened to the prickly, demanding type-A blowhard who had brought her to the party? Had aliens swooped in when she wasn’t looking and replaced him with a pod person from outer space? And why was she complaining, anyway? A pod person would be way better company than Gavin Mason.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”

He dipped his head forward in acknowledgement, something that brought his face closer to hers than ever. Violet willed herself not to flinch, knowing he would pull back in a second.

But he didn’t. He kept his head dipped toward hers, almost until they were touching. “Now then,” he began again. “I’ll step forward….”

He did so slowly, giving her plenty of time to follow him. So Violet took a tentative step backward.

“Good,” he said. “Now bring the other leg to join the first.”

She mimicked his action, trying not to notice how the movement of their legs against each other generated a delicious friction she felt in a lot more places than her leg.

“Now I’ll step to my left…”

Violet followed a little more confidently this time, moving her foot to her right.

“Now I’m going to step backward…”

Violet stepped forward at precisely the same time.

“And now I’ll step right…”

Already anticipating the move, Violet moved—almost fluidly—to her left, then laughed lightly at her success.

Gavin laughed, too, just as softly. “Congratulations, Miss Tandy, you mastered the box step.”

“Do it again,” she said eagerly, delighted by her success. “Faster this time. But not too fast.”

He grinned, then nodded. As he repeated the steps, this time moving a little faster, Violet watched their feet moving back, to the side, up and to the other side. As he continued, she paid more attention to the music, and realized Gavin was keeping time with the flowing, graceful notes of the string quartet playing in the other room. Little by little, she grew more comfortable, until the awkwardness fell away, and she was actually dancing. Okay, box-stepping. It was still dancing. Gavin had said so.

She knew it was silly to take such delight in such a simple accomplishment—all they were doing was moving around in a square—but delighted was how she felt just the same. When she finally felt confident enough to take her attention off their feet, she looked at Gavin and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

He looked surprised at that. “For what?”

“For teaching me the box step, Mr. Mason,” she said, reverting to the playful formality he’d used with her a moment ago. “It was a lovely thing for you to do.”

“Lovely?” he echoed, still dancing her in a square. “That’s not a word people usually attribute to the things I do.”

“Then maybe you should teach more people to dance.”

He opened his mouth at that, as if he weren’t sure what to make of the comment, then gave a wry smile. But he said nothing, only widened their square with every new step he took, until he was dancing Violet out of the alcove and into the ballroom. The music segued into something a little faster, but Gavin never missed a step…and neither did Violet. She wasn’t sure how she managed not to stumble or trip over her own feet. It must have been because she had a good partner. But throughout the remainder of the piece, she and Gavin moved as a couple from one end of the ballroom to the other.

She was having so much fun, she honestly forgot all about how she was supposed to be angry with Gavin for a million different reasons. Until he looked over her shoulder at something behind her and said, “Right. Forgot. We’re here to make an impression, not dance the night away.”

They were? Since when?

Then Gavin was spinning her around, and she saw the same group of people he’d started to approach earlier, including the vibrant trio of beautiful women—one blonde, one brunette, one redhead. All statuesque and curvy, and all having exceeded their genetic potential when it came to, ah, filling out the upper half of their attire. And then spilling out of the upper half of their attire.

Inescapably, Violet glanced down at her own dress. Even if it had been cut low enough for her to spill out of it, she wouldn’t even have trickled. As Gavin danced her backward toward the group, she began to feel as if she were flying the wrong way into a flock of exotic birds like a fruit bat. A dumpy, colorless, mewling fruit bat. With bits of bruised, rotting apple matted in her fur. It was all she could do not to lift a hand to her hair to make sure it wasn’t sticky.

As Gavin slowed their bodies and roped his arm around her waist to walk her the rest of the way toward the group, Violet noticed there were men among the pack, too, all as beautiful as their dates and no less splendidly attired, even if their colors were much more muted grays and blacks. Violet had assumed Gavin intended to infiltrate the group and spend interminable minutes talking to them, and she was dreading having to hold her own in such a crowd. But he only nodded at them en masse as he passed, addressing a few of them by name, and asked one of the men—the one whose hand was cupping the derriere of one of the women very affectionately—how his wife was doing with the new twins. Then, without even waiting for an answer, he ushered Violet to the bar in the corner of the room and asked for two more drinks to replace the ones he’d given to the waiter before they’d even had a chance to enjoy them.