Page 48 of Bombshells
“Maybe he just needs time,” I hear myself say. “And maybe he needs a push.”
“You sound like Fiona.” She rolls her eyes. “But I don’t think they make dresses any shorter than this one. He didn’t even notice.”
“Put him out of your mind,” I whisper. “Just for a few minutes. And put your arm around my neck.”
Sylvie doesn’t ask why. She slips a hand higher on my shoulder, bringing us closer together. Her other hand is clasped in mine, her palm warm and steady.
I slide a hand up the buttery velvet of her back. And as the music swells, I dip her carefully toward the floor as a big smile breaks out on her face.
When I ease her back into a vertical position, we’re nose to nose. “You are a ridiculously good dancer,” she whispers.
“The party boys always are,” I say, shrugging off the compliment as if it doesn’t matter. But it does. I feel a sharp awareness of everywhere we’re touching. And I can’t help the way I’m looking deeply into her eyes.
Sylvie stares right back at me. And then her hand finds the back of my neck, where her fingers sift through the short hair at my nape. Maybe she’s trying to make Campeau jealous. But my body doesn’t know that. Every nerve I possess sits up straight and sings hallelujah.
“Any man could lose his heart to you,” I whisper. “So easily.”
“Just dance with me,” she whispers back. “I’m done talking about him.”
I hadn’t been talking about him, though. I’d been talking about me. We’re slow-dancing in the midst of a sea of people. This party is huge. But as far as I’m concerned, there’s only one other person in the room, and I’m holding her in my arms, the way I’ve wanted to do since the first day I saw her.
Sylvie never breaks our gaze. She’s either a terrific actor, or she’s feeling a tiny shred of what I’m feeling. I hope nobody is watching, because there’s no way to hide how I feel right now, my hands full of velvet, my body swaying with the slow beat of desire.
She leans in, her soft cheek brushing against mine. “You’re doing it,” she whispers.
“Hmm?” I ask, my voice too thick to speak.
“You’re looking at me the way a man is supposed to look at a woman.”
“Mmm,” I say, turning her slowly, in our own little world. She’s right, but I don’t know how to stop.
“I think I’m done with this party. Take me home, Anton,” she says quietly. “Would you do that for me?”
My heart skips a beat. “Sure.”
Sixteen
A Little Safety Pin
SYLVIE
I watch Anton’s slow blink when I ask to be taken home. He isn’t sure if I mean escort me home or take me home to bed. But I have a hunch he’d be good with either scenario.
I’d meant the latter one. I’m tired of carrying a torch for a man who doesn’t want me. And I’m really tired of being the only girl in Brooklyn who goes to bed alone every night.
Anton accompanies me to the small lobby of the building and asks me if I have a ticket for the coat check. I hand it to him silently, and he retrieves my coat, tipping the attendant, and then slipping it on me like a gentleman.
Outside, he summons a cab with a sharp whistle, then politely waits for me to get in, before seating himself a respectable distance away from me on the seat. “Water Street and Bridge, please. In DUMBO.”
The cab glides away from the curb, and I look out the window at all the happy people out on a fine autumn evening. I’m tired of waiting to live my life, and I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m going to have to be clear about my intentions.
Without glancing his way, I slide my hand across the seat until I find his.
He takes mine without hesitation, flipping it over, and then tracing a sensuous circle around my palm.
I close my eyes and just appreciate the sensation. Anton is a true friend, and I don’t want to wreck that. I also know he’s a player in every sense of the word.
But if he’s in the mood to escort me into my bedroom and remove this dress, I’m in the mood to experience it.
