Page 27 of Silk and Steel

I’m starting to wonder when I lost control of this conversation, but now I feel like I should just hang on and enjoy the ride.

“All right. Episcopalian.”

“It has to be more than just one word,” she says, slapping me on the arm. “Give a girl something to work with.”

I twist up my thoughts until I come up with something suitably pedestrian.

“All right, here goes: There’s a sale on creamed corn in aisle five.”

Her brows arch toward her hairline as a devious smile plays on her full lips. I realize I’m having fun. Just goofing off with Emory, like I used to when I was in the service. Hurry up and wait. Either too busy or not busy enough.

When you find someone you can share those quiet spaces with, that’s someone you treasure. Can’t remember where I heard that, but no way am I smart enough to have come up with it on my own.

Emory drops her gaze, leaving her blue eyes half lidded. Her voice drops an octave as well, taking on a sultry, husky tone.

“Cole,” she says my name in a breathy whisper that raises bumps on my skin. “There’s a sale…”

Her fingers play over my forearm as she leans in close, close enough I can feel her breath. The way she pronounces the word “sale” makes it sound like something taboo, and delightful, in equal measure.

“...on, mmmm,creamcorn in aisle five.”

She lilts her voice up at the end, making it sound as if she’s barely repressing an orgasm. There’s only one thing I can do now.

I applaud.

“I stand corrected. You’re right, anything can be made to sound dirty. Which is why it’s important that you know I’m going to be a complete professional.”

“Oh? So no going through my underwear drawer?”

She’s smiling. Teasing me, with both her gaze and her tone. I’m trying to assert my stoic professionalism here, but I can’t resist playing along.

“How do you know I haven’t already?”

Emory nods sagely.

“It’s true, I don’t. You were in my house for a long time. For all I know, you’re wearing a pair of them right now.”

I sputter with laughter.

“No way would they fit.”

“Some of the stretchier fabrics might, you never know.”

I put the truck in gear and we drive back to her place. Somehow, the talk about stretchy fabric morphs into a conversation about the Olympics. Turns out we’re both fans, but for different reasons. The sun sinks below the horizon as I listen to Emory.

“You know, teaching dance choreography is as much about learning how to read body language as anything. That’s how you develop the routines. You base it on the range of motion and kinetic intelligence of your subject.”

“Wait,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road but my ears on Emory. “What was that last bit? Kinetic intelligence?”

“Oh yes, kinetic intelligence. There are multiple intelligences, you know.”

“What does that even mean?”

I risk a glance at her. She’s drawn one knee up to her chest, arms encircling her own shin. Her blue eyes remain locked on me so intensely I almost feel shaken.

“It means that intelligence is more than just being able to do math. There’s interpersonal intelligence, which is somethingthat Julian has in spades. He’s really good at manipulating people and turning conversations to his advantage.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way, but it makes sense.”

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