Page 148 of Jack

He walked out the door.

She couldn’t rightly run after him shouting, “Your phone, your phone!”

Now what?

The guests had returned upstairs, and clapping sounded, along with music.Wait.Was that the song fromDirty Dancing? No, they were not doing the dance?—

She headed back upstairs, not sure what else to do, and stood at the door, her mouth just a little ajar as she watched the wedding party—Stein included—dance out the song.

He didn’t look injured to her. In fact, the man seemed perfectly, terribly capable.

And handsome. Way, way too handsome for her good.

Except . . . and it came to her.

Stone’s phone sat in her pocket. But if Steinbeck worked for him . . .

Onstage, the band continued to play, and now the crowd streamed out, laughing, clapping, couples finding the rhythm of the song.

This didn’t have to be that difficult.

Please don’t remember me.He probably wouldn’t since she wore the long blond wig, had done her makeup different, wore heels.

She stood at the edge of the floor, as if wanting to join in but not sure . . . her eyes on Stein as he danced.

Look at me. Look?—

Weird how the power of suggestion seemed to almost conjure fate. Stein indeed turned, and his gaze landed on her.

She smiled, lifted a shoulder, and he frowned, but it seemed something of curiosity . . .

Here goes nothing.

She added some rhythm to her shoulders, and a laugh, and he held out his hand to her. “Wanna dance?”

She slipped one arm around his big shoulders, nodded, and then stepped right into his embrace.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Okay.”

Then he started to move, and he was no Patrick Swayze, but he could groove, his hand around her back, holding her tight to himself, moving her around the dance floor as if they belonged together.

She spotted another couple and, as he turned her, deliberately bumped into them.

“Sorry!” Stein said.

She slid the phone into his trouser pocket, then bumped her hip against it, just in case he felt the weight of the phone.

He didn’t. Instead, he gathered her back up, his arm around her waist, and moved his hips with hers. His other hand made a cradle for hers, his form driving them around the dance floor.

Good. He’d find the phone, return it to Stone, and it kept the phone fromreallybeing stolen. They’d both think he’d picked it up by accident.

No need to get suspicious.

She matched his moves, and then, weirdly, found herself relaxing. Enjoying the lead of his strong arms, his hand around hers. He smelled of the woods and snow, a little male musk, and when he pulled her closer as the song slowed, she rested her cheek on his chest, drew her arms around him.

Forgot, just for a second, her mission, her life, even her name.

And let herself forget his.

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