Page 29 of Dashing for Love

“Yeah,” I say, breathier than I’d prefer.

“You smell amazing,” he whispers. “It’s familiar, but I can’t figure out why.”

Shit. It’s my signature perfume, and surely, he’s smelled it on me before. But he’s never said anything, and why should he have? “It’s, ah, a lot of things. You know, hair stuff, body wash, deodorant.” Maybe I should stop dancing with him.

But it feels unbelievably good to be in his arms. And his breath on my neck is…

“Hmm?” he asks, pulling back to meet my eyes.

“What?”

A side of his mouth tugs up. “I thought you said something.”

Nope. I suppressed a moan, Matty. God help me.“Just…thirsty. Maybe some water?”

“Of course. After you.” His hand stays on my lower back as we move through the crowd and remains there when we get to the bar.

My blood is on fire. The water is a balm, but it does nothing to soothe the state this man has put me in. I’m barely able to keep my hands from shaking.

“So,” he starts.

“So.” I down the rest of the water and try to focus on anything that isn’t Matty. The problem is that the man is wearing his suit like nature intended, complete with freshly shined boots and a shirt collar that’s just tight enough around his neck to draw my attention. I swallow. There, just beneath his ear, is the freckle that I’ve always wanted to kiss.

I might combust.

“I—sorry.” He glances away and laughs nervously. “You are—God, Dawn, you’re taking my breath away here, and I still don’t know who you really are. It’s messing with my brain.”

Oh, thank God.“Me, too,” I confess. Minus the part where I don’t know him, but you know, details.

“Can I just—” He stops. “Dance with me. I need?—”

Fuck it. I grab his hand and lead him to the dance floor, pressing my body to his, threading a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and wrapping my other arm around him. He shivers as he pulls me closer, one hand gripping my hip and the other splayed across my bare back. I suck in a breath. “Better?”

He nods, staring into my eyes. “Much.”

If I thought I crushed on him before, then I’m a freaking goner now. The way he holds me, the way he’s looking at me…this is not the Matty I’m used to. This Matty is oozing sex appealand holds himself in a way that is both confident and desperate, as though he knows what he wants but isn’t sure he’ll get it.

And I willsolet him have it. Consequences be damned.

I don’t know how long we dance. It could be five minutes, it could be an hour. All I know is the heat of his hands against my skin, the silk of his hair, the broadness of his shoulders, and the sound of his laugh against my neck, velvet and deep. I never want it to end.

But end it does, when the band stops for a break. We make our way off the dance floor slowly, hands clasped, neither of us willing to let go of the other. Unfortunately, all the water and wine has had an effect, so I excuse myself to go to the restroom and make my way out of the ballroom and into a side hallway, finally finding the restrooms on the other side of another darkened ballroom.

As I wash my hands, I look at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman staring back. It’s not just my hair. Even my eyes look different with this mask, and my lips are stained a deep red, a color I never wear. It’s no wonder that he doesn’t recognize me.

I have no idea what I’m going to do. I should tell Matty it’s me. I know I should.

But I can’t. Not yet. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t bear the thought of him not looking at me the way he’s looking at Dawn.

Tomorrow. I’ll come clean tomorrow.

I dry my hands and leave the restroom, turning back to the ballroom when a hand darts out from the darkened room to my right and yanks me in.

I’m about to scream, but there’s just enough light to see that it’s Matty.

“Shh,” he says.

“James,” I breathe, proud of myself for not saying his real name.

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