Page 65 of Clean Sweep
TANNER
Ithought Leslie would say no.
Her gaze arrested on mine, startled but not displeased. Her lips parted for a moment, as if a stalled response lingered there.
I held my breath and hoped she’d sayyes. Seconds before I withdrew the request and attempted to restore my pride by laughing about it, she slipped her hand in mine.
“Yes.”
She stepped easily into my space. Feeling her body almost pressed to mine was like a dream. How many times in the last couple of weeks had I thought of something like it? Reality was better than every one of them.
Her fingers slipped through mine and her other hand rested on my shoulder. Although I hadn’t done much with Whitney in the short years we were married, dancing had been one of our favorite activities.
Leslie was relaxed enough that I could easily lead her into each step, and I fell back into the movement as naturally as I ever had before.
Her shoulders came just below mine, which meant that a strand of her hair caressed my cheek with every slow wave of movement. I twirled her and she grinned, then returned just as quickly into my arms.
“You’re an actual dancer,” she said quietly. The hilarity of before had faded into something far more intense.
“Yes. A monkey can be trained, apparently.”
She laughed again, and the sound sent a shiver through me. Holding a woman—no, Leslie—in my arms felt better than I’d remembered. The empty years seemed far away when she was right here. The future? Not so bleak, perhaps. If I let it brighten. Leslie Hill was the light I wanted on my horizon.
Stasis be damned.
The music wafted gently through the house as I led her through a simple routine. We didn’t speak, and after all the quiet bustle of the day, the calm air, the simple movements, the close touch restored me. I drank in every brush of her skin against mine like a dying man.
Maybe, in some ways, I had been.
The moment the dance ended and she peered up at me, I felt the rolling stone start to fall down the hill.
Who had I been kidding? I’d been fighting my growing attraction to her out of fear, but that had been futile. Leslie tipped into my world like a gentle glass of wine, and now I’d never be the same again.
My hand lifted to her face. I pressed my palm to her cheek, my thumb gently rubbed the space below her lip. I stared at her lips, then up to her eyes. They brightened with anticipation, smoky and intense. If my suspicions were correct, this would be her first kiss since her husband.
A loaded thing.
“Leslie, can I kiss you?”
“I wish you would,” she murmured.
Relief almost left me a weak man as she wrapped her arms around me, tucking herself against my body. Our lips collided into each other. The little whimper she gave at the back of her throat drove me mad. My fingers worked through her hair as her lips opened to mine.
I pulled away, breathing hard. She pressed her forehead to mine, eyes closed. I felt her hands at my back, fistfuls of my shirt in her grasp.
For several long moments she stood there, stiff, and then she relaxed. She leaned back, her fingertips touching my face. She looked so serious.
“This isn’t some Christmas miracle?” she asked without any humor at all. “Do you really feel something too?”
I nodded.
She crashed back into me.
AN HOUR LATER,we sat on the couch together, a blanket draped over us.
Leslie curled into my side, her stockinged feet pulled up to the cushion. She’d wrapped herself into a fleece blanket and dropped into position at my side. I kept an arm around her and watched her face light up as we watched a Christmas movie that I couldn’t even name.
Mostly, I studied her.
