Page 37 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

“Dance with me.”

She looks around nervously. “Right now?”

“Why not? It’s in the scene.”

“Don’t you want to go over our lines first and all the spacing that leads up to the actual dance?”

The crack of a grin spreads across my lips. “When have I ever wanted to go over spacing?”

Jenna frowns. “Never.”

“Right. So why would I want to go over it now?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Besides, we know the lines. Now, we need to know each other, how our bodies react to touch, and how we move in the space together. That’s when real chemistry can build.” I wiggle my fingers in front of her. “So dance with me.”

“I just didn’t know we were starting so soon. I thought we’d ease into the touching.”

“Relax, it’s just a dance.”

Her green eyes drop to my proffered hand, then back to me. “You’re right. It’s just a dance.”

Jenna slips her hand into mine, letting me pull her to her feet. An outbreak of warmth spreads through my fingers, spiking sensitivity in each nerve ending.

“How do you like to be held?”

“We should probably look and see how the script says the scene should go.”

“No.” I shake my head, gently tugging her body closer to mine. “How do you like to be held?”

Jenna’s body stills as I release her hand and slip my fingers around her bare waist. I can thank her cropped shirt for the skin-to-skin contact. My touch is soft and feathery, hesitant until commanded to do more.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” I incline my head, tracing the tip of my nose along her cheek, neck, ear, and bare shoulder without ever touching her with more than my breath.

She tilts her head, increasing the width of her skin I can access. “What are you doing?”

“Memorizing how you feel.”

Her breaths are sharp and ragged. “Besides your hand on my back, you aren’t even touching me.”

“I can still feel you.” In the way my heart is hammering, in how she smells, in the small shudder of her shoulder, the warmth radiating from her waist, and the goosebumps traveling down her arm. The space between us melts away as my body reacts to her body, building a template of physical chemistry one square inch at a time.

“So, how do you like to be held?”

“I…I…don’t know.”

Loose strands of her hair tickle my lips as I speak into her ear. “Do you like a firm grip around your waist? Do you like a soft palm on your back? Do you like full body contact? Or space between the hips with arms doing all the work?”

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Yes, you have.” My lips graze the shell of her ear.

Her chest rises and falls until she finally says, “I like a strong hand at my waist and full body contact.”

“See?” Firmly cupping my right hand around her, I scoot her hips and chest into mine. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

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