A giggling woman in a blue gown came off the stage and met the broadly smiling winner at the bottom of the portable steps. The couple came together on the nearly empty dance floor, swaying to the smooth tones of the jazz band as onlookers clapped and continued drinking, eating and celebrating.
“A dance auction?” she said, assessing the situation quickly.
Okay, this wasn’t a problem. They wouldn’t require more staff, food or security. No, the coordinators hadn’t included it in their plans for this evening, but she didn’t see the harm as long as the participants were all willing.
“Now, who’s next?”
“Five thousand dollars!” a voice called.
The crowd gasped, searching the room for the bidder as the auctioneer peered out among them. “Hold on a minute, sir, we need somebody for you to bid on before you go naming the price. But hold that thought, that’s a very generous offer.”
“Five thousand dollars,” the man’s voice—a familiar one—repeated. She placed that voice right before he added, “For a dance with Miss Emily Crowder.”
No. Oh, hell, no—he had not just done this.
She was going to kill him. Truly, she was going to put her hands around Rand McConnell’s throat and wring his neck. He had just made a spectacle of her by throwing her name out among these bigwigs, as if she, a uniformed hotel employee, could just join the party.
She considered slinking out, pretending this Emily Crowder person didn’t exist, but Rand was having none of that. He was striding through the room, the crowd parting like the sea around Moses as he beelined toward her. His attention was focused on her face, so there was no way he could miss her glare. But he didn’t seem to mind one bit.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
“Supporting a good cause. I love animals, especially dogs.”
“So find a Chihuahua to dance with.”
“I’d rather dance with you.”
“Sir, is that the lady you’re bidding on?” the emcee asked.
“Yes. Five thousand dollars for a dance with Miss Crowder.”
“I’m going to kill you for this.”
“Dance with me first. And give me a chance to pay up.”
“What do you say, Miss Crowder?” asked the auctioneer.
“I really can’t,” she said apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s not in my job description.”
“Raising money to save animals in need is in everybody’s job description, as far as I’m concerned,” Rand said. “I’m sure Miss Crowder’s superiors would give her a five-minute break to earn ten thousand dollars for such a worthy cause.”
She flinched. “You said five thousand.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Oh, you sneaky bastard,” she mumbled, even as the crowd’s comments swelled in approval of Rand’s generosity.
Emily was torn, knowing she would be crazy to expose herself to any more of Rand’s charm, but also remembering the argument she’d been having with herself before he’d shown up.
Why not be like Nora for a change?
How many chances would she have with this man, who made her whole body sing in anticipation?
“Come on, dance with me, Em. It’s the least you can do to make up for the handcuffs.”
That elicited a tiny, self-satisfied grin. “How long did it take you to get out of them?”
“A half hour,” he admitted. “It was a little tough to do without someone holding the cuff steady.”
She nibbled her lip. “I’m sorry. That was childish.”
“Make it up to me with a dance.”
She hesitated, then suddenly remembered that a widowed Scarlett O’Hara had said fiddle dee dee and danced with Rhett Butler at a charity ball. Like Scarlett, she was tapping her toes. She wanted to dance with him. How crazy was that? She’d been trying to decide whether to leap on him or avoid him like the plague, but right now, being in his arms on the dance floor seemed to be the perfect compromise. Besides, what harm could come from being held by him in the middle of a huge crowd? It’s not as if she could do anything terribly stupid or desperate when there were so many witnesses around.
“Shall we?” he asked, reaching for her.
She slowly nodded, letting him lead her to the dance floor. There, he drew her close, pulling her tightly against his tall, tuxedo-clad body. Emily, in her navy skirt and white blouse, had to look completely out of place. But as the two of them melted together, she didn’t really care.
One dance, for charity. What harm can come from that?
So they danced. The music was low and smooth, meant for close-in dancing, probably to encourage attendees to pay more for their partners. Rand took full advantage, his hand pressed possessively to the small of her back, so that his fingertips brushed against the curves of her rear. Her breasts were heavy and sensitive, the press of his chest bringing her nipples to full, tight awareness. The moment the dance ended and she drew away, he would be able to see the effect he had on her through her simple white blouse—and so would everyone else. But now, when she was so close to him, it didn’t matter.
“It’s been too long since we danced,” he murmured, his mouth near her temple, his breath brushing her hair.
“We never danced together.”
He breathed against her hair, as if inhaling her scent. “Sure we did. That night in the pool.”
The late-night swim. The one when they’d kissed.
“There was music coming from that party across the street,” he added.
Memories flooded through her. They’d been in the water, standing and facing each other, when the faint strains of a slow tune had wafted to their ears. Rand had jokingly asked her to dance. The joke had been on him, because she’d leapt at the chance to be in his arms. They’d rocked together, standing waist-deep in cool water, swaying to the faint music they could barely make out over the night breeze. Their wet young bodies had been pressed together, from neck to knee. Even before Rand had kissed her, she had noticed his body’s reaction, that long, powerful bulge in his swim trunks, and had understood what it meant.
“I remember,” she murmured, unable to pretend she wasn’t experiencing the same magnetic pull she’d always felt around Rand. Long before he’d been rich and famous, long before he’d become a sex symbol, he had appealed to the very core of her being the way no one had, before or since. She’d wanted him from the moment they’d met.
“I remember everything about that summer,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like the day Seth and I picked you up at the airport when you first arrived. You had your hair in a high ponytail and you were carrying a backpack full of Hollywood tourist guides and movie-star tell-alls.”
“You offered to carry it.”
“And the weight of it nearly pulled my arm out of my socket,” he teased.
“Remember my first In-N-Out burger experience?”
“When you licked every bit of sauce off your fingers and then wiped what was left off the wrapper and licked that up, too?”
“Man, I loved those things. Grandfather almost never let me eat fast food.”
“How is the old guy?”
She smiled. “He’s fine. Still very protective.”
She