He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
Though she placed her hand in his and rose obligingly enough, she murmured, “I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid.”
Somehow he doubted that, considering the graceful way she moved, the gentle sway of her hips. But he couldn’t care less about fancy steps or choreographed moves—he just wanted to get his arms around her.
It felt as good to have them there as he had predicted.
Funny that he hadn’t realized until now how small she was. He would guess her to be a good seven inches shorter than his own six feet, so that even the strappy, heeled sandals she wore brought the top of her head just to his chin. Her figure was slender but nicely curved, making his hands itch to wander and explore. He kept them discreetly placed for public dancing, but he couldn’t help fantasizing a bit….
“It’s been forever since I’ve danced,” Cecilia murmured.
“It’s been a while for me, too.” The double entendre was unintentional—but accurate, nonetheless. When another couple crowded them, bringing Cecilia more closely against him, he was forcefully reminded of just how long it had been since he’d spent any quality one-on-one time with an attractive woman. It took some effort for him to keep his body from embarrassing him like a randy teenager’s.
They spent the next hour dancing and talking. Flirting. Having fun. Geoff could almost feel the last traces of work-induced tension seeping from his muscles. He sensed the same thing in Cecilia as her smiles warmed and softened.
It was inevitable that other people there recognized them with apparent surprise and curiosity, but other than acknowledging greetings, Geoff ignored everyone but his companion. Cecilia did the same, exchanging the occasional smile or wave, but subtly discouraging further approaches.
She was good at that, Geoff decided. Politely reserved. It was a skill his late mother had perfected and that Geoff had worked to develop to preserve some semblance of privacy in his hectic and very public life.
Though he paid little attention to gossip, his prominent family having been the subject of all too much of it during the years, he wondered if it bothered Cecilia that they were attracting so much notice. Tongues would probably wag tomorrow about Geoff making time with one of the midwives from the clinic. He was cynical enough to know that a few would turn the question around. “Didja’ hear that Cecilia Mendoza was making a play to snag the Bingham’s bachelor son?”
Such idle talk didn’t concern him, but maybe Cecilia took it more seriously. Then again, maybe not. After all, she must have known when they agreed to dine here that plenty of people would recognize them and speculate.
He had the feeling that Cecilia was self-confident enough not to be overly concerned at what other people said about her. He admired that about her. It was only one of the things he admired about her, he mused, his gaze lingering on her lush mouth.
Cecilia was reluctant for the evening to end, and it was clear that Geoff felt the same way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a pleasant outing. She certainly couldn’t recall the last time she had danced this much. Even if her feet were throbbing in the heeled sandals she hadn’t expected to wear this long, it was well worth the discomfort.
It was a heady feeling knowing that Geoff found her attractive. Too often lately she had felt routine-bound and uninteresting, her days consumed with work, her home life unfulfilling. She was so often surrounded by young nurses and young mothers, who often treated Cecilia with a deference usually reserved for much older women. It was a sign of their respect for her and her career, of course, and she acknowledged that. But their attitudes sometimes made her feel older than thirty-seven.
Now a man at least five years her junior was looking at her with desire and admiration in his eyes. A very attractive, successful, interesting and respected man, who must meet dozens of beautiful and fascinating women in his travels.
She didn’t expect this to go anywhere, of course. Nor did she particularly want it to. After all, Geoff was a Bingham—and she certainly didn’t want to be involved in their lives. It concerned her enough that her brother was marrying one of the notorious Binghams—even though Hannah was only loosely connected to the clan.
Still, Cecilia thought, as Geoff’s strong arms went around her for their final dance, it had been nice to enjoy his company for a few stolen hours.
He held her more closely this time. His cheek rested against her hair. The band played Lonestar’s “Amazed,” the lead singer crooning the words into the mike. Whenever she heard the song in the future, she would remember this dance and the deliciously shivery sensations running through her.
Geoff was a skilled dancer who made it very easy for her to follow his lead. A smooth turn brought them even closer together, her breasts brushing against his chest, their thighs touching as their feet moved in unison. She felt a tug of response deep inside her, a dull ache that she acknowledged as pure physical desire. It had been much too long since she had indulged that side of herself.
The song ended eventually. Inevitably. Geoff held her for just a moment after the last note faded away, and then he stepped back. “I suppose we should go,” he said as he escorted her back to their table. “It’s getting late, and I know you must be tired.”
She was a bit tired, actually, and her feet were killing her, but she was tempted to ask him to stay a little while longer. Instead, she merely nodded. “It is getting late.”
He stayed close by her side as he walked her out. Cecilia could almost feel eyes watching them leave, and she knew there would be talk tomorrow. She didn’t particularly care.
From her early childhood as one of the town’s few residents of Hispanic descent at that time, she had accepted that people thought of her as different. People had talked when her father died in a senseless whitewater-rafting accident when Cecilia was still in elementary school. They had whispered when her mother bore an out-of-wedlock son when Cecilia was eleven. Maria had raised both children on her own because Eric’s no-good father hadn’t stayed around to help.
Maria had lived quietly, but somewhat defiantly, working as many as three jobs and asking for no help from anyone except Cecilia, who had served almost as surrogate mother to her baby brother. Though she’d had little spare time to devote to her children, Maria’s strength and self-sufficiency had set an example for both Cecilia and Eric to pursue their own goals without being overly influenced by anyone else.
The gossip had started again when Cecilia had impulsively married at nineteen, a marriage that had lasted barely two years. Six years her senior, Gary McGhee had swept her off her feet and into his arms, promising her everything she had ever dreamed of—a loving partner, an encouraging supporter, a caring father for the children she had wanted even then. Someone to take care of her, for a change.
She had discovered quickly enough that what he had really wanted was someone strong to take care of him. An adoring young wife who wouldn’t mind putting her own dreams aside so she could serve as his personal cheerleader while he drifted from one get-rich scheme to another.
She had finally accepted that Gary was all talk and that she had made a mistake to believe any of it. She had come to the decision that she would rather pursue her own goals by herself—like her mother—than to give them up for s
omeone who would never appreciate the sacrifice.
And now people were talking about her family again as her brother prepared to marry a woman who carried another man’s baby. A woman who had, herself, been an illegitimate child of notorious bad-boy Billy Bingham.