A slow violin preened and a flute twittered as Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice filled the bar, purring “My Funny Valentine.” Giovanni pulled her in a circle, slowly twirling her with an expertise she couldn’t match. He wasn’t lying when he said his grandmother taught him to dance.
“Relax. Let me lead.”
She looked down at her feet, trying to keep up with him when the beat sped up.
He caught her chin, lifting her head. “Don’t look at the floor. Look at me.”
When he pulled her closer, her stare coasted over the bar, spotting the guys at the back and the girls returning from the restroom trip. Mallory caught her stare and smiled.
“Stay, little valentine, stay,” Giovanni sang into her ear, his breath teasing her neck.
He whispered to her much like he did when they were in bed, and a familiar tickle filled her chest, fluttering softly like the wings of a butterfly. Leave it to Giovanni to make something as simple as dancing feel as intimate as making love. People were definitely staring at them.
The more they moved, the more she got the hang of it. Giovanni danced like he was walking on air. No one had ever danced with her like that.
As Sinatra belted out the last line, her body dipped back and she laughed out of sheer nervousness that he might drop her, but he held her tight and looked into her eyes and she knew she was safe in his arms.
He smiled, pulling her slowly out of the dip until their lips met. The music faded away, as did the other patrons, and for a moment, it was just the two of them.
He kissed her softly as if tasting the most delicate, decadent dessert. He moaned into her mouth and dragged his hands into her hair, gracefully holding her body flush against his as he pulled them back to standing upright. She was dizzy when his mouth finally left hers.
Hoots and hollers broke the silence, followed by one sharp whistle and their bodies broke apart. Erin flushed as Giovanni shot a grin over his shoulder to his cousins as they bounced around like primates. He took a theatrical bow.
Her skin burned as the women all gaped at her. It was as if she could hear their thoughts and feel their venom. Every woman but Mallory scowled at her as if she’d done something terrible like brainwash Giovanni and force him to join a cult that worshipped Satan.
Erin couldn’t bear their scrutinizing stares. She rushed out of the bar, hearing Giovanni curse the second he realized she was on the move.
“Erin, wait!” He caught her arm as soon as her feet hit the pavement of the parking lot. “Don’t go. I was only playing around.”
“I told you I didn’t want to dance! I don’t like being the center of attention!”
“I’m sorry. I thought we were having fun.”
“They were laughing at me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard them.” She pressed her face into her palms. “Did you see how they were looking at me? They hate me.”
He frowned. “No, they don’t. The guys were just being guys and the girls…They’re just trying to figure out your motive.”
“I don’t have a motive!”
“I know that. And, soon, they will, too.”
She hated feeling like she needed to prove herself to them.
“Hey.” He pulled her close and kissed her hair. “Forget about them.”
She leaned into the shelter of his body and frowned. “I told you I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
She wanted to storm off, but for a moment when they were dancing, she’d been having fun, too. “It’s embarrassing.”
“What is? We didn’t do anything wrong.”
She couldn’t explain it to him. He didn’t understand what it felt like to feel so universally disliked, to know that they talked about her and never had anything kind to say. “All the women were staring at me.”
“Maybe they were jealous.”
“Hardly.”
He scoffed. “Did you see my moves? Fred Astaire would have been green with envy.”
She chuckled and shoved him. “Don’t make me laugh. It’s cheating. I’m mad at you.”
“But I like your laugh, even when it’s that little pitying one that follows my lame jokes.” He stepped closer, turning her so her body pressed to his. He slipped a finger under her shirt and tickled her side. “Come on, let me hear you laugh.”
She giggled and shoved his hand away. “Don’t.”
“Come on,” he cajoled, searching out that little spot where she happened to be extra ticklish.
She squirmed, but not before he found that tender slope just above her hip and dug his fingers in. She spun away, but he caught her by the waist, hauling her back to him.
He cupped her breast and growled. “You’re mine.”
“We’re in a parking lot.” She shivered, realizing she left her coat inside. “And it’s freezing.”
“Come back inside.”