Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“It’s nothing, but I should leave.” He braced himself on the table to stand.

“Wait—don’t go.” I put my hand over his, which was already bruised from the fight.

“Yeah, don’t go yet,” Rosie put in. “I want to dance with you again.”

But I wasn’t about to let her take him away. Not when another slow, sexy blues had just started. “Dance with me?” The words slipped out before I realized what I was saying.

Surprise flashed in his brown eyes. “You want to dance with me? To this?” He didn’t even bother to mask his shock.

“Yeah.” I set my little mesh bag on the table and slid out from the booth. “I do.” My heart was pounding now. Would he turn me down? Or worse, dance with Rosie instead?

“All right.”

I had to look carefully to be sure he wasn’t joking, but his expression was serious.

“Don’t be too long, now” Rosie called, a false cheery note in her voice.

We walked onto the dance floor, my knees jittering uncontrollably. What was I thinking, asking him to dance with me to this song? We might have done a tame fox trot or an awkward waltz at Bridget’s wedding, but that was in a room full of relatives, and we’d probably kept enough space between us to park a car. This was something altogether different. Where would he rest his hands? Was I supposed to put my arms around him like Rosie had? What if Enzo saw us?

Actually, that thought spurred my confidence a little. Let him see us. Serves him right.

In the back of my mind was the dim realization I’d had the same exact thought in reverse just a week ago—I’d wanted Joey to see me with Enzo and be jealous. Tonight…I didn’t understand it completely, but I didn’t want Joey to leave, and it wasn’t only because I wanted to know what Enzo had said.

We found a sliver of open space and Joey reached for me, slipping his right arm across my lower back, and taking my right hand in his left. I rested my other hand on the top of his shoulder. Despite the crowded floor, he left so much space between us that I was disappointed. We might as well do the foxtrot, I thought grumpily.

But when he started to move, he pulled me into his torso, tight. As tightly as he’d held Rosie, maybe even tighter.

My breath hitched and my heart hammered my ribs so hard I was certain he could feel it. He swayed me in time to the lazy, throbbing rhythm, leading me so surely that my feet never fell out of step with his. God, the way he moved his body, and mine along with it…it was slow and sexy and sinuous. Warmth pooled at my center. My breaths started to come faster, and my dress felt heavy on my skin. Had it been this warm in here all night? I could smell the perfume I’d dotted behind my ears and between my breasts and at the backs of my knees, and hoped he could too. My left hand inched along the rough fabric of his coat until my fingers curved around his neck.

His movement slowed.

Rising on tiptoe, I pressed my face into the space between his ear and his collar.

He stopped dancing.

I inhaled deeply, letting the scent of his skin invade me. Soap and starch and aftershave, and the barest trace of something else—something delicious but not sweet, something herbal that brought the memory of cooking with him into sharp relief. My mouth watered.

His turned his head and I felt his lips against my temple. “Move your feet, Tiny.” His voice was strained.

Oh—right. Was it me who’d stopped dancing? Recovering my senses, I let him lead me again, but I didn’t let him pull away. Against my chest I could feel him breathing, and I adjusted my breaths to his so that every part of our bodies moved in tandem, even our lungs. My body hummed with pleasure, warm and decadent. And though I knew it was wrong and misleading and maybe even dangerous if Enzo was watching, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the side of his neck.

Immediately I felt him spring to life against my hip. Arousal fluttered between my legs and hollowed out my insides.

He pushed me away. “What are you doing?” His eyes swept the room, as if he was trying to make sure Enzo hadn’t seen us. “Are you crazy?”

I found that extraordinarily funny and started to giggle. “Yes. I think I am.”

Joey rolled his eyes and grabbed me by the wrist, yanking me back toward the table. “You’re drunk,” he said through clenched teeth over his shoulder, “and I can’t handle this tonight. I don’t know why I even bothered to try.” We reached the booth and he shoved me in across from Rosie, who was fuming and trying to hide it.

“Well,” she said, bringing her cigarette to her lips for a puff. “That looked cozy.”

Joey looked around as he adjusted his pants. “Where’s your ride home, Tiny?”

I shrugged. “Dancing?”

“I’ve had it with this joint.” Rosie stubbed her cigarette out and looked up at Joey, batting her lashes. “You wanna go someplace quiet, sugar?”

“Yeah. I do.”