The Dance (29 page)

“Colin, help me get her to the car.”

My eyes doubled in size as Hart began to shrink right in front of me. “Hey, what’s happening?”

“Back up a little more, Hart.” Colin instructed, as he tugged me to my feet and wrapped his arm around my waist.

The strip club and the boys got really fuzzy after I stood. The next thing I remembered was the sound of Hart’s voice saying my name.

“Bryson.”

My eyes squinted open for a brief second before closing again.

“Wake up.”

A soft moan drifted over my lips at the sound of his deep gravelly voice.

“You can’t sleep in my car.” There was a slight tug on my arm. “Come on. It’ll be over soon.”

My eyes stayed closed as I was helped to an upright position. A large warm hand slid under my right knee and then my left, lifting and twisting until my feet fell out of the car.

“Bryson, open our eyes. I need your help.”

Slowly my lids cracked open to blurry blue-gray eyes.

Hart brushed the hair away from my face. “Can you stand for me?”

On my head if you wanted me to.

My arms rose as if working independently from the rest of my body. Suddenly, the sensation of hard broad shoulders hit my palms.

“Bryson, I’m going to stand you up then lean you against the car so I can close the door. Okay?”

“Okay.” My pitch squeaked so high it startled me.

The pressure of a powerful grip pressed on either side of my hips. I bent forward as Hart lifted me out of the car, my fingers digging into his shoulders for support. Shifting sideways my back hit the cold hard side of the car. The next thing I was aware of was Hart’s fingers wrapping around my wrists as he gently pulled me forward and down onto his lap.

“You okay?” His warm breath glided over my lips.

Mmm . . . pumpkin pie.

“I’m more than okay.” I sighed.

“Put your arms around my neck and hold on.”

Soft hair tickled the back of my hands as they slid behind his neck. We were so close I

felt his ever present scruff bristle across my cheek. I took in a deep breath and melted against his toned chest.

My foggy gaze floated down, then up, then down, and finally back up over his gorgeous

face. “Your eyes are ama-a-azing.”

Tiny crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Those lips of yours are so splexy . . . splippy . . . sexy lippy.”

The vibration of a deep chuckle migrated from his chest to mine. “I appreciate that.”

“And don’t even get me started on those dimples.” My right hand slipped from behind Hart’s neck, feeling its way down his jaw. “They’re so deep I could take a bubble bath in them.” I waved my right hand in the air, tipping back slightly. “I’d just lay back and lux-ur-i-ate.”

Hart grabbed my arm and flung it back over his shoulder. “Whoa! We need to get some coffee in you.”

A gentle breeze blew through my hair as my body began to lightly bounce. “Hey, we’re moving.”

Hart rolled us up to his front door and stopped. A couple of clicks later and we were heading inside. The lights flipped on, causing my eyes to clamp shut and my face to dive into the crook of Hart’s neck. The collar of his shirt was the only thing separating my lips from his skin. I couldn’t tell whose chest stopped moving. All I knew was for a brief moment one of us wasn’t breathing.

We glided across the floor then stopped abruptly. My body jostled at the jerk of Hart’s arm. A loud clank, like keys hitting the counter, rang in my ears. Out of nowhere a persistent force began to nudge my elbow.

“Butter, sit.” Hart’s chest vibrated with the command.

The prodding quit and we were on the move again. I swayed a little as we swiveled back and forth, coming to a complete stop. Familiar strong hands returned to my hips.

“Bryson, you have to let me go.”

I did ten years ago and it was the biggest mistake of my life.

My head lifted reluctantly as Hart peeled my arms from around his neck. Placing his hands on my waist, he picked me up, and moved me to the sofa.

“You stay put and I’ll go make the coffee.”

“Okie dokie,” I said, flopping back against the cushion, my gaze scanning the room.

Hart’s place was nice. Blurry at the moment but nice. The décor was sleek and modern with a lot of whites, blacks, and grays. From my vantage point, I could see the dining room, kitchen, and what looked to be a home office in the far corner. A set of large French doors and windows lined most of the back wall.

The more my gaze moved around the room the woozier I got. Beads of sweat popped up across my forehead. Muffled gurgles emanated from my stomach. The air and my throat got thick. I closed my eyes a second before the first wave of nausea hit.

“Hart!” I groaned.

“Down the hall, first door on the left.”

Slapping my hand over my mouth, I bolted off the sofa and ran to pay my penance.

I made it to the bathroom just in time to see everything I had consumed over the past month spew forth. I held on to the toilet for dear life as I violently convulsed, echoes of my humiliation ricocheting off the porcelain. Cool air hit my neck as the curtain of hair on either side of my face was pulled back and lifted away. For a brief moment I prayed that a merciful hand would crawl up from the toilet, grab me, and flush me into oblivion.

After my stomach was completely emptied, I remained motionless with my face buried in the toilet. I was afraid any sudden movement would have my insides flipping and flopping again.

“Ju-u-ust let me know when you’re ready,” Hart said, his voice calm and soothing with a hint of amusement.

Unable to stand the taste of the ghost from meals past any longer, I slowly lifted my head and sat down on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. My gaze darted up to a damp washcloth waiting for me. I quickly grabbed it and covered my blotchy face.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled through the terrycloth.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.”

“Oh god. I only had three shots.” I moaned.

“You downed three shots of sixty-six proof whiskey in a little under ten minutes. That’d kick most people on their ass.”

“Ugh . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Give me the washcloth and I’ll warm it back up.”

I lowered my face and handed the cooled cloth to Hart.

Moments later he returned with the rewarmed washcloth. I took it, quickly putting it back in place over my face.

“Listen, if you’d call Uber, I’ll get out of your hair.” The material puffed in and out as I spoke.

“You’re not going anywhere in this condition. You’re spending the night here.”

His tone was so commanding and final.

Poking one eye out from behind the washcloth, I said, “I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already ruined most of your night. I’ll go home and you go back to the strip club. I’m sure Amber is waiting.”

Ignoring me, he said, “Towels and washcloths are on the shelf over there. I’ll get you a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.”

“Hart . . .”

“I’m gonna grab those things and your coffee.”

“Hart . . .”

“Cream? Sugar? Both?”

Realizing I wasn’t going to win this argument, I caved.

“Two sugars and a splash of cream.”

Without warning, he moved closer to me and reached down. “First, give me your foot.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those boots need to come off.”

“I can manage, thanks.”

He didn’t move. He was waiting for me to prove that I was indeed capable of removing my own boots. As I leaned forward, I got dizzy and everything blurred. My hand flew up, clutching the side of the toilet to keep me upright. When the slickness of the porcelain met my sweaty palm, I knew I was done for. My grip loosened, causing my hand to slide and me to sink back against the wall.

Hart’s fingers wiggled at the end of his outstretched arm. “Come on. Give it up.”

Feeling completely helpless and defeated, I placed my booted foot into his hand. Hart cradled my left ankle, using his other hand to gently push the soft leather over my knee and down my calf. A chill ran through my body as his fingertips grazed the back of my knee. My fuzzy brain could have been playing tricks on me, but I thought I heard a sharp intake of air as his bottom lip disappeared into his mouth.

Placing the boot to the side, Hart repeated the action with my right leg. My entire body buzzed and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. I became very aware of my position on the floor with Hart hovering above. The corners of my mouth involuntarily drifted up.

Hart was wiggling and pulling the heel when he noticed my expression. “What are you smiling at?”

I pointed to where he was holding my leg. “It’s like a reverse Cinderella.”

“I’m all about the fairy tale.” He winked, slipped off my boot, and extended his hand. “Let me help you up.”

Waving it off, I said, “I got this.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

No need to be an overachiever in the embarrassment and humiliation category. I knew getting off the floor would not be a graceful maneuver. Hart swiveled his chair toward the door and rolled out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my frayed dignity.

As predicted, the rise from the gray slate tiles was not pretty. In fact, it took three attempts before I was able to hoist myself onto the closed toilet. As my first ass cheek hit the seat, Hart reappeared with a T-shirt and a pair of boxers slung over his shoulder and a cup of coffee in one hand. It was amazing how he could maneuver the wheelchair using only one hand and shifting his weight.

Wanting to relieve him of one less thing to carry, I placed my hands on either side of the seat and leaned forward, attempting to stand. Less than an inch up, the room began to spin, forcing me back on my ass.

“Whoa. Aftershocks.”

Hart placed the mug of coffee and my new pajamas on the counter.

Turning toward me, he lifted a bottled water he had tucked beside him, cracked the seal, and handed it to me. “Something to rinse your mouth out with.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bottle.

My cotton mouth soaked up the cold water immediately. I whooshed it around a few seconds then realized I had to dispose of it somehow. The way I saw it I had two options. Spit or swallow.

Hart sensed my dilemma. “Need a little help to the sink?”

I nodded, my cheeks bloated with water.

My hand seemed so tiny compared to Hart’s as our palms met. He held me steady while I shuffled toward the sink. I gripped the edge of the countertop and was just about to spit when I remembered I had an audience. Looking at Hart’s reflection in the mirror, I twirled my index finger in the air, motioning for him to turn around. He shook his head, chuckled, and then complied.

“Blak!” The noise shot out of me.

Real dainty, Bryson.

“Feel free to use the mouthwash.”

I grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and looked around for a cup to pour the minty liquid into.

“Just throw it back, Bryson. We’re all friends here.” I definitely detected a little too much pleasure in his voice.

I chugged, swooshed, and repeated the same embarrassing noise as before. “Blak!”

“Feel better?”

“Well, my mouth is cool and refreshed.”

“Drink some more water before tackling the coffee.”

I inched my way back to the toilet seat on steadier legs. Hart’s hands were at the ready just in case I wobbled.

I sat and took another swig of water. “Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?”

“Yep.” He handed me the mug.

The room fell silent for a few seconds as I sipped the coffee. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed how soothing the warmth felt trickling down my throat.

“Maybe I should stay in here while you shower.”

My eyes shot open. “Excuse me?”