Diamond, late Beatles, the Carpenters.”
“Got any?”
He released her and walked over to the wall that had a sound system built into it. He began riffling through the wooden rack that held her compact discs.
“No, I don’t have any of those,” she said. “I don’t think. I’m not sure.”
“Then we’ll improvise. Chicago or REO Speed-wagon? ‘Careless Whisper’ by Wham? What do you prefer?”
“This is crazy. Do you mean for us to dance?”
“That’s the general idea. It’s in the script. I need to research it.” He chose the Chicago album and turned on the sophisticated machine. In a moment the music filled the room from various hidden speakers. He adjusted the volume to suit him and came back to her. “How did he hold you?”
“This isn’t necessary, Rylan.”
That was the first time she had used his name. It had been spoken in exasperation, but he’d take it any way he could get it. Smiling, he slid his right arm around her waist. “It’s necessary for me.”
“Why?” She resisted when he tried to draw her closer.
“Because we haven’t filmed this scene yet. I want to get it right.”
“I sound like a broken record.
Read my book.
”
“I have. It says in effect that you danced and that it was very romantic. Not much for an actor to go on.”
“That’s the director’s job, to interpret the scene and put it on film.”
“He’ll set up the scene, Kirsten, but I’ll bring it to life. By the time it’s over, every man in the theater should want to be me and every woman you. Now concentrate.”
The order was directed as much to himself as to her. Because with the contact of their bodies, he’d felt an onslaught of desire, and the only thing he could really concentrate on was being inside her. And he knew in that instant that it would happen. If he died trying, he would have carnal knowledge of this intriguing woman.
“I’m Rumm and I’ve just met an incredibly attractive woman that I’ve got the immediate hots for. What do I do? How do I act under those circumstances?” He yanked her up hard against him. “How did Rumm hold you when you danced? Did he hold you like this?”
He was holding her in the traditional waltz position, except much closer than most ballroom teachers would have thought appropriate or even feasible for intricate steps.
“Yes, at first.”
Rylan began to lead, moving them in time to the moody strains of “Inspiration.” Their dancing consisted of little more than swaying in rhythm, a brushing of two bodies electrically charged, a flirtation of masculinity with femininity. Vertical foreplay.
“Was he shy with you? Did he hold you this close?”
“Yes.”
“To the first or second question?”
“The second. Charlie was never shy.”
“Did he rest his cheek against your hair?” When she nodded, Rylan pressed his jaw against her temple. “Like this?”
“Yes, only . . .”
“Only?”
“Only he was a few inches taller. He had to bend down more.”
“Well, I’m not going to dance on tippy toes, so we’ll have to make do with this. Besides,” he whispered, “I like the way we fit.”
Their bodies did fit phenomenally well. They meshed perfectly. As though they had been blueprinted to fit together, his maleness nestled in her feminine softness. He couldn’t stop himself from nudging her lightly. The cloth of her dress was sheer and giving, so that it was like there was nothing between them except his jeans. He could barely hear the music over the pounding racket his pulse made in his head.
“Anything else I should know?” he asked. He lightly blew against the wispy strands of hair that lay on her neck.
“He was brawnier than you. I remember feeling very safe when he put his arms—”
She broke off, and Rylan angled his head back and looked down at her. “Where?”
“Around my waist,” she replied hoarsely.
He linked his hands at the small of her back and pulled her even closer against him. Higher. His body settled
“Got any?”
He released her and walked over to the wall that had a sound system built into it. He began riffling through the wooden rack that held her compact discs.
“No, I don’t have any of those,” she said. “I don’t think. I’m not sure.”
“Then we’ll improvise. Chicago or REO Speed-wagon? ‘Careless Whisper’ by Wham? What do you prefer?”
“This is crazy. Do you mean for us to dance?”
“That’s the general idea. It’s in the script. I need to research it.” He chose the Chicago album and turned on the sophisticated machine. In a moment the music filled the room from various hidden speakers. He adjusted the volume to suit him and came back to her. “How did he hold you?”
“This isn’t necessary, Rylan.”
That was the first time she had used his name. It had been spoken in exasperation, but he’d take it any way he could get it. Smiling, he slid his right arm around her waist. “It’s necessary for me.”
“Why?” She resisted when he tried to draw her closer.
“Because we haven’t filmed this scene yet. I want to get it right.”
“I sound like a broken record.
Read my book.
”
“I have. It says in effect that you danced and that it was very romantic. Not much for an actor to go on.”
“That’s the director’s job, to interpret the scene and put it on film.”
“He’ll set up the scene, Kirsten, but I’ll bring it to life. By the time it’s over, every man in the theater should want to be me and every woman you. Now concentrate.”
The order was directed as much to himself as to her. Because with the contact of their bodies, he’d felt an onslaught of desire, and the only thing he could really concentrate on was being inside her. And he knew in that instant that it would happen. If he died trying, he would have carnal knowledge of this intriguing woman.
“I’m Rumm and I’ve just met an incredibly attractive woman that I’ve got the immediate hots for. What do I do? How do I act under those circumstances?” He yanked her up hard against him. “How did Rumm hold you when you danced? Did he hold you like this?”
He was holding her in the traditional waltz position, except much closer than most ballroom teachers would have thought appropriate or even feasible for intricate steps.
“Yes, at first.”
Rylan began to lead, moving them in time to the moody strains of “Inspiration.” Their dancing consisted of little more than swaying in rhythm, a brushing of two bodies electrically charged, a flirtation of masculinity with femininity. Vertical foreplay.
“Was he shy with you? Did he hold you this close?”
“Yes.”
“To the first or second question?”
“The second. Charlie was never shy.”
“Did he rest his cheek against your hair?” When she nodded, Rylan pressed his jaw against her temple. “Like this?”
“Yes, only . . .”
“Only?”
“Only he was a few inches taller. He had to bend down more.”
“Well, I’m not going to dance on tippy toes, so we’ll have to make do with this. Besides,” he whispered, “I like the way we fit.”
Their bodies did fit phenomenally well. They meshed perfectly. As though they had been blueprinted to fit together, his maleness nestled in her feminine softness. He couldn’t stop himself from nudging her lightly. The cloth of her dress was sheer and giving, so that it was like there was nothing between them except his jeans. He could barely hear the music over the pounding racket his pulse made in his head.
“Anything else I should know?” he asked. He lightly blew against the wispy strands of hair that lay on her neck.
“He was brawnier than you. I remember feeling very safe when he put his arms—”
She broke off, and Rylan angled his head back and looked down at her. “Where?”
“Around my waist,” she replied hoarsely.
He linked his hands at the small of her back and pulled her even closer against him. Higher. His body settled
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