you.”
His body sprang to life as her lips brushed his, and his breath scraped harshly when she withdrew. “You’re welcome.”
Dovie ducked her head self-consciously and wiped her eyes. Finding her fingers smeared with mascara, she grimaced. “Yech! I must look a mess.”
Nick dropped a kiss on her hair. “Not to me.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked teasingly as she grabbed some tissues from the boutique-sized box that sat on the library table and removed the rest of her carefully applied makeup.
“You know what they say.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Remind me to introduce you to my ophthalmologist.”
His rich laugher played counterpoint to the tinkle of a piano. As the music wafted in more loudly from the living room, he caught her hand and led her out the door. “Let’s go.”
“Home?” she asked hopefully.
“Dancing.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “But I don’t know how to dance.”
“Then it’s time you learned.”
“Please …” Her voice held the same plaintive tremor as the musical notes that haunted the hallway. “Not in front of all those people.”
Without another word Nick pulled her into the circle of his arms, holding her in the traditional waltz position. As he drew her into his rhythm, her spine went rigid beneath his hand, and it took all his self-control not to smile. “Lesson number one: Relax.”
“Right.” She released a pent-up breath.
“Lesson number two …” He brought his hand up from her waistline and increased the pressure on her back until the full mounds of her breasts were flattened against his chest. “Now, follow my lead.”
Dovie felt awkward and graceful both at once, as her lower body instinctively molded itself to his. Her feet were killing her, and she knew she looked a fright. Gradually, though, her awareness of this man blotted out all other thoughts, sounds, sights.
And as they glided around the hallway as if they’d been designed to flow together, she decided that whoever said fairy tales can come true must have danced with Nick.
Seven
----
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Monroe.” The greengrocer gave him an energetic handshake, though Nick could feel the bulbous charge of arthritis in every joint.
Dovie set a dozen oranges, a bunch of bananas, and a pound of pecans on the bleached-maple counter top. “Have you got my freshly grated coconut, Charlie?”
“Bagged it special just this morning, as a matter of fact.” He shuffled off to the back room and returned with a small plastic sackful. “Now, what else can I do you for?”
“Let’s see …” Dovie checked her shopping list, trying to make sure she had all the ingredients for ambrosia. She’d abandoned the idea of having trout for her Christmas dinner and settled on themore traditional Smithfield ham and beaten biscuits, with the usual trimmings.
When the bell above the door jangled she looked up in idle curiosity, then dropped to her knees to greet the two incoming children. “Rachel! Rebecca!”
“Aunt Granny!” they squealed in unison. Their rubber-soled galoshes flapped against the oaken floor as they ran straight into her open arms.
“Oh, I’ve missed you little devils!” Dovie loved her nieces as dearly as if they were her own, and it grieved her no end that her brother Jack hadn’t asked her to baby-sit lately. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ve come to get carrots!” four-year-old Rachel exclaimed.
“So Santa can feed them to his reindeer,” five-year-old Rebecca explained.
“Well, now, I’d say you need some pretty special carrots for something as important as that.” Dovie released the girls reluctantly and got to her feet. How many Christmas Eves had she eaten carrots till she thought she’d turn orange in the face? Too many to count! She steered her nieces toward the vegetable display. “Here, I’ll help you pick them out.”
Behind the counter,
His body sprang to life as her lips brushed his, and his breath scraped harshly when she withdrew. “You’re welcome.”
Dovie ducked her head self-consciously and wiped her eyes. Finding her fingers smeared with mascara, she grimaced. “Yech! I must look a mess.”
Nick dropped a kiss on her hair. “Not to me.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked teasingly as she grabbed some tissues from the boutique-sized box that sat on the library table and removed the rest of her carefully applied makeup.
“You know what they say.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Remind me to introduce you to my ophthalmologist.”
His rich laugher played counterpoint to the tinkle of a piano. As the music wafted in more loudly from the living room, he caught her hand and led her out the door. “Let’s go.”
“Home?” she asked hopefully.
“Dancing.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “But I don’t know how to dance.”
“Then it’s time you learned.”
“Please …” Her voice held the same plaintive tremor as the musical notes that haunted the hallway. “Not in front of all those people.”
Without another word Nick pulled her into the circle of his arms, holding her in the traditional waltz position. As he drew her into his rhythm, her spine went rigid beneath his hand, and it took all his self-control not to smile. “Lesson number one: Relax.”
“Right.” She released a pent-up breath.
“Lesson number two …” He brought his hand up from her waistline and increased the pressure on her back until the full mounds of her breasts were flattened against his chest. “Now, follow my lead.”
Dovie felt awkward and graceful both at once, as her lower body instinctively molded itself to his. Her feet were killing her, and she knew she looked a fright. Gradually, though, her awareness of this man blotted out all other thoughts, sounds, sights.
And as they glided around the hallway as if they’d been designed to flow together, she decided that whoever said fairy tales can come true must have danced with Nick.
Seven
----
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Monroe.” The greengrocer gave him an energetic handshake, though Nick could feel the bulbous charge of arthritis in every joint.
Dovie set a dozen oranges, a bunch of bananas, and a pound of pecans on the bleached-maple counter top. “Have you got my freshly grated coconut, Charlie?”
“Bagged it special just this morning, as a matter of fact.” He shuffled off to the back room and returned with a small plastic sackful. “Now, what else can I do you for?”
“Let’s see …” Dovie checked her shopping list, trying to make sure she had all the ingredients for ambrosia. She’d abandoned the idea of having trout for her Christmas dinner and settled on themore traditional Smithfield ham and beaten biscuits, with the usual trimmings.
When the bell above the door jangled she looked up in idle curiosity, then dropped to her knees to greet the two incoming children. “Rachel! Rebecca!”
“Aunt Granny!” they squealed in unison. Their rubber-soled galoshes flapped against the oaken floor as they ran straight into her open arms.
“Oh, I’ve missed you little devils!” Dovie loved her nieces as dearly as if they were her own, and it grieved her no end that her brother Jack hadn’t asked her to baby-sit lately. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ve come to get carrots!” four-year-old Rachel exclaimed.
“So Santa can feed them to his reindeer,” five-year-old Rebecca explained.
“Well, now, I’d say you need some pretty special carrots for something as important as that.” Dovie released the girls reluctantly and got to her feet. How many Christmas Eves had she eaten carrots till she thought she’d turn orange in the face? Too many to count! She steered her nieces toward the vegetable display. “Here, I’ll help you pick them out.”
Behind the counter,
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