A Special Obsession by A.M. Hargrove

Author:A.M. Hargrove [Hargrove, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AM Hargrove LLC
Published: 2017-03-20T18:30:00+00:00

23

Special

Weston throws me off guard when he asks about Sasha. But I trust him. The honesty in his eyes tells me it’s okay. I don’t tell him everything because I need to discuss it with Mimi and Jeb first. If Weston wanted to kill Cody or me, he would’ve done it that day he came to the farm. He also could’ve pressed charges after I shot him, but he did neither. I have every reason to trust him.

The more I learn about him, the more I like him. He’s nothing like his family. How on Earth did he survive that awful environment and become his own person? That’s another testament to his strength of character. The fact that he works for Habitat is really special and something else I admire.

“Special, where have you gone?”

Pulling myself out of my daydream, I answer, “I’m lucky to have you as my friend too, Weston.”

When the man smiles, he makes my freaking knees weak. Jesus, help me.

“Hey, do you like to dance?” he asks.

“No, I’m not very good.”

“I can lead. I took dance lessons, remember?” He makes a dorky face.

A very unladylike snort rips out of me, and I cover my mouth with my hand. “Sorry.”

“Go ahead. Laugh. But when you see me bust a move, you’ll appreciate those lessons.”

“Bust away, baby. I’m ready to be impressed.”

That sexy mouth curls into an even sexier grin. “Get ready then.” He takes off his jacket and tie, then stands there with his arms outstretched, waiting for me to walk into their embrace.

How can I refuse him? “All right, but I’m warning you. Your toes are in terrible danger with me around.”

“No, they’re not. First thing, eyes up here.” He uses two fingers to draw my attention up to his eyes.

“How can I do that? I need to watch your feet.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll guide you with each step.”

Then I chuckle. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What’s that?”

“Music.”

He pulls out his phone, taps a song, and “Save the Last Dance for Me” by Michael Bublé begins to play through the speakers. He wraps an arm around my waist as I put my own on his shoulder. My hand rests in his as we move across the floor as one. He wasn’t fooling around. The man can dance. Really dance. For once in my life, I actually feel like a princess.

“On your toes,” and, “Don’t look at your feet,” are about the only things he says. We glide as though we’re on ice. His arms steer me, not pushing or pulling at all. It’s as if I were born to dance. When the song ends, I’m giddy.

“Another,” I beg.

He slows it down this time with “You Don’t Know Me.” The lyrics sink in as he turns, dips, then pulls me close in his arms. When he does, I get the true meaning of romance. My heart strikes a beat against my ribs, while my spine tingles where his hand touches me. As Michael Bublé ends the song with— you’ll never know the one who loves you so, well you don’t know me—he stops and his mouth seeks out mine.

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