“I’m not belittling you.” His tone didn’t soften. “I’m saying-”
“Anyone in my position would jump at the chance to go to a Crawford social function.” Quinn tightened her shawl around her. “It’d look more suspicious if I didn’t go tomorrow.”
Huck sighed suddenly. “You must be hell in a meeting. Do you ever let yourself get sidetracked?”
“Not when I know I’m right. I listen, of course.”
“Ha.”
“I’m not arrogant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not.” He smiled, and, with one finger, touched her shawl, just below her collarbone. “You’ve got a moth hole.”
“Only a tiny one. It adds character.” She felt a little breathless, and self-conscious, as if she’d just exposed too much of herself to this man-too many of her weaknesses. “Our grandmothers might have worn a shawl like this one to a pre-World War Two dinner dance. Have you ever been to a dinner dance?”
“Several.”
“Not in your present line of work-”
“As a kid. My parents like that sort of thing.”
“It sounds fun-I think. I’d wear a shiny, elegant dress-long, with a wide skirt so I wouldn’t trip when I danced.” She couldn’t believe she was talking about dinner dances, but it was better than arguing about tomorrow’s open house, having him probe her motives. “But then, I’d have to learn to dance.”
“You’ve never taken lessons?”
“Not in my family. If I wasn’t wandering through Civil War battlefields and hiding in musty corners of the Society headquarters with a book, I was supposed to be learning to dive, climb mountains, whitewater kayak, navigate, fly planes-not dance.” She tilted her head back at him. “What about you? Did you ever learn to dance?”
“You bet.” Without warning, he draped a muscular arm around her middle and swept her across the porch. “Follow my lead.” He spoke softly into her ear. “A simple waltz step. One, two, three, one, two, three-”
“Should I ignore your holster and gun?”
“Sure. I’m not in a shooting mood.”
Huck seemed to hold her closer, or she’d leaned into him without realizing it. He picked up his pace just enough that she tightened her hold on him, her shawl trailing down her arms and back. “I’m not all that coordinated…”
“You can do it.” Settling his arm low on her back, he moved more smoothly than she’d have imagined for a man of his build and profession. “There you go. Easy, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to step on your toes-”
“So long as I don’t step on yours. I’d break a few.”
Somehow, he managed to get the screen door open and waltz her into the living room, gracefully, nothing about him self-conscious or awkward or stiff. Her head seemed to spin, and yet she didn’t falter, didn’t trip over her shawl-and she only stepped on his toes twice.
In a low, sexy voice, he hummed a waltz tune into her ear, almost as if he were in another world.
“Huck…”
“It’s okay. I’m not wired. Your cottage isn’t bugged. No one will catch me singing and waltzing.”
With a final swoop, he lifted her off her feet and dropped her effortlessly onto the couch.
Quinn gulped in air. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“My mother tried to make a gentleman out of me. She said I can never go wrong being a gentleman. I know how to tie a bow tie, do six different ballroom dances, eat with the right utensils, make small talk. And I learned not to drink the finger bowl.” He sat beside her. “I don’t look that civilized, do I?”
“Well, let’s just say the small talk’s a surprise. I don’t imagine you suffer fools gladly-” She stopped, not knowing what to call him.
He looked at her. “Huck.”
“That is your real name, yes? And these stories about your family-”
“All real. Think I’d make up learning how to waltz?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I know what you’d do.”
“Probably just as well. My parents are open-minded by conviction and nature. Not a mean bone in their bodies. I, on the other hand-” He lifted Quinn’s shawl back onto her shoulders. “Mean as hell.”
“I don’t know about that.” She sat up straight, feeling a little light-headed now, and more than a little self-conscious. “I haven’t had dinner, and I don’t have anything here except tea. Lots of tea. I was thinking about crab cakes at the local marina. There’s not much time before they close. Would you care to join me?”
“Only if you put on shoes.”
“And take off the dress-I mean-” Oh, hell. “I’ll change into jeans.”
But as she jumped up, she got tangled up in her shawl and ended up whipping fringe into his face. When she tried to yank it back and apologize, she tripped on his feet, and fell onto his lap.
“I told you,” she said. “I’m not that coordinated.”
“An expert in international crime, and here you are in a moth-eaten shawl and bare feet, sprawled on the lap of a bodyguard-”