Jason and I paused a moment to catch the beat. Then we were off.
At first I stepped all over his shoes. Zigged when he zagged. Floundered when he tried to spin me. Madison smirked over the shoulder of her second-choice partner, amused at my clumsiness.
But soon my natural sense of rhythm kicked in. Before long I was following Jason's lead.
Against all expectations, I began to have fun.
Halfway through our third number, Jason twirled me faster than before. I flowed with the move, curling back into his chest. He reversed the spin and we ended up side by side with arms outstretched. As if on cue, Chance swooped by.
Jason released my hand and captured Hannah's in one smooth motion. My momentum carried me into Chance's arms.
Turning on instinct, I managed to fall into the proper tempo with my new partner.
"Let a girl know next time!" I laughed.
"And spoil the fun? No can do."
Chance was an even better dancer than Jason. And held me much closer. No complaint there.
Halfway through the song he led me into a new sequence.
"I don't know this one," I squawked.
But Chance directed our movements with ease. I followed his lead, even added a closing flourish of my own.
"Never doubted you'd nail it," said Chance. "You're the best dancer here."
Another spin. Our bodies drew together.
"And still the prettiest girl in the room," he whispered.
Yikes.
This was beyond friendly flirting. Right? I had no frame of reference.
The music reached a crescendo, then stopped.
Chance bowed, winked, and walked off to collect Hannah.
I hurried to the food table and downed a cup of punch. Grapefruit-melon. Blech. But I needed something. My cheeks were hot and my pulse was still speeding.
"You're sure you've never fox-trotted before?" Jason had come up beside me.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Well, you're a natural." He popped a chocolate ball into his mouth.
The band started into "My Favorite Things." Couples reengaged and headed back out.
"Let's see how you waltz." Grabbing my hand, Jason pulled me toward the dance floor.
A little too fast.
A little too hard.
SNAP.
Fire shot through my body. Divided into a million shards of ice. The pain was intense.
I jerked free.
Pressed my palms to my cheeks.
"You okay?" Jason squeezed my shoulder. "Do you need water?"
"Don't touch me!"
My hands slammed Jason's chest with a will of their own.
Jason flew backward and cracked the wall with his head. I stared in shock as he slumped to the ground.
SNUP.
My mind cleared.
My stomach dropped.
Holy crap!
"Jason!" I rushed to his side. "I'm so sorry!"
Jason rubbed the back of his skull, clearly confused. "What happened?"
"I pushed you." Think fast. "I had a migraine attack. It was a reflex."
Escape!
"I'm so sorry Jason, but I have to go."
"No, wait, don't leave." Jason's words were slurred.
"You're pretty strong," he noted, struggling to his feet.
I glanced around. We were the only couple not dancing. No one had seen me knock a 180-pound star athlete back five yards. With ease.
"I'm sorry, but I really do have to go."
"Okay." Jason smoothed his hair. "I'll walk you out. Drive you. Home."
The song ended. I looked across the room. Chance, Hannah, and Madison were now watching. No way I could leave with Jason. The rumor mill would eat that one up.
"Thanks, but I'm good. See you later."
Before he could object, I scurried for the door.
Out on the front steps, I considered my plight. How the hell would I get to Morris Island? No car. No shuttle. A cab would cost fifty bucks.
Kit and Whitney were at a movie, expecting to pick me up at eleven. Their phones would be off.
I checked my watch: 9:20.
Great. I was stuck for almost two hours.
A limo idled by the curb at the foot of the stairs. As I mulled my limited options, the driver's door opened and a black-suited man climbed out. He was speaking into a cell.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
In the lamplight I could see that the man was short and compact, with pale blue eyes and gray hair buzzed to his scalp. A white scar traced the right side of his jaw.
The phone snapped shut. "Miss Brennan?"
"Yes?" Surprised.
"Mr. Claybourne requested that I assist you."
"Mr. Claybourne?"
"The younger Mr. Claybourne." Buzz Cut opened one of the limo's rear doors and stepped aside. For a moment I thought he might click his heels.
Chance must have called the moment I left. Ergo, he'd been thinking about me.
"I'm sorry. Your name sir?"
"Tony Baravetto." Gruff. "Chance Claybourne's personal driver."
I paused. This man was a complete stranger. I'm suspicious by nature and wasn't going to jump into the limo on his word alone.
"I'm sorry, sir, but may I see your phone for a moment?"
Puzzled, Baravetto handed over his cell. I checked. The last call received was Chance Claybourne.
What to do?
Duh. You got another way home?
"Thank you, Mr. Baravetto. A ride would be greatly appreciated."