He hesitated for a minute. “I know you,” he told her. “You’re not a fool. You would have looked closely enough to know.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment. I wish Nigel Thompson felt that way. I couldn’t get through to him that though it’s improbable that a body was really there and somehow moved, it’s not impossible. So if you’ll let me off the dance floor…?”
He released her. But as she started to step past him, he caught her arm. She looked up, and for a moment, her eyes were vulnerable. Her scent seemed to wrap around him, caress him.
“Don’t trust anyone,” he said.
“I certainly don’t trust you.”
He pulled her back around to face him. “You know what? I’ve about had it with this.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“I got a long lecture. You can have one, too. You read a lot that just wasn’t there into a number of situations. You never had the right not to trust me. It was just that, to you, the minute a phone or a radio didn’t work, I had to be doing something. With someone. And you know what, Alex? That kind of thing gets really old, really quick.”
“Sorry, but it’s over anyway, isn’t it? You received the divorce papers and said, ‘Hey, go right ahead.’ You were probably thankful you didn’t have to deal with any annoying baggage anymore. And now you’re suddenly going to be my champion, defending me from a danger that doesn’t exist?”
“Alex, you know me. You know what kind of man I am. Hell, hate me ’til the sun falls from the sky, but trust me right now.”
“There are dozens of people here. I don’t think I’m in any danger in the middle of the Tiki Hut. And trust you?” She sounded angry, then a slow smile curved her lips.
“What?”
“I just find it rather amusing that you’re suddenly so determined to enjoy my company. There were so many times when…well, never mind.”
He stared at her blankly for a moment. “What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.”
“Actually, it’s not,” he said. Again he waited for lightning to strike. Not that it should. He was doing this out of a very real fear for her life.
She waved a hand in the air. “All over but the shouting,” she murmured.
“Maybe that’s what we were lacking—the shouting.”
“Great. We should have had a few more fights?”
It was strange, he thought, but this was almost a conversation, a real one.
And then John Seymore chose that exact moment to return, tapping him on the shoulder. “Since you’re on the dance floor and not actually dancing…?”
“And it’s a salsa,” Alex put in.
“Salsa?” John murmured. “I’m not sure I know what I’m doing, but—”
“I do,” David said quickly, grinning, and catching Alex in his arms once again. “I’ll bring her back for the next number.”
“Since when do you salsa?” Alex demanded as they began to move.
“Since a friend married a dance instructor,” he told her.
She seemed startled, but he really did know what he was doing. He’d never imagined the dance instruction he’d so recently received from a friend’s wife would pay off so quickly. Alex was good, too. She’d probably honed her skills working here, being pleasant to the guests in the Tiki Hut at night.
After a minute, though, he wasn’t quite sure what he had gained. They looked good together on the floor, and he knew it. But the music was fast, so conversation was impossible. At the end of the song he managed to lead her into a perfect dip, so at least he was rewarded by the amazement in her eyes as they met his.
In fact, she stayed in his arms for several extra seconds, staring up at him before realizing that the music had ended and the gathering in the Tiki Hut was applauding them.
He grinned slowly as she straightened, then pushed against his chest. “The dance is over,” she said firmly, then walked quickly away.
“You really are a man of many talents.”
Turning, he saw Alex’s assistant, the pretty young blonde. She was leaning against the edge of the rustic wood bar.
“Thanks.”
“Do you cha-cha?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“Well, will you ask me? Or are you making me ask you?”
“Laurie, I would love to dance with you,” he said gallantly.
As they moved, she asked him frankly, “Why on earth did you two ever split up?”
“Actually, I don’t really know,” he told her.
“I bet I do,” she told him. “You must be pretty high maintenance.”
“High maintenance? I’m great at taking care of myself. I may not be a gourmet, but I can cook. I know every button on a washing machine. I usually even remember to put down the toilet seat.”
She laughed. “Well, there you go.”
“Excuse me? How is that high maintenance?”
“You don’t need anybody,” she said. “So it’s high maintenance for someone to figure out what they can do for you.”