The Chosen (16 page)

January fidgeted, telling herself that it couldn't matter if they knew she remembered where she'd seen him. If they were looking, they were looking everywhere. Still, she thought she would ask.

“You're covering the parks, right? A lot of the homeless roam the parks, especially during the summer months. It's a lot cooler there, you know.”

“It's all covered, trust me.”

“Good,” she said. “Let's dance.”

The sudden change of subject should have been a warning sign, but Ben was too interested in getting January in his arms to notice.

“As soon as I help you clean up, I'm all yours,” he said.

It didn't take long to pack away the leftovers and load the dishwasher, and all the while, January thought about the secret she was keeping. It seemed stupid, even childish. The Sinner was obviously dangerous, but instinct led her to believe that if she told Ben North, he would put a stop to her detective work, and that would impact her own credibility as a journalist.

She couldn't be controlled by her own fear or someone else's rules when it meant getting the story. So she kept quiet, promised herself that she would tell him if things changed and she believed that it would matter, and finished the dishes, then went to put on some shoes.

“Remember those boots,” he called, as she disappeared down the hall to her bedroom.

“Have faith,” she countered, as she stepped into some flat-heeled shoes and then glanced in the mirror.

The dark-eyed, dark-haired woman looking back at her seemed calm and assured. January knew that was a lie. She was so nervous she was shaking. But it wasn't the dance lessons that were bothering her, it was what would come after. They would make love. She wanted it and, at the same time, she feared it. She didn't want to get hurt, but she wanted Ben North badly enough to take the risks.

“Here I come, ready or not,” she called.

Music was already playing. It was honky-tonk. She rolled her eyes.

“You've got to be kidding,” she said, as she entered the room.

“What?” Ben asked.

“Black-and-white ball, tuxedos, ball gowns, gold, diamonds, enough hair spray to stop a hurricane, and you want to practice dancing to that?”

“Well…I just…”

She ejected the CD and pointed to the middle of the room.

“Go stand there, please.”

He did as she asked, and when the strains of what he called elevator music filled the room, he grimaced. A tuxedo
and
dancing to this music? He had to be crazy.

Then he looked at the woman coming toward him and sighed. He was crazy all right—falling crazy in love.

She walked into his arms, put one hand in his and her other hand on his shoulder.

“It's a waltz,” January said.

When they didn't move, she arched an eyebrow.

“You're the man, which means you're leading, remember?”

Sweat beaded suddenly across Ben's forehead.

“Well, hell,” he muttered. “Don't say I didn't warn you. Here goes nothing.”

He stepped off with his left foot, ran his knee into her thigh, and caught the edge of the little toe on her right foot with his other shoe. It wasn't a true stomp. He only slid into her. Still, the pressure was strong enough to make January wince.

“Oh God, I'm sorry,” he said, then added, “I warned you.”

“It's fine. I'm fine. We'll start over, and this time, lead with your right foot. Like this. One, two, three…one, two, three…one, two, three.”

Ben stepped off with his right, slid into the second count with his left and tried to turn her on the third count. He slammed her into the wall. There was a long moment of silence as he gazed at her in horror, waiting for whatever came next.

January looked somewhat startled, then shook her head, as if to reposition her brain.

“No harm done,” she said, and stepped back into proper form. “We'll try that again. Remember…begin with the right foot and then—”

In two steps he dragged her past the sofa toward the foyer and was working toward a dip when January's fingers dug into his shoulder. Instinct told him he'd done something wrong. Good sense told him he needed to stop and ask what, but he was in dip mode, and it was too late to stop.

“Oh Lord,” January muttered, as he bent her over backward. Her hair caught on the coatrack on the way down and dragged it halfway across the hall on the way up. It came free just as Ben realized what had happened, but before he could stop, it came loose and fell onto the floor with a loud thump. The look on his face was somewhere between horrified and mortified.

“I'm sorry. Are you all right?”

January didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her head hurt where her hair had been pulled, and she could no longer feel the toes of her left foot. However, the look on Ben's face told her that he was the one suffering most.

“I'm fine, and you know what? We're going to try this a different way.”

“Gladly,” he said.

“First, take off your shoes.”

“Yeah…right,” he said.

“I'm going to change the music.”

“It won't get any better,” he warned her.

“It has to,” she said. “It can't get any worse. Besides, you have rhythm. I can attest to that, because we've made love and it rocked my world. Anyone who's as good in bed as you are has to have rhythm in his feet, as well.”

He didn't know whether to be pissed off or proud, but he decided to reserve judgment as he took off his shoes.

In a moment the waltz was gone and the familiar strains of Willie Nelson's whiskey voice filled the room.

“You were always on my mind,” Ben said.

January turned around. “Really? Why didn't you ever say anything?” she asked.

“No…I mean, yes, you were, but that's not what I meant.”

Now January was the one who was embarrassed.

“Look, mister, just what are you playing at?” she snapped.

He pointed to the CD player.

“The song—that's the name of it. ‘Always on my mind.'”

January's face turned red. “Oh.”

Ben stifled a groan. Now he'd done it. Not only had he physically abused her from head to toe, he'd managed to humiliate her, as well.

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,” he said. “I'm just no good at—”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, stop talking,” she muttered. January kicked off her shoes and walked into his arms. “Hug me,” she said.

“Now you're talking,” he said. “This I can do.”

When his arms slid around her waist and his hands locked, she did the same to him. Then she turned her head, resting her cheek near the place where his heart beat loudest.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

“Honey, I'd much rather see you when we—”

“Benjamin, shut up. We're not about to have sex.”

“Then what—?”

“Please! Do as I ask.”

This time he was the one rolling his eyes.

“This is on your head, or feet, as the case may be,” he mumbled.

“Close your damn eyes!”

He shut his eyes.

“Now quit thinking about me and just listen to the music.”

“Without moving?”

January gritted her teeth. “Yes, without moving.”

He stood still.

And heard her breathing.

And felt her palms growing damp against his lower back.

She was shaking, but by God, she was still with him. It wasn't the first time he'd made a mess of dancing with a woman, but it was certainly the first time that one had come back for more.

“Do you hear it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, and ran his fingers through her hair without knowing what the hell she was talking about.

“Do you feel it?” she asked.

“Lord, yes,” he said, and ground his hips against her belly.

January pulled back and thumped his chest with her fist.

“Not that! The music…the beat…the rhythm. For God's sake, quit thinking about sex.”

“It's not my fault you turn me on,” he said, and ran his forefinger from her chin to the hollow at the base of her throat.

January blinked. “I do?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, good and, uh…thank you.”

He grinned. “Don't mention it.”

January sighed. “Please, can we try this one more time without you feeling me up quite so much?”

Ben frowned. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” she said.

He put his arms back around her waist, waited until she slid her arms around his, and then closed his eyes.

And Willie Nelson finally pulled him under.

January was swaying where she stood, marking her motion to the rhythm of the song. Ben never knew when he started swaying with her, but before long she'd begun shifting from one foot to the other—moving in place.

He followed suit. It wasn't hard. Just a matter of picking up one foot and putting it back down. He began to realize that the words of the song were forming a pattern, as were the percussion, the melody. Could it be this simple, after all—matching the motion of his body to the motion in the music?

“Ha!” he crowed.

January jumped.

“You scared me half to death. What's wrong?”

“The music has repetitive motion.”

The delight in his voice made her smile.

“It's called rhythm.”

“I never heard it before.”

“Probably because you were too busy thinking about sex.”

He laughed, picked her up off her feet and swung her around.

“Could be, but don't blame me. All teenage boys come equipped with the same drive…engage, activate, then floor it.”

January shook her head in pretend dismay, but the light in her eyes gave away her delight.

“It's probably a good thing we didn't know each other in high school. You would have been one of those boys who continually pissed me off.”

“If you were as curvy then as you are now, you would have been right.”

“So let's see what happens when we move around a little,” January said.

Ben grabbed her.

“Easy,” she said. “Arms around my waist, eyes closed, follow the music.”

“What about running into things and people? If my eyes are closed, I can guarantee someone's going to suffer.”

“We're not moving that much,” she said. “Just at first…just to get the feel of the music…okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “You're the boss.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” she said.

He slid his arms around her waist and grinned.

“Close your eyes.”

He did.

The song had already ended and another one was beginning. Ben opened his eyes. She saw panic.

“What now?” she asked him.

“The music is different.”

“So find the motion in this song, as well. It's in there. You're a detective, for Pete's sake. Find it.”

“Yeah. Right.”

He pulled her close again, then closed his eyes. The sway of her body was different, just like the music. It took a few moments for him to adjust his movements to hers, but when he finally did, it was there, just as before. To a man who'd never experienced this, it was magic.

He put one hand at the very base of her spine, letting his fingers ride the curve of her backside, as he slid his other arm beneath her shoulder blades, pressing her as close to him as he could.

“Do you feel it?” January asked.

“You don't want me to answer that question,” he said, and buried his nose against the curve of her neck. “God, you smell good.”

“Tia's taco sauce. It'll do it every time.”

Ben grinned. “You are something, woman. Every time I try to make a pass at you, you make me laugh. You do know that, for a man, that's a dangerous sign.”

“Stop talking and move your feet.”

“Just a little, right?”

“Right,” she said, and then breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to follow without having to dodge his steps.

The song ended. Another began.

And before Benjamin Wade North knew it, he was dancing. It wasn't smooth. He was definitely eons away from becoming a Fred Astaire, but he didn't look like a dying crane, and he wasn't walking on January's feet.