Free Dancing With the Devil by Laura Drewry

horribly frustrating for her customers to stand there and sort through the whole bowl until they found the color or size they needed. She had time now, and tedious though it might be, she’d get them sorted.
    Anything to make her customers happy. And anything to avoid going upstairs.
    She dragged a stool over to the table, gently poured out the bowl and set to dividing its contents into different piles. It was amazing anyone had ever been able to find what they were looking for in that jumble. Anhour later, she stood and tried to stretch the pain out of her neck and shoulders. Her eyes, dry and aching, begged to be closed, but she couldn’t do it. Not yet.
    If she closed her eyes now, she knew there was only one face she’d see, and she wasn’t nearly ready to deal with that.
    In fact, she should probably sort the box under the table, too…
    “Rhea.” Deacon’s smooth voice floated across the room. “You can’t hide down here all night.”
    “I’m not doing anything of the sort.” Drat—she’d just thrown three yellow buttons in with the red. “I’m working.”
    “Working?” He moved so furtively, she didn’t realize he’d moved at all until his arm brushed hers. “After all the years your family’s owned this store, you suddenly find it pressing to sort that bowl of buttons?”
    She sniffed and instantly regretted it. His scent was almost as seductive as his touch. “It should have been done a long time ago.”
    “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I imagine there are plenty of things that should have been done a long time ago. And while I applaud your sudden desire to organize the chaos around here, I doubt very much that sales have suffered because women can’t find the exact button they need.”
    He picked up a bright blue button with scalloped edges, fingered it gently and tossed it in with the rest of the blue ones.
    Why did he have to stand right at her shoulder? Didn’t he know how distracting he was? Rhea frowned. Of course he knew.
    “You could help.” She reached under the table and pulled out the other box of buttons. “There’s plenty that need sorting.”
    His mouth turned up in a grin, but instead of being his usual cocky smile, it looked as though he’d simply cut it off someone else’s face and fastened it to his own.
    “Thank you, no,” he finally answered. “I’d hate to hurry you along when you’re obviously so determined to hide down here instead of coming upstairs to sleep.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” As she turned away, he snorted softly. “I’m not hiding, and I’m not tired.”
    “Says the woman who can barely stand up straight.”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Liar.” His one word, whispered so quietly into her ear, reverberated through her brain.
    She tried to shrug him off, but he lingered near her ear, not touching her or even speaking; just hovering.
    Rhea lifted a handful of buttons out of the box and set them in a pile on the table. One by one, she sorted them into their respective piles, then reached for another handful. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go back upstairs and leave her alone.
    But, of course, that would go against everything Deacon was made of.
    Without a word, his hands folded over her shoulders and began to knead them; slowly at first, then stronger, deeper. For the first few minutes, she continued to sort buttons with slow precision. But it wasn’t long before she slumped down on the stool, crossed her arms on the table and rested her forehead on top of them.
    Shifting slightly behind her, he repositioned his hands without ever losing contact with her back.
    He rubbed harder, pushing, smoothing and pressing until each knot loosened. It was, undoubtedly, one of the stupidest things she could have let him do right then, when the taste of his kiss was still so fresh and she was so completely exhausted, but Rhea didn’t care. Hishands were magic to her muscles, a balm to every knot and kink she’d twisted them into over the last few