Free Possessed By You (Overworld Underground Book 1) by John Corwin Page A

at the wrap like a rabbit, trying to keep the mess at bay, and failed.
    He wiped his hands and grinned. "Tell me. Why do you try so hard to cover up your accent?"
    "My accent?"
    "Your British accent."
    "Why, Thomas, whatever do you mean?" I said, keeping my accent flat as possible.
    He rolled his eyes. "No American is going to say it like that. They'd say, 'What the hell are you talking about?'"
    "What the hell are you talking about?" I said, trying to sound mean like he had.
    Thomas burst into laughter. "Oh, that's good. You sound gangsta."
    "Don't make fun," I said, putting on a pouty face. "You're mean."
    My protests only made him laugh harder.
    As he was making another wrap, he narrowed his eyes and gave me a look that sent chills racing up my spine. "I know how to bring out the Brit in you."
    "And how is that, pray tell?"
    "I don't know if I want to tell you." He winked. "I'd rather show you."
    My toes curled up in anticipation.
    After eating and cleaning our messy hands, He led me outside back into the cold evening air and down the street. "I thought about taking you for more karaoke tonight," he said. "But first, I think you really need some help on your dance moves."
    I hit him on the shoulder. "Now you're just being rude."
    "No, just doing the public a favor." He dodged away from my next swipe, chuckling. Held up his hands in surrender. "Just kidding." He stopped. "Here we are." Grabbed my hand again, and led me inside a building.
    A girl at a desk looked up and smiled. "Can I help you?"
    He passed her a twenty. "Upstairs, right?"
    "Yes, sir." Her eyes traveled up and down his body, then she glanced at me, a tiny frown working her features. "Want me to take you there?"
    "Nah, we're good." He turned, apparently oblivious to the girl's interest and took me up a flight of wooden stairs as orchestral music drifted down from above.
    I looked about for a sign to indicate where we were, but I'd been so busy watching the desk girl lustily gaze at Thomas, I hadn't paid attention. "Where are we?"
    "We're in Atlanta. Oh no, did something happen to your memory?" He turned, a concerned look on his face. "Your name is Emily and you're a little clumsy at dancing."
    "I'm going to punch you," I said, unable to suppress a smile. "And it's going to hurt. A lot."
    "Great, memory loss has apparently made you violent too."
    I didn't have time to strike back with another remark when we emerged in a large room with couples dancing, and an instructor weaving between them, demonstrating proper form. Thomas took my coat and hung it along with his on a rack.
    "We're in a dance studio?" I said.
    "Yep. Thought we'd start simple and work our way up." He shrugged. "I mean, my dancing is already great. We mainly need to work on you."
    He pulled me close, setting his arm at an angle to match the other men in the room, and resting a hand on my waist. He moved from side-to-side, nearly throwing me off balance in the process. Somehow, my foot tangled in his and he toppled over backwards with me landing on top.
    Some of the nearby couples burst into laughter. Rather than dying of embarrassment, I found myself laughing as well, giggling so hard tears came from my eyes while Thomas boomed a deep-throated guffaw.
    "I think I've found my trouble couple," said the instructor as he investigated the disruption.
    Thomas pushed himself to his feet with ease, helping me up at the same time. "It's all her," he said to the instructor, eyes twinkling.
    "I'll be the judge of that," the other man replied. He looked at me, gave a conspiratorial wink, and said in a loud whisper, "It's him, isn't it?"
    I nodded. "Most definitely."
    After a lot of pushing and prodding, the instructor arranged us properly. By the end of the class, we'd managed not only to stay upright, but to actually dance a full waltz. Thomas caught on blazingly fast to the moves, and kept me in lockstep with him. I wasn't exactly clumsy, but then again, I'd never been elegant or sophisticated either.
    His