Free The Healing by Frances Pergamo

like cobalt out of his face, and his freshly washed hair was a black mane spilling from his head in layers of tousled waves.
    â€œHi.” It came out in a giant exhale. As always, she avoided looking directly at Mike so he wouldn’t read what was going on inside of her.
    Danny’s friends erupted in a few sociable whistles and catcalls, letting Karen know she looked damn good and all her preening had been worth the effort. But she didn’t hear any of it. She was focused on just one person.
    The group loitered on the porch before heading inside to invade one whole corner of the dance floor, and Mike waited until Karen came through the doorway to take his place at her side. When she felt the warm weight of his arm wrap around her shoulders, her pulse began to race. It was the first time he had really touched her. It was the first time he had made any move to let her know where this whole wonderful joyride was going.
    â€œYou look great,” he whispered in her ear.
    â€œThanks,” she said, but it was just a spurt of consonants. “So do you.” Unable to believe that such a reply had escaped her strawberry lips, Karen turned crimson. Maybe in the dim glow of the dance hall it would go unnoticed.
    Mike’s arm tightened around her and then retreated, but he stayed in such close physical proximity that Karen could feel the tickle of his skin at her elbow. The people around her were talking and laughing, but she only saw their lips moving. Some of them paired off and wandered away to dance, but Karen paid no mind. It seemed like everything around her was going on in another dimension. Yet when Mike took hold of her hand and asked her if she wanted to dance, the blood rushed to her head so fast she thought she might sway on her feet.
    â€œSure,” she said, trying to be casual. But Mike had to sense all that was brewing beneath her cool exterior. His hand was hot compared to hers, and he led her through a maze of gyrating bodies to where they could face each other and move freely.
    â€œI really like this song,” he said as they got caught up in the rhythm of “Magic Carpet Ride.” They were both good dancers, athletic and confident, and Mike didn’t try to hide his head-to-toe critique of Karen’s form in action.
    It was out of character for her, but for once Karen didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, she was doing her own critiquing. She just happened to be a little subtler about it. “The band is pretty good,” she said, feeling her inhibitions float away on the music, leaving her at the mercy of a brand-new experience.
    Mike smiled as he sang to her, his eyes inviting. She smiled back at him to let him know she was on top of the world. She raised her arms and turned around and around with a dancer’s grace, her feet never missing a beat. Mike matched her enthusiasm movement for movement, providing the perfect masculine complement to her physical expression. By the time the band wrapped up their long instrumental interlude, Karen felt a little dizzy. But she hadn’t had anything to drink, not even a soda. It was simply the combined effect of the atmosphere and Mike’s unwavering attention. Together they were venturing beyond the comfort zone of chatting at the lifeguard chair or exchanging histories on a rainy day.
    When the song was over, they applauded like everyone else, but Karen knew the rest of the evening was going to sweep her away in its inescapable tide. She was sweaty and breathless, and so was Mike—a perfect prelude to the slow dance he had foretold.
    â€œLet’s change the mood for those who want to get a little closer,” the singer announced in his sexiest front man voice. In the next breath, the lights were dimmed as the first few measures of a familiar ballad issued from the speakers.
    Karen’s face felt like it was on fire, and a new rush of blood went to her head when Mike reached out his hand. She took hold of