Free Deception by Lee Nichols Page B

have been purple and green. And called Barney.
    Elton John was the only thing other than classical music in the entire cabinet, so at random, I chose Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons . I put on Concerto No. 3 (“Autumn”) and listened to the violins reverberate through the room. I felt a strange sensation on my face, and realized I was smiling. This music, in this ballroom, just made me happy. The dread that had colored everything lately began to wash away.
    I glided over the parquetry floor, daydreaming about flowing silk gowns and fancy balls, a time when guys didn’t just sway back and forth while trying to grope you. I curtsied to a make-believe suitor, fluttering my fan as he took me in his arms and spun me around the room, twirling and breathless.
    Right into the arms of Bennett.
    “How long were you standing there?” I spluttered. “It’s not what you think. I was …” Of course he’d finally return to find me dancing like an idiot by myself, dressed in my red plaid pajamas with cookie crumbs down the front.
    Maybe he’d just think I was elfin and childlike.
    Maybe that was worse.
    He grinned and touched my mouth with his forefinger.
    I shut up.
    We were standing maybe six inches apart, and I felt the warmth of his body through the space separating us. My lips pulsed where he touched them. So did my body as he laid one of his hands on my hip and pulled me closer.
    He clasped my right hand in his left while his other palm slid along my hip to my waist to my back. I shivered, breathing in his scent, like cold fresh air. I couldn’t look away from his blue eyes and I wanted nothing more than to kiss him and press myself further into him.
    The music rolled around us, and at a cue I didn’t hear, Bennett moved and pulled me with him. He spun me around the room in a European waltz.
    My free hand rested on his shoulder and I felt his heat and muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. We’d never touched before. Not like this, not like we were the only two people in the world. Spinning and spinning and spinning.
    Then the music stopped, and a moment later, so did we.
    We stood there in the silence. I’m not sure for how long. I didn’t want the moment to end — not ever. In that ballroom, in his arms, everything felt right.
    Well, until Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets” started blaring. So maybe I’d slipped that in the CD changer. Sue me.
    We stepped apart and I said, “That was …”
    “Unexpected,” he finished.
    I’d been hoping for “amazing” or “sexy,” but maybe he was talking about the change in music. “Yeah.”
    “It’s getting late,” he said. “You better go to bed.”
    “With you? I mean, are you staying with me tonight — I mean, here . In the house — in your room.” Ugh.
    “Have you been lonely?” he teased. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much.”
    “What’ve you been doing?”
    “Trying to take care of some …” The warmth faded from his eyes. “Some family business.”
    “Well, I need to talk to you.”
    A sudden stillness took him. “Are you okay?”
    No, I’m not okay. Where have you been? Why did you come for me in San Francisco? Why did you bring me here? What’s happening to me? Am I losing my mind?
    But he looked so tired and spent that I didn’t press it. Well, I also hesitated to ruin the brilliant moment we’d just shared, when all I wanted to do was laze in bed and dream. “I’m fine. We can talk tomorrow.”
    He turned off the stereo while I shoved my books and laptop into my backpack. We walked up the grand staircase together, and I cursed my dowdy flannel pj’s that made me look ten years old. I wasn’t sure how far I wanted things to go between us — at least not right now — but I definitely wanted him to want things to go pretty far.
    “Where’s your room?” I asked at the top of the stairs. I’d snooped around and found his parents’ room — he’d said they were in southern France — but I hadn’t found