Free Sharing Sunrise by Judy Griffith Gill

slid his hand up into her hair. She felt a pin give way, felt it slither down her back, thought she heard it hit the floor with a faint “ping” but knew that as finely tuned as her sense were, it was her imagination that her hearing could be so acute. She shivered as his fingers delved deeper into her hair and another pin went flying. Lifting her head, she looked up at him, smiled, and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, wanting to speak to him, but finding no words available. All she could do was convey what she felt by the movements of her body and the expression in her eyes.
    He met her gaze, but only for a moment. Then, with a shuddering intake of breath, he closed his eyes and pressed her head down onto his chest, holding her there with one large, warm palm against her cheek.
    Marian’s breath came in sharply, then trailed out slowly as she leaned into his embrace.
    Just when Rolph thought he might explode, the band played the tune to its end, added a flourish of trumpet and drum, then laid down their instruments for a break.
    The Mastersons were still on a joyous high, demanding more and more details about their beloved Catriona while another bottle of champagne sparkled into glasses around the table. When, after a few more dances, the older couple said their goodnights, insisting on taking a cab back to their hotel so Marian and Rolph could stay and dance, Rolph suggested that they, too, should call a taxi.
    “My head’s buzzing from the champagne,” he said, brushing a strand of hair back from her flushed cheek. “I don’t think I should drive.”
    Marian’s head was buzzing too. “I don’t want to go home yet. Couldn’t we have just one more dance, Rolph?”
    He drew in a deep, unsteady breath. Again, something inside warned him that enough was enough. “No,” he said.
    She put one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. Gently, she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip.
    “Please?”
    She heard his breath whistle slightly as he sucked it in, saw his eyes darken, his mouth twitch, and then he reached up and caught her hand, she thought, to fling it away, but instead, he flattened it onto his throat, holding it there. “One more dance,” he conceded softly, drawing her into his arms, his grin crooked and self-deprecating. “I must be out of my mind.”
    The lights were low, the crowd thinning, and “one more dance” turned into several, then half a dozen, and Marian lost count. Between sets, they wandered back to their table, sipped wine, talked softly, or simply sat and said nothing, just looked at each other, or around the room, but always, when the music started again, there was no question that they would dance, and dance, and dance …
    “We should go,” Rolph said presently, lifting his cheek from where it had been resting on top of her head. “Look, they’re stacking up the chairs.”
    Reluctantly, Marian looked, then glanced at the stage, blinking. “Where’s the band?”
    “They left an hour ago.”
    She tilted her head back and smiled at him, continuing to move slowly with him, against him, feeling the response he tried to deny by turning partly away from her. His thigh was hot against hers.
    “Funny,” she said with a slow smile, “I can still hear music.” But it was the kind of music that sang in the heart as much as in the ears.
    “Tapes,” he murmured, drawing his fingers from her temple to the soft skin under her chin.
    “Oh. I hope they have … lots.”
    “We have to leave,” he said, hearing the reluctance in his tone. He didn’t want this night to end any more than she did. But he knew what would happen if he didn’t end it.
    She felt the heat of his gaze, felt his arms tighten, felt his heat rise. He moistened his lips. She moistened hers. He bent his head. She lifted her face. And waited.
    Then: “Marian … don’t look at me like that.”
    Disappointment stung her like acid. “Like what?”
    “Like you want … to be kissed.”
    She wet her