Read Online Charmingly Yours (A Morning Glory #1) by Liz Talley - Free Book Online
Authors: Liz Talley
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onto the dance floor, folding her into his arms.
If truth be told, he couldn’t believe he held her, either.
But damned if it didn’t feel so right.
Asking a girl he’d just met—on the sidewalk, no less—to go dancing was something he’d never done before. Sure, he’d picked up girls plenty, but never for dancing. Hell, he didn’t really like dancing all that much, but he’d be lying if he said he wanted to be anywhere other than holding her in his arms at that moment.
Song after song, they swayed, the light fragrance of her hair tickling his senses, her warm, firm body moving elegantly. After seven straight songs his feet finally started to ache, along with his back. The thought of an icy beer started sounding better and better.
“Oh, oh,” Rosemary said, stumbling into his chest.
An older man dancing behind her turned. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. These old feet don’t work so well.”
“That’s okay,” Rosemary said. The man gave her another apologetic shrug and turned back to his partner, moving toward the perimeter of the dance floor.
Rosemary looked down at her foot, which she held aloft. The sandal dangled, one of the straps flopped uselessly. “I think I’ve been sidelined.”
“Want me to beat him up?” Sal joked.
Rosemary’s eyes widened.
“Kidding.”
“Well, you like playing knight in shining armor. I’m just glad you draw a line when it comes to roughing up the elderly.”
“So I have a soft spot for old dudes,” he said with a shrug. She looked so forlorn, but really, her blown sandal was a good excuse for a cold beer and some more conversation. He liked talking to her. Another oddity for him. Usually, it was about getting into a woman’s pants. Which made him sound shallow. Maybe he was. Or had been. He didn’t know, but inside something was changing, evolving, making him want more than what he had even as he ran from the commitment expected of him. “We’ll tell everyone you danced your shoes off.”
Rosemary smiled, and damn if she wasn’t the prettiest—no, sexiest—thing he’d seen in forever. She said, “We won’t be lying. But to tell the truth, I’m dying for a drink. Dancing’s more of a workout than I remembered.”
“Let’s grab a table,” he said.
Rosemary limped toward the area crowded with tables and chatter. If he’d known her better, he might have teased her more, but she looked a bit embarrassed at the skipping hobble. “How am I going to make it home like this?”
Sal took her hand. “My steed, of course.”
“You’re taking this gallantry thing seriously, aren’t you?”
“Trying to be as courteous as the southerners you’re used to.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “You wanted to nail me for that earlier comment, didn’t you?”
Wanting to nail her? Was he that transparent? Maybe. He was a dude. “Hey, you threw down the glove. I’m merely picking it up and trying to prove I can be a gentleman. Sometimes.”
“I shouldn’t have implied only southerners were gracious when I helped Mr. Weingarten to his cab. Not well done of me.”
“It’s okay. We New Yorkers can be blunt, impervious, and smart-assed. Totally part of our charm.” He nodded at the hostess, who gave him a questioning arch of her brow. She jabbed a finger toward a small table sitting next to a window. Sal took Rosemary’s elbow and steered her toward the table with the flickering votive. She limped beside him, a flush staining her cheeks. “I feel like such a dork.”
“But you’re a cute dork,” he said.
“Bet you say that to all the girls who break their shoes dancing with you.”
The hostess handed him a cocktail menu and disappeared. Sal remembered to pull out her chair. His dating skills were a bit rusty, since they pretty much consisted of buying drinks at the clubs and waiting for a tipsy girl to fall into his lap. He’d forgotten what a date was. He’d forgotten about romance, the art of small talk and subtle flirting.
Rosemary sank
If truth be told, he couldn’t believe he held her, either.
But damned if it didn’t feel so right.
Asking a girl he’d just met—on the sidewalk, no less—to go dancing was something he’d never done before. Sure, he’d picked up girls plenty, but never for dancing. Hell, he didn’t really like dancing all that much, but he’d be lying if he said he wanted to be anywhere other than holding her in his arms at that moment.
Song after song, they swayed, the light fragrance of her hair tickling his senses, her warm, firm body moving elegantly. After seven straight songs his feet finally started to ache, along with his back. The thought of an icy beer started sounding better and better.
“Oh, oh,” Rosemary said, stumbling into his chest.
An older man dancing behind her turned. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. These old feet don’t work so well.”
“That’s okay,” Rosemary said. The man gave her another apologetic shrug and turned back to his partner, moving toward the perimeter of the dance floor.
Rosemary looked down at her foot, which she held aloft. The sandal dangled, one of the straps flopped uselessly. “I think I’ve been sidelined.”
“Want me to beat him up?” Sal joked.
Rosemary’s eyes widened.
“Kidding.”
“Well, you like playing knight in shining armor. I’m just glad you draw a line when it comes to roughing up the elderly.”
“So I have a soft spot for old dudes,” he said with a shrug. She looked so forlorn, but really, her blown sandal was a good excuse for a cold beer and some more conversation. He liked talking to her. Another oddity for him. Usually, it was about getting into a woman’s pants. Which made him sound shallow. Maybe he was. Or had been. He didn’t know, but inside something was changing, evolving, making him want more than what he had even as he ran from the commitment expected of him. “We’ll tell everyone you danced your shoes off.”
Rosemary smiled, and damn if she wasn’t the prettiest—no, sexiest—thing he’d seen in forever. She said, “We won’t be lying. But to tell the truth, I’m dying for a drink. Dancing’s more of a workout than I remembered.”
“Let’s grab a table,” he said.
Rosemary limped toward the area crowded with tables and chatter. If he’d known her better, he might have teased her more, but she looked a bit embarrassed at the skipping hobble. “How am I going to make it home like this?”
Sal took her hand. “My steed, of course.”
“You’re taking this gallantry thing seriously, aren’t you?”
“Trying to be as courteous as the southerners you’re used to.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes. “You wanted to nail me for that earlier comment, didn’t you?”
Wanting to nail her? Was he that transparent? Maybe. He was a dude. “Hey, you threw down the glove. I’m merely picking it up and trying to prove I can be a gentleman. Sometimes.”
“I shouldn’t have implied only southerners were gracious when I helped Mr. Weingarten to his cab. Not well done of me.”
“It’s okay. We New Yorkers can be blunt, impervious, and smart-assed. Totally part of our charm.” He nodded at the hostess, who gave him a questioning arch of her brow. She jabbed a finger toward a small table sitting next to a window. Sal took Rosemary’s elbow and steered her toward the table with the flickering votive. She limped beside him, a flush staining her cheeks. “I feel like such a dork.”
“But you’re a cute dork,” he said.
“Bet you say that to all the girls who break their shoes dancing with you.”
The hostess handed him a cocktail menu and disappeared. Sal remembered to pull out her chair. His dating skills were a bit rusty, since they pretty much consisted of buying drinks at the clubs and waiting for a tipsy girl to fall into his lap. He’d forgotten what a date was. He’d forgotten about romance, the art of small talk and subtle flirting.
Rosemary sank
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