Read Online The Same Deep Water by Lisa Swallow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Swallow
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laugh!”
“Then I’m happy because this means you’re a step further away from the edge,” he whispers.
With Guy, I am a step away. In an odd way, he represents a future I never considered, even though he won’t be in mine for long.
I hesitate when the couples take to the dance floor, folding and unfolding the napkin on my lap and avoiding Guy’s eyes. I can wear my confidence as a mask; but when I’m in new situations, I can’t pretend. One thing I hate is making an idiot of myself. Failing. The last time I formally danced was at my Year 12 ball, where I experienced awkward moments with boys from school who decided ass groping was the height of seduction.
Guy will ask me to dance and we’ll stand close. The thought fires anticipation over what will happen once my whole body touches his.
“I can’t tell beneath the mask, but I suspect you’re worrying. Please laugh again,” Guy says.
“You’ll be the one laughing if you try dancing with me in these shoes.”
“Belle, you cannot come to a masquerade ball and not dance. I refuse to let you cross this off your list unless you dance at least once.” Guy stands and extends an open hand. “Come on. Relax. Nobody can see you. Let that fun girl out for the evening. I know she’s in there.”
One dance, my hormones can cope with that, surely.
The couples on the dancefloor move harmoniously to the gentle sound of the waltz, the women in elegant dresses and their gentlemanly, restrained dance partners create a step back in time. I join Guy at the edge of the floor; and when we face each other, I wish his face wasn’t obscured by the white mask, so I could read him. “You look like the Phantom of the Opera.”
“Love that musical. Not sure whether I like the comparison though.”
Surfer Guy likes musicals and art? “Right.”
A woman in a scarlet red dress sweeps by, her partner leading her across the floor in a graceful movement I doubt I’ll be able to emulate. Before I can comment, Guy circles my waist and pulls me close, taking my hand in his. This is closer than I intended. I didn’t think this through. He’s careful not to draw me too near, but his warmth and strength is apparent even with the gap between us. Guy’s firm grip contrasts his soft hands as he guides me into the dancers.
In my heels, I’m close to his face and even in the dim, and half-hidden, the sculpted curves of his face and generous mouth paint his beauty. I hesitate, and then place a hand on his back. He’s jacket-less and the strong sinew of the muscles beneath his shirt strikes me. As my head moves closer to his, I catch his scent of spice and the ocean, the one behind his eyes.
“See. You can dance,” says Guy as he guides me around the dance floor.
In response, I trip over his feet. “If you don’t remind me and let me go with the flow, your feet will survive.”
“Fine.” He hasn’t pulled his gaze from mine the whole time, this connection drawing us further into the dance. We naturally follow each other’s movements, as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.
As the dance progresses, Guy holds me closer, until the last of the space between us disappears.
He doesn’t react but my body does, a sudden heat flowing from the point his fingertips touch the naked skin on my arms, kindling the desire to dig my fingers into his back further. If I keep my eyes on Guy’s, I can stay grounded, ignore the hidden strength of the raw man beneath his cultured exterior, and dismiss the images of what he could do to me.
Shocked but not entirely surprised when my nipples harden against my bodice, accompanied by a not very chaste tingling elsewhere, I break the point chests touch. Guy doesn’t comment or stop; he continues and loosens his hold on my waist.
“Sorry,” he whispers against my ear as I move my head to look past him. This unfortunately brings my face closer to his, the side of our unmasked faces brush. I jerk at the sensation.
“What
“Then I’m happy because this means you’re a step further away from the edge,” he whispers.
With Guy, I am a step away. In an odd way, he represents a future I never considered, even though he won’t be in mine for long.
I hesitate when the couples take to the dance floor, folding and unfolding the napkin on my lap and avoiding Guy’s eyes. I can wear my confidence as a mask; but when I’m in new situations, I can’t pretend. One thing I hate is making an idiot of myself. Failing. The last time I formally danced was at my Year 12 ball, where I experienced awkward moments with boys from school who decided ass groping was the height of seduction.
Guy will ask me to dance and we’ll stand close. The thought fires anticipation over what will happen once my whole body touches his.
“I can’t tell beneath the mask, but I suspect you’re worrying. Please laugh again,” Guy says.
“You’ll be the one laughing if you try dancing with me in these shoes.”
“Belle, you cannot come to a masquerade ball and not dance. I refuse to let you cross this off your list unless you dance at least once.” Guy stands and extends an open hand. “Come on. Relax. Nobody can see you. Let that fun girl out for the evening. I know she’s in there.”
One dance, my hormones can cope with that, surely.
The couples on the dancefloor move harmoniously to the gentle sound of the waltz, the women in elegant dresses and their gentlemanly, restrained dance partners create a step back in time. I join Guy at the edge of the floor; and when we face each other, I wish his face wasn’t obscured by the white mask, so I could read him. “You look like the Phantom of the Opera.”
“Love that musical. Not sure whether I like the comparison though.”
Surfer Guy likes musicals and art? “Right.”
A woman in a scarlet red dress sweeps by, her partner leading her across the floor in a graceful movement I doubt I’ll be able to emulate. Before I can comment, Guy circles my waist and pulls me close, taking my hand in his. This is closer than I intended. I didn’t think this through. He’s careful not to draw me too near, but his warmth and strength is apparent even with the gap between us. Guy’s firm grip contrasts his soft hands as he guides me into the dancers.
In my heels, I’m close to his face and even in the dim, and half-hidden, the sculpted curves of his face and generous mouth paint his beauty. I hesitate, and then place a hand on his back. He’s jacket-less and the strong sinew of the muscles beneath his shirt strikes me. As my head moves closer to his, I catch his scent of spice and the ocean, the one behind his eyes.
“See. You can dance,” says Guy as he guides me around the dance floor.
In response, I trip over his feet. “If you don’t remind me and let me go with the flow, your feet will survive.”
“Fine.” He hasn’t pulled his gaze from mine the whole time, this connection drawing us further into the dance. We naturally follow each other’s movements, as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.
As the dance progresses, Guy holds me closer, until the last of the space between us disappears.
He doesn’t react but my body does, a sudden heat flowing from the point his fingertips touch the naked skin on my arms, kindling the desire to dig my fingers into his back further. If I keep my eyes on Guy’s, I can stay grounded, ignore the hidden strength of the raw man beneath his cultured exterior, and dismiss the images of what he could do to me.
Shocked but not entirely surprised when my nipples harden against my bodice, accompanied by a not very chaste tingling elsewhere, I break the point chests touch. Guy doesn’t comment or stop; he continues and loosens his hold on my waist.
“Sorry,” he whispers against my ear as I move my head to look past him. This unfortunately brings my face closer to his, the side of our unmasked faces brush. I jerk at the sensation.
“What
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