No Strings Attached

Chapter Seven

"Would you like to dance?"

The surgeon's persistence is admirable, considering the fact that my attention has been directed elsewhere for some time now, stuck like glue on Giovanni Martinelli, who hasn't moved other than to raise his glass to his lips.

I watch him take a long, slow gulp of alcohol, seemingly content to watch from afar.

"Do you know him?"

I'm the first to break away from the intensity, blinking, trying to recover my equilibrium. "Who?"

"Giovanni Martinelli."

When I look back, Giovanni has his attention turned on Norman, who is approaching him excitedly.

For the first time in at least a minute, I look back at Ed. "He is... he's our new client."

Breathe, Scarlett. Breathe. There's no way Giovanni should be able to make you incoherent this way.

"That's a damn good client to have. He'll bring in money, for sure."

I nod, unsure of how I feel about his choice of words, already territorial of this particular client.

"So, about that dance?"

Ed's caramel-colored eyes are hopeful, which is flattering. I'm completely aware that he is tall, handsome, polite, and rich—all amazing attributes. I should be falling over myself with joy that he's approached me when there are so many other women who would treat him so much better than I can.

"I really am the worst dancer."

"I don't care," he says with a calm smile, holding out his hand for mine. I have no choice but to take it, my feet hesitating as he begins to walk me onto the dance floor.

"I mean it. I suck at dancing."

He stops when we're among the others, smiling softly as he places a hand on my waist, keeping my hand close to his chest as our bodies press together. "Well, I don't. So, together, we'll be average."

Dear Lord. I stifle a smile as he begins to lead, a slight hop to his step, realizing that he is indeed a great dancer.

"Lessons?" I ask, my eyes averting from our feet over his shoulder. Giovanni's spot is vacant, his empty glass on the white tablecloth. I begin to look around as nonchalantly as I can, hoping to spot him walking or talking to someone else, refusing to believe that he left.

"My mother was a ballroom dancer. I was constantly her partner for practice."

"Did your father dance too?"

"No, no father. Just me and Mom."

The way he says mom with such adoration brings my gaze back to his, a smile appearing on my face genuinely.

"She must be proud of you."

He grins kindly. "Endlessly."

The song ends, and I expect him to begin to let me go, but he doesn't. It's slower this time, a sweet string piece. I'm actually admiring the melody when I feel my feet step on something hard.

I realize it's his foot when he hisses slightly, laughing when I gasp.

"I told you!"

"No, no, it's all right. You have pretty dainty feet."

"Dainty?"

He smirks, nodding. I feel his fingers leave my own, traveling down my hand to my wrist. "Your hands too. So soft."

My spine stiffens with awareness when his fingers spread out against my back, pulling me closer. I suck in a breath.

"Ed, I'm not looking for anything right now," I force out, licking my dry lips, which is the wrong thing to do because his eyes immediately flicker to my mouth. "I'm sorry if Monica made it seem like I was available."