Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I drop back into the chair I left when Clever called me up on stage to be his assistant. “He made me disappear, Donovan. That was impressive.”
“It was terrifying.” He laughs. “I held my breath until you reappeared. If you hadn’t, I would have marched up on stage, walked into that box and searched for you myself.”
I can’t help but laugh, too, at the thought of that. “You wouldn’t have had to search far.”
He rests an elbow on the table to lean closer to me. “Are you going to reveal the magician’s secret?”
I could.
Clever whispered in my ear that as soon as he closed the door on the tall rectangular box I had stepped in, I had to duck out of a panel on the back wall, and then sneak back in when he told the crowd that I’d reappear.
I pulled it off seamlessly as a chorus of oohs and ahhs filled this theater.
Even though a bite of pain tore through my scraped toe, I was determined to make the trick appear real.
It was nowhere near the type of illusion that is common on the Las Vegas strip, but it was enough to satisfy the small group of passengers who wandered in to watch some of the cruise staff show off their hidden talents.
“I might be persuaded to do that,” I tease. “It depends on what the pay off would be.”
His eyes widen. “I’d make it worth your while, Delia. That I can promise you.”
He gives me a taste of that when he reaches for my hand to give it a soft kiss.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance to where Clever is chatting up two women who seem stuck on his every word. “I think my work here is done.”
“That means it’s time to dance,” he says, surprising me. “Unless you need to rest your toe.”
The last time I danced with a man was at Roman’s wedding. When he married his wife, Bianca, I hit the dance floor with him as we reminisced about how our lives had changed since we were kids.
“I’d love to dance with you,” I tell him as I gaze into his eyes.
Keeping my hand in his, he moves to stand. “Come with me. I promise you a dance you’ll never forget.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Donovan
Delia Hawthorne is a much better dancer than I am and that’s saying a lot since I consider myself an above average partner on the dance floor.
I attribute those skills to my maternal grandmother who decided that all of her grandchildren had to know how to cook, sew, and dance by the time they graduated high school.
The cooking came in handy because take-out is not sustainable when you’re a kid in college trying to make ends meet on a meager part-time salary. Having rudimentary sewing skills gave me a leg up when it came time to perfect the art of suturing.
As for the dancing, I didn’t see the value in it other than it put a smile on my grandmother’s face whenever I asked her for a dance when I visited her. I suspect that was her true motivation for insisting I learn every ballroom dance ever known to man.
“You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be.” Delia glances up at my face as I twirl her around the crowded dance floor.
This ship has three separate venues that offer passengers the chance to cut a rug, so we made a point to visit each one so we could rank them at the end of the night.
The one we’re currently enjoying tops my list since we’re beneath the stars with the added benefit of a cool ocean breeze nipping at us.
Goose bumps trail up Delia’s arms but I can’t tell if that’s courtesy of the light wind or my hand on her waist.
“Is that so?” I question back as I squeeze her hand in mine. “You thought I’d be a shitty dancer?”
“Average,” she clarifies. “Most men aren’t that great at dancing.”
I give her a tight, unexpected spin that draws a small moan from her lips. I realized the move resulted in that reaction when I took her into my arms as we waltzed to an old-time classic in the first club we visited.
The music that’s pumping out of the speakers now is fast paced, but we’re not keeping time with it. Instead, we’re still moving in tune with each other while everyone in our vicinity dances circles around us.
“Is that common knowledge or are you speaking from experience?”
That earns me a small laugh. “I’ve danced with my fair share of men.”
I’ve danced with my fair share of women, too, but none of that matters at the moment.
I study her face carefully. “In other words, many if not most of the men you’ve danced with haven’t impressed you?”
She tilts her head slightly. “They haven’t.”
“I’m impressing you,” I say with confidence.