Elissa mashed her lips together, hiding a frown. Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot as if physically balancing Frank’s offer. He’d last worn that expression the tortuous moment they both wished to forget. As always, the urge to rescue him took prominence. “Cole, would you like to dance?” She blurted the question without consideration.
His gaze held hers with an intensity that squeezed her gut. “I’d be honored.”
Frank shot her a mischievous wink, Henry elbowed Cole and mumbled in his ear, and Adam stiffened, withdrawing.
“Oh, please, boys. It’s only a dance.” But if it was only a dance, why had her palms moistened to an unfeminine degree? She’d made the impetuous mistake of speaking before her mind could rein in her mouth, and now she had the bothersome task of retaining some measure of composure. “There’s no harm in two adults dancing.” With that, she towed Cole to edge of the dance floor by his elbow.
“Hurry back, sweetheart.” Adam’s voice reached her from several feet away.
She winced, recalling the conversation earlier with Cole. Do you call everyone sweetheart? No, she didn’t. Moreover, Adam’s tone had sounded more possessive than endearing, scratching a nerve.
“I wasn’t expecting you to ask me to dance, Spark, but I’m grateful.”
As for Adam calling her article ‘little,’ she knew above anyone how paltry her editorial contribution to the Review was. Yet he had no right—
“Elissa, I would understand if you choose to ignore me, but could you at least loosen your grip?” Cole’s mouth hitched in a smirk as his stare trained on her fingers wrapped—more like clamped—on his arm. “I already have a collection of scars from you.”
She huffed and relaxed her hold, ignoring his toned muscle beneath her touch. “You weren’t even bleeding today, and I doubt you have a scar. A bruise, probably.” His hair covered the area, forbidding her from confirming her suspicion. And no, she would not run her fingers through his dark locks for a second time today. Too risky to her resolve to dislike him for the next several decades.
“I’m not talking about the beating you gave me earlier.” He stopped, and they both waited for the orchestra to conclude the current song. “I’m referring to the time we fell off my bicycle because you put your hands over my eyes. Those trash cans we crashed into weren’t kind to my torso.”
Or her shoulder. As if Cole had read her mind, his gaze slipped from her eyes to the blemished area. Though paled with time, her own scar was clearly identifiable. She shifted under the weight of his stare, her breath hitching.
His lips twitched, and his perusal skimmed from her shoulder to her mouth.
She tugged the hem of her elbow-length glove, ignoring the heat sliding up her spine. “That was your fault for boasting you could ride to my house with your eyes closed.” Reminiscing about their youth wasn’t the best approach for keeping her emotions in check. She secured her stare on his lapel. “Why’d you wear that?” Curiosity had been gnawing her since she’d spied the flower, now straying crooked. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I thought we could match.” He winked. “Adam came through for me and bought you the perfect corsage.”
His jest ignited heat in her veins. Adam hadn’t come through for Cole. Or for her. She would have been content with white, or even pink, but Adam arrived on her doorstep with a red corsage. Red! It’d taken him a half-hour to persuade her the slight had been unintentional, clinging to the excuse the color stood for ardent love and not anti-suffragism, but she remained unconvinced. Every soul in the nation was aware of Tennessee’s War of Roses. She sighed. No man took her seriously. Not Father. Not Adam. And definitely not Cole, given the pert grin he wore now. “I wear this for principle’s sake. Something you hardly understand.”
He blinked at her words. The song had ended, and they, along with several eager couples, stepped onto the dance floor, waiting for the orchestra to play.
“Believe me. I comprehend conviction.” The rasp of his tone deep and penetrating, Cole straightened his flower. “I haven’t donned a red rose since the chaos in Nashville. The bosses sent me there to woo a national advertiser, but I got netted in the event. That was one heated day, and I don’t mean the August weather.”
“The Hermitage Hotel? You were there on voting day?”
“I was.”
Her heart fluttered. Those both for and against the movement had rallied in the streets of the final state needed to pass the Nineteenth Amendment, and she’d longed to participate, to be part of history. But Father deemed it too dangerous. Yes, mobs had invaded, causing pandemonium at the revealing of the verdict, but a part of her felt she’d missed out. “It must have been an amazing experience.” Oh, to have witnessed the capturing of a long-awaited dream. She’d heard the legislative members had shown their true colors on their lapels that day, most being against the cause. Thankfully, even the staunchest belief could be swayed toward good, and the deciding official, while wearing red, had voted yellow. “Tell me, what color did you wear?”
“Same as today.”
The music commenced, but she was incapable of moving, her arms heavy against her sides. Who was this man before her?
Cole noticed her hesitation and held out both hands, inviting her to join him. Dance with him.
She swallowed and stepped into his arms, moving slow to keep perfect poise, despite her trembling knees.
Her hand slid into his with alarming ease. The way he glided his thumb over her index finger was all too familiar, all too terrifying. Even with them both wearing gloves, the warmth spread between their palms. She’d created considerable distance so his hand couldn’t curl around her back, only skim the side of her hip. She met his eyes, and for a strange second, it was like time had never passed—yet back then she’d positioned herself close enough to count his eyelashes and absorb his whispered promises. Her heart stiffened. She shuffled another step back.
Cole had the nerve to laugh.
“What’s so humorous?” Even though she’d asked him to dance, she’d never agreed to enjoy it. And to be sure her eyes wouldn’t betray her and do something preposterous, like gaze into his dark irises, she forced her stare on his black bowtie.
“Are you making room for Adam?” He regarded the gap she’d created. “I’m sure he’d fit comfortably between us.”
“If you’d rather, we could invite Miss Harper. I hate to see her straining her poor eyes when she could admire you from a closer proximity.” She kept her tone light and cool so Cole wouldn’t suspect her of jealousy. But really, the woman couldn’t have been more obvious about her intentions, with her tinkling laughter and sultry stances. Irene could snag any sorry soul she desired, but she’d set her sights on the most handsome man in the room. Adam was pleasing to look at but came up short compared to Cole’s confident presence and irresistible features. And Cole in a tuxedo challenged Elissa’s resistance ten times worse. Yet did it matter how attractive he was if she knew him to be capable of breaking her heart?
Nope.
Let him empty his charms on Irene, and she on him. Together they could pump each other’s heads full of airy nonsense and float away, leaving Elissa in peace.
“Didn’t think you noticed her conversing with me.” He ducked closer, breaking the invisible barrier she’d built. His focus bonded to her lips. Was his aim to kiss her? Smooch her right in the center of the dance floor? He angled at the last second and whispered, “As I recall, you were in the arms of your sweetheart.”
She cringed at the word, then despised her show of emotion.
“Since we’re on the subject of Kendrew, what exactly is the status of your relationship?” He straightened and nodded with a suave nonchalance at an older pair dancing beside them.
Elissa embraced the opportunity to breathe again. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” She tipped her chin in the graceful manner she’d practiced countless times in her mirror.
“It’s not.” He gave a low growl. “But I can’t for the life of me understand what you find interesting about him. An obituary has more life than that man.”
She stilled, remaining in their stance, garnering a few glances from the surrounding couples. “Just because there’s bad blood between you two doesn’t mean you should be insulting.”
“Insulting?” He blew out a noisy breath. “I’m not the one who insulted you.”
Her brows wrinkled. “I didn’t say you offended me. I said—”
“I understood what you said.” He didn’t bother to control the volume of his tone, and Elissa was thankful the orchestra chose that moment for a crescendo. “Tell me, Spark, did Adam ever tell you why I socked him that day?”
She bit her lip and resumed their dance, keeping their steps to a simple sway, her mind unable to concentrate on graceful movements. “No.” A ten-year-old skirmish in the schoolyard shouldn’t possess the power to rouse aggressive emotions in Cole. However, his taut jaw and severe glare affirmed the occurrence still bothered him.
“Of course he didn’t.” He let out an unsettling laugh. “Maybe you should ask Kendrew when you get a chance.”
“Or you could tell me.”
His hardened eyes melted into something she didn’t want to delve into. The others around them stopped moving. Were they creating a scene? She sheepishly glanced about. No. The song had ended. What? That was either incredibly short, or she’d been in a daze. Either way, her obligation had ended. She dropped Cole’s hand, but the bothersome tenderness still lingered in his expression.
For sanity’s sake, Elissa needed to get away. Far from Cole and his ability to impact her emotions. “Honestly, Cole, who are you to criticize Adam? As I remember, he wasn’t the one who was reckless with my heart.”