“Serafina Wilde,” said Syna September, “I dare you… to go ask a guy to dance!”
“Nice!” crowed Crystal.
“Sweet, but could be sexy,” mused River Wind.
“I still say it’s not as good as a flash,” Aruni grumbled, “but whatevs. You’ll have fun.”
“Who do you think you’ll pick?” Bobbie wanted to know.
“It has to be someone hot,” Syna qualified. “No asking some Grandpa Magoo if he wants to cut a rug.”
“Yeah,” Janice agreed. “Definitely got t’ grab yourself a stud, hon. But don’t worry. From what I can see, there’s dozens of guys finer’n frog’s hair to choose from tonight. Maybe hundreds!”
There were, indeed, scores of eligible fellows out on the plaza that night. But there was only one man for Serafina.
“Would you like to dance?”
Fuck, fuck, I can’t believe they got me to do this. What if he says no? What if… God help me, what if he says yes?
Asher appeared to consider it.
Sera fought the urge to scuff her toe in the dirt. She was already blushing like a nun at a burlesque show, simply standing here in the shadow of the wolf’s wide, dreamy shoulders. She’d caught up with him just as he was leaving his mariachi friends, starting to thread his way through the crowd toward she knew not where—or whom. Perhaps a lady friend? Well, I’ve put a kink in his romantic plans in that case, Sera thought. Or maybe just thrown him a curveball? Sera was acutely aware of the Back Room Babes’ stares from the square behind her, but it was Asher’s green gaze that skewered her now. He seemed to be taking her request with rather intimidating deliberation. Wondering whether I’ll start stalking him if he throws me a bone? Or just worrying for the safety of his toes? C’mon, hot stuff, don’t leave me hanging, she silently urged.
“Yes, Bliss. I believe I would like that,” he said at length. “Very much.”
“Have you been drinking?”
Sera’s hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she gasped.
Asher’s eyes crinkled at the corners, half-amused, half-puzzled. “Not yet,” he said easily enough. “The lines for the beer stands are prohibitively long. Why, am I going to need something to fortify me? You’re not wearing combat boots,” he said, scanning his way down her figure until his gaze rested on her soft, slouchy boots, “so I think I am safe to accept your kind offer.”
“Oh! Well, you know, the girls made me do it. Ask you, that is. I mean, I wouldn’t have presumed… not that I wouldn’t want to dance with you, but…”
Sera stumbled to a halt. “Damn it, let me start again.” She risked a glance up at his face. Asher was trying to maintain a politely inquisitive expression, and failing. A grin etched its way across his mobile features, his eyes alight with curiosity, their green reflecting the fiesta luminarias in ways that set her heart—and her libido—hammering. “What I mean is, the Back Room Babes challenged me to ask a cute guy to dance, and, well, you were the cutest one I saw.” Can’t believe I said that. Can’t believe I said that! But hell, it’s true, isn’t it? And he’s gotta know he’s the hottest thing since Zozobra went kablooey.
“Oh, well, in that case, I could hardly refuse.” Asher’s grin grew. “And, Bliss, as far as ‘cute’ goes…” He gave her another, warmer once-over, then stopped abruptly.
Sera held her breath. Was her Asher-ometer on the fritz, or did he appear suddenly uncomfortable? Did he think she was hideous? Was he some sort of George Washington I-cannot-tell-a-lie type who tripped over a harmless little social fib? But no, she wasn’t getting that impression. Though his hat kept his expression partially shaded, she sensed Asher’s problem wasn’t with returning her compliment; it was with bantering flirtatiously at all. It was as though this expression of purely masculine appreciation were taboo—or if not taboo, at least extremely rusty.
At that moment, the band began to play a ballad—a very romantic ballad. On the stage, the fiesta dancers took a break, and a middle-aged gentleman with a barrel chest and a seamed, florid face took their place, backed by several musicians. He began to croon in Spanish, and Sera thought she recognized an old Gypsy Kings song. The crowd hushed to hear his mellifluous baritone, and couples began to stream to the area reserved for dancing in front of the stage. Asher doffed his hat, tossing it with a nod of thanks to one of the friends still sitting under the portico. He shook his head in an effort—only partly successful—to erase the impression the hat had left on his burnished gold hair. “Come, Bliss,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s join them.”
Before she knew it, Sera was swept into the whirl.
And by damn, she was determined to enjoy it.
From her awkward teen years on, she’d hated dancing. Never once had she been able to relax and let a boy lead. She always second-guessed what the guy was going to do, worried he’d send her crashing into other couples or dump her ass-first during a dip. Worse, she dreaded disgracing herself with her own clumsy, unsure moves. Because of it, she was lucky if the worst that happened was zigging when she should have zagged, and rarely was she asked twice by the same guy. Which was fine with Sera. Dancing made her so tense, standing by the sidelines was preferable by far. Even alone, unless she was dead drunk, she’d had trouble letting go and allowing the music to move through her.
Not tonight.
Tonight, Sera vowed, she would be free. She owed it to herself to take in everything this one-of-a-kind festival—and one-of-a-kind guy—had to offer. No more would she paint herself the wallflower. Years of reticence, decades of self-consciousness—they’d all have to take a vacation. She. Would. Not. Miss. This. Moment.
Hear that, brain? she taunted. You’re not going to spoil tonight for me!
And it didn’t.
Her feet began to feel light, her head lighter, and her heart lightest of all, expanding with the sensation of being utterly, one hundred percent present in the moment. And what a moment it was. With the scents, sights, and sounds of Fiesta curling around her, Sera felt wrapped in a borrowed confidence she wasn’t sure she’d ever give back. Was this what serenity felt like? She’d certainly said enough prayers for it over the past year. Her shoulders relaxed, her body took the lead, and her mind felt free to take it all in, marveling from the sidelines without trying to control. She twirled, glided, and swayed as if she’d been born to dance.
It wasn’t Asher’s doing, though he was a masterful dancer. He eased her through the throng with assurance, shielding and guiding Sera with instinctive courtesy as they melded with the others on the plaza. He had moves, too—no awkward high school boy, he. His arm was assured around her back, and his hand, callused and strong where it cupped hers, applied just the right amount of pressure to connect and direct them without overwhelming her. And his hips… oh, man. When Asher swiveled in time to the music, Sera had to force herself not to ogle their effortless roll and swing, imagining what else he might do with hips like those.
But delicious as he was, it wasn’t her partner who made this dance perfect. Something had changed within Sera herself. She could feel the difference. It was like… well, it was like the feeling she’d had sometimes when she was drinking. That loosening of anxiety in the chest after the first swig went down, that feeling of “I can face anything.” That social ease others seemed born with, but which she’d always lacked a full measure of, and lost even more after her parents’ deaths. She felt as though she had found the elusive switch that could flip her feeling of being “less-than” off. From the moment the Back Room Babes had issued their dare, she’d known she was going to take it. Take it, and make the most of it. To do anything less would be to dishonor the kindness life was throwing her way. She’d had enough tough times in her past to know she’d better savor the good ones. No matter what else happens from here on, she thought, tonight I am a lucky woman.