The Welcoming by Nora Roberts Page B

Clooney ballad. “Why, when I was a girl, I hardly thought of anything else. I met my husband at a tea like this. That was almost fifty years ago. We danced for hours.”
    He would never have considered himself gallant, but she was hard to resist. “Would you like to dance now?”
    The faintest of blushes tinted her cheeks. “I’d love to, Mr. DeWinter.”
    Charity watched Roman lead Miss Millie onto the floor. Her heart softened. She tried to harden it again but found it was a lost cause. It was a sweet thing to do, she thought, particularly since he was anything but a sweet man. She doubted that teas and dreamy little old ladies were Roman’s style, but Miss Millie would remember this day for a long time.
    What woman wouldn’t? Charity mused. To dance with a strong, mysterious man on a rainy afternoon was a memory to be pressed in a book like a red rose. It was undoubtedly fortunate he hadn’t asked her. She had already stored away too many memories of Roman. With a sigh, she herded a group of children into the television room and pushed a Disney movie into the VCR.
    Roman saw her leave. And he saw her come back.
    “That was lovely,” Miss Millie told him when the music had stopped.
    “What?” Quickly he brought himself back. “My pleasure.” Then he made her pleasure complete by kissing her hand. By the time she had walked over to sigh with her sister he had forgotten her and was thinking of Charity.
    She was laughing as an older man led her onto the floor. The music had changed. It was up-tempo now, something brisk and Latin. A mambo, he thought. Or a merengue. He wouldn’t know the difference. Apparently Charity knew well enough. She moved through the complicated, flashy number as if she’d been dancing all her life.
    Her skirt flared, wrapped around her legs, then flared again as she turned. She laughed, her face level and close to her partner’s as they matched steps. The first prick of jealousy infuriated Roman and made him feel like a fool. The man Charity was matching steps with was easily old enough to be her father.
    By the time the music ended he had managed to suppress the uncomfortable emotion but another had sprung up to take its place. Desire. He wanted her, wanted to take her by the hand and pull her out of that crowded room into someplace dim and quiet where all they would hear was the rain. He wanted to see her eyes go big and unfocused the way they had when he’d kissed her. He wanted to feel the incredible sensation of her mouth softening and heating under his.
    “It’s an education to watch her, isn’t it?”
    Roman jerked himself back as Bob eased over to pluck a sandwich from the tray. “What?”
    “Charity. Watching her dance is an education.” He popped the tiny sandwich into his mouth. “She tried to teach me once, hoping I’d be able to entertain some of the ladies on occasions like this. Trouble is, I not only have two left feet, I have two left legs.” He gave a cheerful shrug and reached for another sandwich.
    “Did you get the computer fixed?”
    “Yeah. Just a couple of minor glitches.” The little triangle of bread disappeared. Roman caught a hint of nerves in the way Bob’s knuckle tapped against the server. “I can’t teach Charity about circuit boards and software any more than she can teach me the samba. How’s the work going?”
    “Well enough.” He watched as Bob poured a cup of tea and added three sugars to it. “I should be done in two or three weeks.”
    “She’ll find something else for you to do.” He glanced over to where Charity and a new partner were dancing a fox-trot. “She’s always got a new idea for this place. Lately she’s been making noises about adding on a sunroom and putting in one of those whirlpool tubs.”
    Roman lit a cigarette. He was watching the guests now, making mental notes to pass on to Conby. There were two men who seemed to be alone, though they were chatting with other members of the tour group. Block stood by