Part 17 (1/2)

”Exactly what I'm hoping for.” Bertie took another sip. ”No need to make it sound all dangerous and forbidden.”

”I suppose Mr. Hastings has far more dangerous items tucked away in here,” Ariel conceded. ”Samurai swords and fusion bombs and silly teenagers.”

”Did you come looking for me just to call me names?” Bertie dangled the bottle at him in an unspoken dare.

”It wasn't my only reason.” He hesitated for half a second before taking it.

Bertie tried not to fixate on his mouth, but as he drank, the muscles in his throat worked, and from his throat, it was only a hop, skip, and a jump to the muscles of his chest. . . .

The record's single tune started again at the front of the room.

Ariel replaced the stopper and put the bottle back on the shelf. ”I think that's enough for now.”

Bertie concentrated on the music. ”Methinks that's an accordion.”

He tilted his head. ”It's a bandoneon, which is like an accordion, but with more allure.”

”How very European.” Insistent piano trills tempted her feet. Guitar-song chased the wheezing notes of the bandoneon down the aisles in waves, and she followed them on tiptoe.

”Where are you going?” Ariel asked.

Bertie looked at him over her shoulder, noting the danger in every languid line of his body. For a moment, she thought she might indeed be tiny Alice, her sanity and reason shrinking down, down, down until they disappeared with a puff of hookah smoke. ”I'm a caterpillar turning into a b.u.t.terfly. Care to join me?”

A moment pa.s.sed in which she thought he'd refuse, then- ”How could I resist such an invitation?”

”Glad to hear it,” Bertie said with an unintentional sway. She righted herself even as Ariel's arms appeared around her. Her right hand sought out his left, and she wrapped her other arm around his neck.

”Just what,” he asked, ”do you think you're doing now?”

Bertie tossed her hair so that it flicked him in the face before falling over her shoulders in a messy blue tangle. ”Dancing with you, unless I'm much mistaken.”

”I think it's customary for the man to lead,” he said. The only thing that moved was his left eyebrow, which slid up about an inch.

”How did I know you would say that?” Skilled fingers strummed the unseen strings of a guitar. Castanets beckoned, and Bertie wanted to snap her fingers, stomp her feet, clap her hands. ”Lead on, pretty boy.”

Ariel gave her a look that contained a lot of something, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he adjusted her arms with light touches of his hands, all the while keeping his upper body pressed to hers.

”This song comes from the center,” he said. ”So we'll move the center first.”

”The center of what?” The b.u.t.terflies drifted out of his hair as he leaned over her. They fluttered through Bertie's already swimming head, brushed over something dark and sleeping, and roused it from slumber.

Ariel tapped her lightly on the small of her back. ”The center of you.”

”My cream filling?” she suggested.

There was a moment of complete stillness and silent contemplation before Ariel smiled. ”Yes, Bertie. Move your cream filling first, and your feet will follow.”

When the music started again, they joined it with gliding steps and the sensation of being carried along. By the notes. By the wind. She was flying- With Ariel.

For the first few bars, their movements were inseparable from the melody. Then Ariel placed his foot alongside hers and twisted. The world spun around Bertie. The shelves wavered with the vibrato before disappearing.

She would have blamed his words, his voice for the enchantment, except he was-for once-not speaking.

Ariel snapped her out of the dip and twirled her away from him. Bertie trailed her hand over an ancient wall that should have been protected by shelves. Plaster dust flaked away under her fingertips.

Catching her by the wrist, Ariel led her down an aisle that was now a narrow Spanish alley. They skimmed over cobblestones and under wrought-iron balconies. Bertie didn't remember a costume change, but her black-heeled character shoes fas.h.i.+oned a rhythm that ran counterpoint to a double ba.s.s. Crimson skirts flared around her legs and slapped against her skin after an unexpected and spectacular turn.

Ariel wore black silk now. The minuscule portion of Bertie's brain that still functioned noted that, on Nate, the outfit would have looked ridiculous, but on Ariel it was liquid night poured over lean muscle.

She missed a step, contemplating his arms.

”Do try to keep up, Beatrice.” Ariel steadied her with one hand as he reached out with the other to pluck a rose from an unseen vine.

”If you put that between your teeth, I'll die laughing,” she warned.

So he didn't. Instead, he used it to trace the contour of her cheek, the curve of her neck, and down to the spot where the dress dipped low between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. An azure glow slowly washed over the scenery while a red-gelled spotlight beckoned.

”How did we get here?”

”We haven't left the Properties Department.” Ariel took her hand. Her heartbeat matched the thrum of blood in his veins, and his midnight eyes followed her every movement. ”What you see are but figments of your overactive imagination.”

Bertie instinctively reached for the medallion, but her neck was bare, exposed, the scrimshaw in the pocket of her jeans, which were also long gone. ”You're toying with me.”

”I a.s.sure you, I'm not,” Ariel said, leading her in another turn, another dip.

Someone in the lighting booth decided to scatter the scene with white pinp.r.i.c.ks of starlight that floated like sequins on strings.

”That effect,” Bertie said, bent completely backward, ”is achieved with a mirrored ball and pin spots. I hope you appreciate it.”

Ariel's breath met her skin. Bertie raised her head to find his nose level with her cleavage.

”Believe me,” he said. ”I do.”

He tucked the rose behind her ear and trailed his hand around the back of her neck. Then she was upright once more, with both arms above her head. Fountain spray drifted over them, dampening Bertie's skirts and spangling her hair with blue-diamond brilliants.

Ariel circled her. His hand skimmed her collarbones, her bare shoulder, her back. He paused behind her, drew her close so that his lips grazed her ear. ”Are you ready for the finale?”

Bertie barely nodded before he led her in a series of turns that left her disoriented and dizzy. The stage lights whirled around them, every point of reference blurring into a s.h.i.+fting kaleidoscope of color. The world fell away until the only thing that remained was his hands upon her. He dipped her back farther- ”Ariel.” Bertie closed her eyes and let herself fall.

He caught her, and as the music reached a crescendo, he covered her mouth with his.

Her first real kiss. Then her second, and third. She lost track of how many there were; she was too busy drinking him in, winding her tongue around his. He tasted of everything and nothing at all as he lowered her onto the gra.s.s.