Rescuing Mr. Gracey by Eileen K. Barnes Read Free Book Online Page B

every muscle locked with fear. Yet Mr. Alexander grinned and lifted her hand, then placed it upon his shoulder. Next, long dark fingers slid down her other arm, securing her tiny hand deep inside his warm one.
    Breathless, speechless, Mary submitted to his lead. She tried to keep her thoughts on the dance, on the music, on what Sean might be doing, but within a moment of Mr. Alexander’s slow twirling, round and round into an enchanted web of shining stars, scented air, and soft music, her thoughts scattered completely.
    She licked too-dry lips and looked about, realizing that he had led them away from the other dancers toward the shadows of the open field. She should be worried, but somehow, she wasn’t.
    His chin lowered within an inch of her cheek, his breath warm on her skin. Delightful clove-and-forest scent surrounded the night and made her mouth water. Her body seemed fragile yet alive, his legs brushing against her dress, her hip occasionally meeting his frame.
    Perhaps if she had more experience with men, she would understand why her skin hummed, her excited heart rapped, and hungry fingers twitched to explore his hair, his chin, and that scar at his brow. Most difficult to control was her breathing. She sounded as if she had run across the field instead of slowly circling it.
    Swallowing, she dared a curious peek at his face. Not surprisingly, his eyes had been probing her as if seeking answers, investigating, but when their gazes met, heat burned her from the inside out. His focus shifted down, lingering on her lips. Her stomach contracted as if expecting something delicious. His eyelids shuttered closed, and he exhaled some ragged tension.
    Within the web that tangled her thoughts, Sean’s laughter traveled the field and slapped her conscience. As if falling inside a dream, she forced a larger space between them. What are you doing, Mary Smyth? Her thoughts cut through the hazy dream and warned her to clear her mind. You can’t afford this pretend dream.
    Now more vigilant, Mary kept her gaze averted—to the ground, back to his broad chest, onto the warm hand encircling her own, back out to the swirling earth. The temptation still too powerful, she next shifted back to her goal of marriage. Sean is funny and witty and a good dancer.
    She heard her own distressed breathing. She knew she frowned. Concentrate. Concentrate on Sean Dennison. Sean’s hands are rough, callused… A working man’s hands!
    Not caressing fingers and smooth palms and intimate…
    She slammed her eyes closed. No…No. Blessedly, the song ended. Scurrying like a rabbit being chased by a great hawk, she flew out of his embrace.
    “Wait.” Mr. Alexander refused to release her hand. Mary waited, a prisoner of those long fingers.
    With one dark brow lifted, he stared at her for a moment, then glanced at the crowd, his square jaw tight. “I…I would… Would you accept… That is to say, may I have another dance?”
    “’Tis me turn on the floor.” Shooting him a flash of contempt, Sean Dennison captured her other hand and pulled until Mr. Alexander released her. “Watch and weep, sir.”
    Jerking her forward, Sean’s arms clamped her to his chest in a possessive hold that almost frightened her. They spun in a circle, his speed increasing until she gasped for air, then he released his hold, grabbing her hands as she stumbled backward, her dress flaring. He supported them both within his clasped hands and whirled like the cyclonic wind.
    She laughed, her head back, her hair flying freely, giddy and young. Aye. Sean will not be dangerous or confusing. She trusted him. This man was her destiny.
    Once they broke the spin, Sean glided them into a larger group for several hopping steps.
    “So, who’s the bàthiaoch ?”he asked.
    Skipping a glance at Mr. Alexander as she hopped around another couple, Mary noted a dark scowl upon the stranger’s handsome face. “I hardly know. I just met him this afternoon. I believe he’s from the