You've Got Male (28 page)

Since Dixon had met her, Avery Nesbitt had been a bundle of contradictions. She would fight off an attacker twice her size but could be emotionally shattered by a simple step over her threshold. She was as fearless as a wolverine but panicked when she looked out a window. She was smart enough to develop software no one else could even conceive but was suckered by a man she met online because he treated her with kindness. She thumbed her nose at society but wanted desperately to be a part of it. She’d made clear her disdain of him, then turned to him with the most incendiary passion he’d ever known with a woman. From day one he hadn’t been able to figure her out. She’d been as alien to him as she would have had she come from another planet.

But not tonight.

Tonight, finally, Dixon understood Avery completely. Because tonight, for the first time, he saw her for what she was—human. No, it was even more basic than that. Tonight Avery Nesbitt was a woman. And Dixon, God help him, didn’t know what to do. Which was completely unlike him. Usually he knew exactly what to do with women. And rarely had he hesitated to do it. The fact that his reaction to Avery was just the opposite—that he didn’t know what to do and he wanted to hesitate—made him question everything about what made him a man.

Well, except maybe one thing. Because that thing suddenly stirred to life in a way that had never happened in a public venue.

“Hey,” he said softly as he reached a hand toward her.

But she must not have heard him, because she kept her back turned and said nothing. She didn’t seem to be sniffling anymore, though, so that was something. He wished she would turn around so he could see if she was all right. Aw, hell, who was he kidding? He wished she’d turn around so he could see her, period. He hesitated again before touching her, but only for a moment this time, then curled his fingers lightly over her bare shoulder.

She tensed at the contact, and he immediately realized his mistake. Not that she might not welcome his touch, but touching her that way, he was reminded of the last time they had touched—skin to skin. And it made him want to be that way with her again. Now.

Later,
he told himself. He could think about that—and maybe do something about it, too—later.

He’d thought the clerk at the tuxedo rental place was nuts, fixing the handkerchief in his breast pocket with such a gaudy flourish, but now Dixon was grateful to the guy. Ripping the scrap of silk from its resting place—with considerably less flourish, alas—he squeezed her shoulder a little more firmly, then reached past her with his other hand, offering her the handkerchief without comment.

She accepted it without comment, too, but instead of dabbing at her eyes or blowing her nose, she twisted it nervously in her fingers. At least she’d stopped crying. But it would help if he could figure out what had caused her tears in the first place. Had it been the crowd? The noise? His physical manhandling of her, however well-intentioned, in leading her through the guests? Or had it been, as she’d told him, her failed desire to fit in? Just what had set Avery off this time?

And why was he scared it was something
he’d
done?

“Are you okay?” he asked.

He moved to stand in front of her and cupped both hands over her shoulders this time. But still she didn’t look at him.

“Avery?” he asked again, “Are you okay?”

Finally she nodded. Once. Quickly. But it was something.

“You sure?”

She nodded again, putting a little more effort into it this time. And then she really went all out and answered, “Yes.”

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Water?” he quickly clarified. She really needed to start reevaluating this scotch remedy of hers.

“Just stay here with me for a minute, Dixon, okay?”

A minute?
he repeated to himself. Did she honestly think he had any intention of leaving her side for the rest of the evening?

But he only told her, “No problem.”

By now the music had kicked up again in the ballroom, so what few people had been lingering in the parlor trickled out to dance. When Dixon looked up, he saw that the two of them were pretty much alone. Knowing that would make her feel better—which was weird, because it made him feel more uneasy—he pressed his hands gently against her shoulders and slowly pivoted her around.

“Everyone’s gone,” he said. “You can breathe a little easier now.”

“Says you,” she replied in a voice so quiet he wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear her.

“I thought that would make you feel better,” he said.

She expelled a soft sound that might have been a sigh and turned back around to face him. “What would make me feel better is being home.
My
home,” she added emphatically, as if that needed clarification. “With
my
stuff.”

Dixon smiled at that. “Sorry, Peaches. But the only thing here right now from that life is me.”

Her eyes met his when he said it, and she caught the corner of her lower lip in her teeth, as if she were giving major consideration to something. The only thing Dixon could give consideration to was how much he wanted to nibble that lip himself. And then maybe nibble her neck, too. And then maybe he could move lower and nibble her shoulder. Then lower still, so he could nibble her—

“Thanks, Dixon,” she said, her soft words sending all his plans up in a puff of smoke. Okay, a puff of steam.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked.

She held out the handkerchief to him. “Nothing. Everything. Just…thanks.”

She was back to confusing him again, back to being a bundle of contradictions. But for some reason he didn’t mind it so much now.

“You’re welcome,” he said, even though he had no idea why.

Then he said something he understood even less, something he was sure he would regret in the morning. But he couldn’t stop himself. Feeling as if he were standing by helplessly as two trains went hurtling toward each other, he heard himself say, “Dance with me, Avery.”

Avery was certain she must have misunderstood. Dixon couldn’t possibly have just asked her—no, told her—to dance with him. He must have said something else. Something like
Glance at me, Avery.
But then, she was already looking at him, so it couldn’t have been that. So maybe he’d said
Prance with me, Avery.
Of course, Dixon didn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who went for prancing. Maybe it had been
Go to France with me, Avery.
Not that that made one whit of sense. Or perhaps
Fence with me, Avery.
Yeah, that must have been it. They’d done such a good job of verbally sparring since meeting. He must want to go back to doing that again.

Unbidden, a memory erupted in her head of something else the two of them had been good at. But she doubted he was asking her to burst into flame with him again, either.

“What did you say?” she finally asked.

He smiled in a way she had never seen him smile before. As if he were genuinely happy about something. “I said dance with me. The music’s nice. Maybe it’ll take your mind off of things.”

Oh, no,
she thought.
No, no, no, no, no.
Dancing with Dixon would put her mind
on
things she had no business thinking about. “I can’t,” she told him. She glanced out at the crowded ballroom, where scores of people were swaying across the dance floor, and she knew she couldn’t have headed out there even if she did want to dance with Dixon. Which she didn’t, of course. No way. “There are way too many people out there,” she told him. “Let’s just stay in here.”

“Okay,” he said. But instead of sitting down to pass the time, he swept her into his arms and began to dance her around the small room.

“Dixon,” she objected halfheartedly. Likewise halfhearted were her efforts to extricate herself from his loose embrace.

“What?” he asked as he continued to dance toward the other side of the room.

What was she supposed to say?
Leave me alone? Let me go? I don’t want to dance with you?
That would have made her a liar. So she only sighed heavily and settled her hands gingerly on his shoulders and allowed him to lead her around the room. Which didn’t take long since it was so small, so Dixon immediately began another circuit.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed dancing so much,” she said as their bodies moved fluidly from one place to another.

“I hate dancing,” he replied without hesitation.

“Then why—”

“I have no idea,” he said. “So let’s talk about something else.”

His suggestion resulted in dead silence from both of them. But each continued to meet the other’s gaze unflinchingly as they danced around the room. More than once Avery stepped on one of Dixon’s toes—she’d never been a very good dancer even back when she’d had an occasional opportunity to dance—but not once did he mutter a sound of complaint. Each time it happened, he only pulled her a little closer, tightened the arm he’d wrapped around her waist and slowed the pace. Naturally that only made Avery more nervous, and when she was more nervous, she stepped on his toes more often. It was a vicious cycle.

But not too vicious.

By the time the slow number segued into an even slower one, Dixon had pulled her close enough that her body was pressed intimately into his, and she had moved her hands from his shoulders to link them behind his neck. She could feel the soft brush of his silky hair over her fingers and the gentle thumping of his heart against her own. Not sure why she did it, she placed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, inhaling the distinct, vital scent of him that had become both unsettling and comforting to her over the past week. Tonight, though, it was the latter. As turbulently as the evening had started off, at the moment she felt almost totally at peace.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like that. Not even at home, living her usual life. Not even back when she’d been living here at her parents’ estate. Peaceful had never been one of those states Avery was able to achieve. At least, she hadn’t thought it was. But something about Dixon, something about being close to him, made her feel as if nothing in the world would ever go wrong again.

Which was crazy, because since he’d entered her life, everything had been wrong. And soon she would have to complete a task that would put her at risk as she’d never been before. He should represent nothing but danger and adversity to her. He should make her feel frightened and anxious. Instead he made her feel un-troubled. Content.

“Dixon?” she said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Will you ever tell me your real name? I mean, years from now, when I’m thinking back on all this, telling my grandchildren about it,” she added, even though someone whack like her would never be a grandmother, “will I be able to think of you as something besides ‘Dixon?’”

He said nothing for a moment, and she was afraid maybe she’d taken too much advantage of the mellowness that had settled over them. She didn’t know why she’d asked him his name again, only that for some reason it seemed very important just then that she know it. His silence went on for so long, though, she began to think he would pretend he hadn’t heard her. But she knew he had. Because his body had gone tense as she’d concluded the question.

Then, very, very quietly he told her, “Oliver. My name is Oliver. Oliver Sheridan.”

Warmth spread through her that he would share something so intimate with her, but she didn’t let herself attach any more significance to it than that he was simply telling her his name because she had asked. It wasn’t the kind of name she had expected, but somehow it seemed totally appropriate.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled. “It’s a nice name,” she said.

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“How about your code name?” she asked. “Will you tell me that?”

He narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t seem angry. “Don’t push your luck, Peaches,” he told her.

“Okay, Oliver.”

“And don’t call me Oliver. For this assignment, I’m Dixon.”

“And after this assignment?” she asked. Boy, talk about pushing her luck….

Instead of answering her, he placed his hand behind her head and gently urged it back onto his shoulder. Avery didn’t mind. She kind of liked having it there.

“I’m sorry about the panic attack earlier,” she said.

“What panic attack?”

He was right, she realized. It had never turned into a full-blown attack. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been able to handle one without a drink,” she said. She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled at him again. “Must be because of your intoxicating personality.”

She waited for him to smile back, but he only met her gaze intently for a moment, as if he were thinking very hard about what he should say. “You’re going to be fine, Avery,” he finally told her. “Really you are.”

Instead of feeling reassured by his reassurance, Avery felt the tranquillity that had been seeping through her evaporate. Her smile fell and something cool and unpleasant slid into her belly. Dixon’s voice sounded conclusive. Final. As if he were already telling her goodbye.