Bittersweet (Redemption #3) - Jessica Prince Page 0,7
slightly from having to hold him during the dance. My boy wasn’t so little anymore, and the muscles in my arms were trembling from his weight, but it had been worth it. When he’d run up earlier and asked “Momma, will you dance with me?” I’d nearly melted into a puddle. He was just the sweetest kid in the whole wide world.
“You’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had, kid,” I exclaimed, bending down to place a smacking kiss against the top of his head.
“I want more cake!” he yelled in reply, shuffling his feet and cranking his arms like he was revving up.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think—”
“Cake, cake, cake!” he shrieked at a level that nearly made my ears bleed. I was just about to rain all over my boy’s parade—and risk life and limb—by saying no, when I was interrupted by a deep, husky voice that sent a shiver along my spine.
“Hey, buddy. You mind if I cut in?”
Brantley looked up at his dad with those eyes that matched almost exactly. “Cut what?” He sucked in a huge gasp. “Cut cake?”
Oh hell. Bedtime tonight was going to be a freaking nightmare.
“No, bud. Cut in,” Jensen repeated on a chuckle. “It’s a way of asking if you mind if I dance with your momma.”
“I don’t—” I started, but my hyped-up kid interrupted before I could finish my objection. “Okay, Daddy!” Then he took off like a flash, heading straight for the cake table.
“So what do you say, sunshine? Dance with me?”
I hated that he still used that nickname, an endearment that used to mean everything. But what was more, I hated that hearing it still made my belly flip.
“I don’t think . . .” My heart began to beat wildly as I looked around, noticing we had the attention of at least half the room. This was a small town, after all. They all knew our story. Hell, most of them had been there to witness our demise, and they were just waiting to see what I’d do. The refusal had been on the tip of my tongue before I remembered where I was. The last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene. Farah deserved to have this day be perfect in every way, and I didn’t want to be the cause of messing anything up. “Just one,” I relented on an unhappy grumble. I could hear the sudden tittering and whispers as Jensen placed his palm on the small of my back and led me toward the middle of the dance floor just before another slow ballad began playing through the speakers.
My heart leapt into my throat when he gently turned me, that hand on my back pressing until my chest was flush with his. He took my hand in his and started swaying gently, seemingly at easy while a swarm of butterflies came to life, their wings flapping at gale force, in my belly.
With no other choice, I placed my free hand on his shoulder, and I couldn’t help but notice how strong and solid he felt beneath my palm. Jensen had always been tall and strong. That was one of a multitude of things I’d loved when we’d been together, feeling so tiny and safe in his embrace. But the man who’d come back after four and a half years was even bigger. His long, lean muscles were a whole hell of a lot thicker now. His body was covered by an attractive gray suit, but standing so close to him now, being pressed against all that hard, warm skin, I could feel a kind of power in his frame that hadn’t been there before.
The pale blue button-down he was wearing was open at the collar, exposing his throat, and I watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed and the cords in his neck tensed on a thick swallow.
“You look gorgeous, sunshine,” Jensen whispered.
“Please stop calling me that,” I said, my voice so quiet it was a wonder he could hear me over the music.
It was just one dance. Three and a half minutes, tops. I can do this, I told myself. But as the spicy musk of Jensen’s cologne filled my nostrils, memories of the past came flooding back, flipping through my mind like a slideshow, and suddenly, I wasn’t so sure that was true.
From over his shoulder, I caught Uncle Scooter standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, concern etched into the sun-kissed weathered skin on his face. He lifted a