Parker touched her shoulder.
“May I have this dance?”
Liv twirled to find him so close she could smell beer on his breath. A hint of cologne. Had he shaved recently? Smiling at the thought he might have done that for her, she gave him her right hand and rested her left hand on his shirt collar, intent on finding a way to touch his chin to answer the shaving question. But the shave-or-not dilemma was a minor one. She’d already screwed up with one man tonight; would she make a wrong move with Parker, too?
She drew her thumb along his chin and sighed at the silky smoothness. Forget the man’s mouthful of queries and his intense gaze. Just dance. While the singer lamented over loosing her mind, Liv’s body disappeared into Parker’s. Soothed, she was and aroused at the same time, aware Parker knew not to use words. A close shave and a close dance spoke volumes. She was the silent one, afraid to say what might start an avalanche of sentences, lowering her guard, exposing too much to the wrong person at the worst time. This man who held her was a cop and she was on his list of murder suspects. Even if Parker was unorthodox as an investigator, he still held the power of his profession. The reason for his offer to dance wasn’t clear, was it?
The strumming ended, emptying the room of the singer’s piercing ballad.
“Good night, Liv. And thank you for the dance.”
Parker kissed her on the forehead, walked out the door and closed it quietly, taking with him all the unasked questions she would never answer.