The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Forty Two: Dance With Me

I can't remember the last time I have been this nervous. But I can think of a few reasons why.

Firstly, I am not keen on the idea of making a fool out of myself as Sebastian tries to "teach" me how to dance. I don't have the rhythm to ease this task upon myself, nor do I have the experience as I have stated before.

Secondly, the eyes of the band watching us as they serenade Sebastian and I with their jazz measure makes my feet shake. There's only a modest number of them—about five people. But even if the number was five or five hundred, I would still be cowering in my heels

And finally, the third reason as to why I am dreading the thought of allowing Sebastian Harrison to carry me off into a dance through this vacant ballroom floor, is a simple nine letter word:

Proximity.

His left hand sits on my lower back without force, but pressuring enough to close much of the gap between our bodies. And as for his right hand, it clasps around my left palm, almost engulfing my hand in his. We haven't even moved our legs yet and I can't bear to look at him.

I've never been this close in this way before. Not only with him, but with any man.

"You're nervous," he says plainly. He doesn't even phrase it into a question.

I shake my head down at the bright reflection on my black Jimmy Choo's. "No, I'm not."

"Then why are you avoiding my eyes?"

"Because I don't want to mess up," I answer. It isn't completely the truth, nor is it completely a lie.

Sebastian laughs; I can almost feel the vibration radiating from his chest. "We haven't moved yet."

He isn't wrong in that part.

"Just follow my lead," he says, confident in his skill.

"Alright."

"You can stand on my shoes if you want."

I snort. "Why would I do that?"

He cocks his head to the side—again, like an intrigued puppy. "You've never heard of that before?"

Shaking my head, Sebastian ticks his tongue against the roof of his mouth at my ignorance. I don't know whether I should laugh or feel embarrassed.

So instead, I assure him. "I'm positive I can keep up with your six-foot-two frame, Mr. Harrison."

His eyebrow twitches up a bit. "I'm six-three, Leslie," he corrects me.

Lord.

With this new information circulating my brain, I make a surprised face that generates a laugh from him again, louder than his laugh before.

I have to remember to scold Skippy and Mia for their delivery of false information on Sebastian's height, all while I was conducting "research" on him a few weeks ago.

"Just follow my lead, then?" he asks, and for the first time since he's held me close, I look up into his eyes and see a comforting amount of trust and sincerity in them—an amount so alarming, it gives me the impression that I'm about to dance with someone I've never met before.

"Okay," I say. "I will."

Immediately, we begin to dance. My nervousness doesn't successfully go away, despite the rapid movement of my feet, but it only heightens when I accidentally step on his shoe and trip, falling onto his chest four steps into the waltz.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to do that," I stutter. God, I'm such a klutz.

"It's fine," he says. His encouraging tone makes me blush even harder. "It's my fault for moving too fast."