The Australian's Desire: Their Lost-and-Found Family / Long-Lost Son: Brand-New Family / A Proposal Worth Waiting For

‘Pardon?’ Bruce broke into her conversation and with a start she realised she’d been speaking aloud. ‘Who’s perfect?’

‘Um …’ Not him, that’s for sure, but how to say it and not hurt him? Bruce was a nice guy. One of the gentle ones. Except in the dancing department. Her toes had been squashed more times than she cared to think about. ‘The little girl we operated on this morning,’ she said, and he nodded.

They were approaching the corner of the room. Time for a tricky manoeuvre. Bruce put his tongue out just a little, his forehead puckered in concentration, and he swept her round.

There went another toe.

‘I keep thinking of my work, too,’ Bruce told her. ‘Did you know Big Bertha laid her eggs right near the town bridge? Now I’m gonna have to fence off that part of the river till they hatch. Nothing like the vengeance of a mother croc if anything threatens their kids.’ He paused, deciding to wait while another couple spun past them. ‘Speaking of which … where’s your little tacker? Where’s Max?’

‘With his dad.’

‘Yeah, but Harry said—’

‘Harry shouldn’t have said anything,’ she said curtly.

‘Well, he didn’t, so to speak, but of course he told Grace and Grace told Mrs Poulos and Sophia told me. You know things can’t be kept quiet in this town. Hell, Georg, if you want a hand to hunt the bugger down …’

He would help, too, Georgie thought, forgiving him her squashed toes. This whole town would. They were all there for her.

The music ended. Bruce looked eagerly toward the bar. ‘You want a drink, Georg?’

‘No. Um, my face is hurting a bit. I might go home,’ she said.

‘There’s still the speeches.’

‘No, I think I’ll go.’

‘Alistair’s back there, is he?’

She took a deep breath. They knew. Of course, the town knew. Any hint of gossip was around the town practically before it happened.

‘I’m going home to bed,’ she said with an attempt at dignity.

‘Yeah?’ He grinned. ‘But I was asking—’

‘I know what you were asking. Don’t.’

‘Course I won’t. OK, I’ll be off and find myself a beer. You don’t want a ride home?’

‘No.’

‘Good, ‘cos this is a great party. See ya,’ he said with his accustomed good humour. ‘But, you know, I’ve laid money the other way, so I’d prefer it if you could keep away from Carmichael. Ten quid’s worth keeping.’

She turned around and Alistair was there.

‘Hey,’ Bruce said cheerfully. ‘She was just going home to bed and you. Seems she doesn’t have to.’ He gave Georgie a friendly push toward Alistair, chuckled and left them to it.

The band started again. Fast swing.

‘Hi,’ Alistair said. ‘Would you like to dance?’

‘Dancing with you is dangerous.’

‘I know,’ he said, and he smiled. ‘We both know. But what’s life if we can’t live dangerously?’ And suddenly she had no choice at all. Alistair was tugging her into a rumba and she simply let herself go.

There was nothing like dancing with an expert. There was nothing like dancing with Alistair.

Dancing was wonderful.

Georgie’s mother had loved dancing. From her tired, life-battered mother, dancing was the last thing anyone might expect, but May had loved it. She’d given up on hoping for dancing skill—or even interest—from the various no-hoper men she’d ended up with, but as a toddler Georgie had learned to be her mother’s partner. When things had got too ghastly she’d learned to turn on the radio and plead with her mother to dance.

In the end illness and poverty had taken the dancing out of her, but May had left her daughter with a legacy she loved.

And Alistair’s skill matched her own.

They danced like competition dancers. Every move he made she knew and matched and melded with. They didn’t speak. She was laughing, abandoning herself to the joy of the dance, every fibre of her being responding to his.

Others on the dance floor were falling back, clapping in time, cheering. She was hardly aware of it. She loved it. She loved …

No. She didn’t love … anything. Just the dance …

The music ended. She was exhausted, having danced to her limit, laughing up at him while the room erupted in cheers.

‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ she demanded.

‘My dad insisted on dance lessons when I was a kid,’ he confessed, smiling, and he knew she loved it as much as he did. ‘Pretty silly, eh?’

‘Not silly at all,’ she said. ‘We ought to have introduced your dad to my mum.’

‘And added a few more complications to our lives?’

Her smile faded, just a bit.

What was she doing there? Bruce was watching her from the bar. She’d told him she was going home.

She should go home.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she said.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘But Charles said the dancing was excellent.’

‘Yeah?’

‘And you were here,’ he said simply, and as the music resumed—this time a slow waltz—he took her into his arms again. ‘I’m not sure where this is going but I sat over there and figured that if I stayed there and you stayed here then I might miss my chance to find out.’

She gasped. She tried to break away. But he was holding her tight against him. Her treacherous body was moving in time with his, melding to his.

She succumbed to the dance.