(1) /**/ Chapter Twelve When the boy took my hand, my heart dropped into my stomach; it’s not him. David’s hands were never this cold—and these took mine with no familiarity. The stranger pulled me close—closer than polite. I studied his eyes through the mask. Green eyes—not quite emerald like David’s were, yet so much alike. “You look lovely tonight, Ara,” he said in a smooth, gentle voice. “Do I know you?” I squinted against the darkne ss of the softly lit danc e floor, tracing the strong, square line of his jaw with my eyes. He shook his head once, and said nothing more. The harmonies of the song carried the pace of his gracefulness as he held one hand gently under my shoulder blade, with the other extending our arms out widely. “You’ve danced bef ore,” I said, but my voice, the ve ry idea of speaking came from somewhere else within me.
