She exhales, shaky and low, and something in her posture softens. Like she’s tired of the weight of pushing me away. Tired of fighting something we’ve both already admitted lives under our skin.
“Man, you’re infuriating,” she mutters, but it doesn’t have teeth anymore.
I smile faintly. “That’s fair.”
She looks up at me then, eyes glassy and unreadable. “One more dance. That’s it.”
I nod, not pushing. “One dance.”
“And if I change my mind again?—”
“Then I’ll let you go.”
She studies me for another beat, then sighs and steps back into my space.
This time, when I pull her close, she comes willingly.
There’s no more teasing. No games. Just heat and friction and the unbearable sense that this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.
Her cheek brushes mine. Her breath ghosts my neck. And slowly, inevitably, her walls start to crumble, brick by slow damn brick, until her fingers are curled in my shirt like she needs something to hold on to.
“I hate that you’re right about this,” she whispers.
I grin against her temple. “You can hate me in the morning.”
“I probably will.”
“Still worth it.”
She laughs, low, reluctant, and a little broken, but she doesn’t pull away.
She holds on.
And I hold her right back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Josie
What the hell is happening?
This isn’t dancing. This is something else entirely.
It’s intense, and so thick with tension it feels like the air between us might snap at any given moment.
We’re not kissing.
But somehow, it’s sexier than if we were.
Knox’s hand finds the side of my neck again, his thumb grazing just beneath my jaw. The other slides along the curve of my waist, setting me alight. His fingertips skim beneath the hem of my sweater, finding bare skin like they belong there. Like he’s always known where to touch me to make the world tilt.
I can’t breathe.
Not properly.
Not with him looking at me like that, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. Like he’d set the whole place on fire just to keep me warm.
I turn, slowly, needing to meet his eyes. To see if he feels it too.
