At one point, while Denton is momentarily cornered by a serious-looking man with a clipboard, Evan materializes at myelbow with his wife at his side. “Holding up okay, Buffer?” he asks, handing me a fresh glass of champagne. “Blakey hasn’t scared you off with his sparkling conversational skills yet?”
“He’s been… perfectly lovely,” I say diplomatically, watching Denton navigate the conversation with the clipboard man.
“Hi, Holly, I’m Sophie. This one’s wife.” She pokes good naturedly at Evan’s arm. “Are you having a good time? I know these things can be a lot.”
I laugh softly. “Nice to meet you, Sophie. It’s been really fun so far.” I glance at Denton who’s still talking to the man with the clipboard.
She pulls me aside a bit and lowers her voice. “Don’t let his grumpy exterior fool you, Holly. Underneath all that carefully constructed ‘leave me the hell alone’ armor? There’s an amazing guy.” She meets my eyes, her gaze unexpectedly serious. “Seeing him actuallyengagetonight? Bring someonehere?” She shakes her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “It’s a Christmas miracle. Seriously.”
Before I can process Sophie’s words, the jazz quartet shifts gears. The smooth, upbeat tempo melts into something slower, richer. The opening notes of “The Christmas Song” (“Chestnuts roasting…”) fill the ballroom.
Evan grins at both of us. “Ooh. Slow dance time. Perfect.” He nudges me none-too-subtly towards Denton, who has extricated himself from the clipboard man. “C’mon, baby. I’m sure these two will join us in a minute. I’m sure Denton is dying to show Holly his dance moves.”
Denton walks towards us, his gaze locked on mine. The low lights catch the angles of his face, the intensity in his eyes. The noise of the party fades into a muffled hum. Evan and Sophie discreetly melt away, leaving us standing in a small clearing near the dance floor.
Denton stops in front of me and clears his throat. “Holly.” My name is a low rumble. “Would you…” He gestures vaguely towards the couples starting to sway on the dance floor. “…like to? It’s part of the… game plan. Blending in.” He adds the last part quickly, almost defensively.
Blending in.The transactional terminology is back. But the hesitation in his eyes, the slight tension in his offered hand… it feels like more.
My pulse kicks against my ribs. The borrowed dress suddenly feels too thin. The cool air of the ballroom too sharp. I look from his outstretched hand to his face. I don’t trust my voice. I simply nod, placing my hand in his.
His warm fingers close around mine. His other hand settles onto my waist, the touch firm, sending a fresh wave of heat cascading through me. He draws me closer, not flush against him, but near enough that the crisp, clean scent of him envelops me.
We start to move. He leads with a surprising natural grace, his hand on my waist guiding me effortlessly. My free hand rests lightly on his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his tux.
The glittering chandeliers, the swirling colors of dresses, the murmur of voices… it all blurs and fades into an indistinct background hum.
The music wraps around us – warm brass, smooth strings, the singer’s voice crooning about yuletide carols. It’s a classic, cozy holiday sound, but pressed close to Denton Blake in the middle of his glamorous world, it feels charged with intensity.
His thumb moves against the bare skin of my back, exposed by the dress’s dip. A slow, deliberate stroke.
A spark ignites low in my belly, spreading outwards and my breath catches. His gaze holds mine, darkening. An unspoken question hangs heavy in the air between us.
The music swells. He spins me gently, a smooth turn that brings me back into the circle of his arms, closer this time. My chest brushes against his.
I feel the solid beat of his heart against my own frantic rhythm. His head dips slightly, his breath warm against my temple. I tilt my head back slightly, my lips parting on a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
For a moment, I think he might kiss me. Right here. In the middle of the flashing lights and the polished crowd. The intensity in his eyes, the way his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth…
But he doesn’t. He pulls back, just a fraction. His jaw tightens. The walls come down over his eyes, replaced by the familiar, guarded reserve. He looks away, over my shoulder, his profile stern. The moment shatters. The noise of the party rushes back in, loud and jarring.
The song ends. The quartet segues into something livelier. Around us, couples break apart, heading back towards the bar or the dance floor’s edge.
Denton’s hand slides from my waist. He takes a small step back, putting more space between us. The warmth vanishes, leaving me cold.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice rough. He avoids my eyes, scanning the crowd again. “Thirsty? I could use a drink.”
The abrupt shift is jarring. The intimacy of the dance, the almost-kiss… then the walls are back up. I force a nod, my cheeks burning. “Sure. Water?”
He nods curtly. “Water. Right.” He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, back towards the main throng. His hand doesn’t return to the small of my back.
We navigate the crowd in silence. I feel foolish for letting myself get swept up in the moment. I forgot why I’m here:just as a favor.
Denton grabs two glasses of water from a passing waiter. He hands me one, his fingers brushing mine briefly. Another spark, unwanted this time. I need to remember why I’m here.
He downs half his water in one go, his gaze fixed on a point across the room. The silence stretches. The lively jazz feels too loud, too cheerful. I search for something, anything, to say. Something neutral. Safe. “The crab cakesweregood,” I offer lamely. “Evan was right.”
Denton grunts. “He’s always great at figuring out which food is worth trying.”
