My hands are shaking. My jaw aches from clenching. And I'm hard enough that walking is uncomfortable, every step a reminder of what I just did.
What I shouldn't have done.
I left her there. Against that wall. Dress rumpled, face flushed, looking at me like I'd just destroyed her and she wasn't sure whether to thank me or kill me.
And I walked away like I didn't care.
Like I'm not still tasting her on my lips. Still feeling the way she tightened around my fingers. Still hearing that small sound she made when she came, trying so hard to stay quiet and failing.
Fucking hell.
I rub my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to punch the wall or rush back to Bianca and take her against that wall, hard and ruthless.
I need to get myself under control before I go back in there. Before anyone sees me like this—barely holding it together, looking like a fucking psycho who’s had one taste and wants more.
Back at the main event, I see Bianca looking like nothing just happened to her in the hallway.
She looks well put together and it makes me want her even more.
I sigh, calming myself as I walk to her.
"Dance with me."
Understanding dawns. "You want to?—"
"I want to show every person in that room that you're mine and I'm yours. That Caterina Bellandi and my father and anyone else who has an opinion can go to hell." I keep my hand extended. "So dance with me, Bianca. Let me prove I meant what I said."
She hesitates for just a moment. Then she places her hand in mine.
We walk into the ballroom together, and I can feel the eyes turning toward us immediately. Conversations pause. Glasses stop midway to lips.
Perfect.
I pull her into the center of the dance floor, one hand at her waist, the other clasping hers. The music swells around us as we begin to move.
"Everyone's staring," she murmurs.
"I know." I pull her closer, eliminating the proper distance between us. "Let them." I guide her until her body is pressed against mine, scandalously intimate for a public dance. "We're in love, remember? Madly, desperately in love. We can't keep our hands off each other."
"This is—" Her breath catches as I spin her, then pull her back in tighter.
"Or..." I lean down until my lips brush her ear. "Or maybe I just like having you this close. Feeling you against me. Remembering how you sounded when you came apart in my hands."
For a moment, I think she will pull away, do anything except what she does.
She tilts her head back and smiles up at me, wicked and knowing.
"Careful, Dante," she whispers. "If you keep talking like that, I might start to think you actually want me."
I’m stunned for a second. "Who says I don't?"
Her pupils dilate. "You're insane."
"Probably." I spin her again, and this time when I pull her back, her body molds to mine perfectly. "But so are you."
The song is ending. Around us, other couples are applauding the orchestra.
But I'm not ready to let her go. Not yet. Not when she's looking at me like that—equal parts fury and desire, defiance and surrender.
