I bite down a whimper when I feel the press of his fingers against my spine as he dips me low, and the world seems to spin. My hair whips around my face, and I catch a glimpse of the surprised faces of others before he yanks my focus back to him.
We don’t speak.
No, there are no words exchanged when each step does all the talking for us. The way we move in sync, almost like we've done it a million times before. Not once do his eyes shift from mine, the heat of his gaze arousing me in ways dancing never has before.
And it’s confusing.
The way he looks at me. Almost like he wants me, but…that can't be true.
Dante and I have been friends for months. He flirts, sure, but it’s never serious. I've watched him flash that same smile at others and had to push down jealousy at that. And even now, I can sense others' eyes on him, women who would do anything to trade places with me. But the thought of Dante dancing with other women threatens to drive me to madness.
He’s mine.
Except, he’s not.
There have been so many opportunities for him to take things to the next level, but not once has he crossed the line. Always a gentleman. Treating me like nothing more than a friend. So, why is he watching me with such heat and intensity, like he wants to strip me down right on the damn dance floor and take me?
Christ, I would let him.
I would give anything and everything to feel that mouth against mine.
The music pulses, and we’re the only ones on the dance floor. The lights fade away, and so does the noise as my entire world centers on him. And when he pulls me flush against him, I feel the thump of his heart and the pulse of our connection. I get lost in the moment, in him, and in the dance. And when the music fades, I barely register it until he stops moving, and his body slowly pulls away from mine.
“You dance as gracefully as you do on stage,” he says with a smile I don’t return. When his brows arch, I realize he’s waiting for some kind of response.
“It was nice to do something other than ballet for a change,” I say, fighting the urge to flee. “Most of my work is solo or highly technical partnering. This was...different.” I look around for something to distract me and when I spot the bar, I realize that I desperately need a glass of wine. “You’ll have to excuse me, Dante. I need to…take care of something.”
Dante grabs my hand before I can leave, his molten gaze lighting up with concern. “Is everything okay?”
You don’t want me, I want to say, but I’m not brave enough to bare my soul so plainly. So I do what I always do. I smile.
"Everything's fine," I tell him before turning around, eyes locked on the bar.
I’m fine.
Chapter Two
Dante
I find her by the rose bushes, leaning back against the garden wall with her head tilted toward the moon. My chest tightens with a mix of affection and desire. The air is thick with the sweet, intoxicating scent of the blooms. The evening air is chilly, but it doesn't seem to bother her as her focus stays on the moon.
My footsteps are silent on the grass as I approach her, so she doesn't immediately notice me. She seems lost in thought, fingers playing idly with the bouquet she caught and tracing the outlines of the petals, her feet barefoot on the grass. I don’t disturb her solitude but, instead, stand back to watch her.
She’s stunning.
Gia Marino is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and it feels like I’ve been around them all. Bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, her blond hair has a silvery glow and falls down her shoulders like liquid gold. Those pretty green eyes sparkle, reflecting the moon’s light with such an ethereal feel to it. And there is something incredibly soft and innocent about her, something that urges me to do what I’ve been holding myself back from doing all these weeks.
Taking her.
Right here on the grass and away from the chaos of the party. No one would miss us, that's for sure. I could lay her down on the grass, kiss that mouth until she opened for me, before tracing my lips down the rest of her body.
Fuck, how I’ve wanted to touch that smooth porcelain skin and kiss every inch of it from the moment I saw her. Still, I do nothing.
Twelve weeks.
That's how fucking long I've been around this girl, pretending I want to be her friend when, in actuality, there is nothing platonic about the way I feel for her. Gia calls to the animal in me, but so far, I've managed to keep him collared.
When she visibly shivers, I strip off my jacket and walk to her before draping it over her shoulders. She tears her eyes from the moon and looks over, smiling dreamily at me, and for the first time, I notice the empty wine glass lying on the grass to her left.
