And fuck, I can’t look away.
Though even having her in my arms as I lead her tothe tune, she seems unattainable, and for the first time in my life, I’m lost for words.
Or let’s have a dose of honesty here. Everything Cora Winslow is a mystery to me. I first met her at Cal and Celeste’s vow renewal. When Cal had introduced me to this woman, she nodded in passing.
Like I was just another person in the line. Mystery number one.
Okay, it might be my over-inflated ego, but that one stung. And increased my interest greatly.
Mystery number two: why did I invite her tonight as my plus one? To marvel at another rejection?
Because, let’s face it…
Yeah, I definitely want her attention. Not very convenient. Because mystery number three: why don’t I know how to handle her? How to talk to her? She is so different from other women.
And after playing the field for years, I don’t know how to behave around a woman when she is not swooning over me because of my sheer presence. Humble pie, anyone?
“How is work?” Yeah, I fucking just asked that.
She groans. “Don’t spoil the night, Stone. I haven’t been out in ages.”
A curl breaks loose from her bun. She doesn’t apologize and run to the ladies’ room to fix herappearance; she just goes with the little imperfection, mindlessly swatting it away.
“Why not?” I step back and twirl her around.
“I don’t have time. I run a bistro, a family business, and it’s been hard lately.” She gives out a self-deprecating giggle. “Or always.”
She lowers her hand back to my shoulder, and I want her to keep it there longer. Luckily, the music slows down, and I finally get to hold her closer. The moment stills, and she smiles at me.
It’s a smile of contentment, and a little mischief. I want to drown in it.
“The harder work gets, the more you need to unwind,” I say.
Her lower back is warm under my palm, and I fight the urge to slide it lower.
That is another mystery. I actually fight the urge, because I don’t want her to turn around and leave. And I think she would… As I said, Cora Winslow is like a carefully administered portion of humble pie.
I never cared for the taste. And yet, here we are.
“Yeah, that is an excellent theory. My unwind time, however, usually leads me to my bed where I sleep, for way too little time, before I have to return to work.”
“Do you plan on expanding your business?”
She frowns. “What kind of a question is that?”
I’m not quite sure what is wrong with the question,or my conclusion that she works so hard because she’s growing her business.
Tonight, my conversation game is off. Derailed by the way she owns the dance floor—not with the practiced elegance of a debutante who spent months perfecting her waltz, nor with effortless, balletic grace.
She moves with something rarer: warmth, quiet confidence, and that grounded, magnetic kind of joy that radiates from people who have nothing to prove.
Simple.
Certain.
Untouched.
By expectations. By judgmental stares. By the salacious gazes of half the men in the room.
