Dragging in a deep breath, he sits forward, setting his elbows on his knees. He pulls both hands through his hair, looking down at the rug. The sprinkle of gray strands around his ears almost glows in the lights from the tree, and I wish I could run my fingers through them.
Nerves skitter through me as he stands and lifts his phone from the coffee table. He swipes through it as he approaches the mantel, and when the first few notes of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” drift from the speaker, he sets it next to the nutcracker above his stocking.
Then he holds out a hand to me, palm up in offering. “Let's fix that memory.” He quirks a grin. “Will you dance with me?”
My heart bursts with ayes, craving any opportunity to be near him. But my brain keeps my limbs pinned to the couch.
I watch him skeptically as he holds his steady hand out for me. Unwavering. Sure.
“Please,” he whispers.
That simple word snaps all the threads holding me in place, and it feels like I float toward him.
Like he’s my lighthouse, guiding me in.
When my palm settles against his, heat winds its way up my arm and into my chest. He lifts our joined hands and wraps his other one around my waist, leaving a little space between our bodies.
As Frank Sinatra’s voice croons from the phone, Gavin sways us to the slow beat. I try to remind myself to breathe, but the stars dancing in my vision make me think it’s not working.
His warm exhalations fan my cheek as I skim my hand up to his broad shoulder. Tilting my head back, I take in the sight of his eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tree lights.
“You’re good at this.” My words end on a sigh when his thumb makes a smooth glide over my ribs.
“Yeah. My dance card stays pretty full,” he deadpans, pulling me toward him until his hand splays over my lower back and my hips bump his.
“I’ve never seen you dance with anyone else.”
He swallows, and I watch in fascination as his Adam’s apple rolls in his throat. “I don’t normally.”
“So I’m the exception to the rule?” I whisper, sliding my fingers to sit beside his neck.
His palm trails up the center of my back, pulling me closer until my chest presses into his, that masculine pine scent invading my lungs.
“I wish you were,” he sighs, lowering his cheek to the top of my head. “I really wish you were.”
My breath hitches, but neither of us says another word as we sway to the beat for the rest of the song. His fingers never stop gliding over my back like a comforting caress.
Vivid images flash through my mind as I imagine what it would be like if Iwasthe exception to the rule. If I got to see his dark gaze as he moved toward my lips. If his tongue was sliding against mine. If his hands were under my shirt, molding to the shape of my breast.
Frank’s voice fades out, and the music ends. But before we can stop moving, Gavin’s voice fills the silence, humming the same song, deep and raspy in my ear.
My skin buzzes with pleasure as he moves us in a slow circle. I release our joined hands to wrap my arms around his shoulders, and I breathe him in like an addict.
Hell, maybe Iaman addict, because from this moment on, I don’t know how I’ll survive without touching Gavin like this. I’ll be desperate for it.
“Lena,” he sighs, dragging out the last syllable until it sounds like a moan.
“Gavin,” I whisper back, coasting the word across his neck.
His hand knits into my curls, and when his fingers touch my scalp, a small whimper leaves my throat, my head falling back into the pressure.
He stares at me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before, like nothing else exists in the entire world.
Our synchronized slow, steady exhales are the only sound between us as his gaze falls to my mouth.
My lips tingle with anticipation.
Fuck the rules.
