I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Just that?”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he shook his head, like he’d just remembered something heavier than he was willing to say out loud. Then his voice dropped lower, quieter. “It feels like freedom.”
That word hit something deep in me—freedom. It echoed through my chest like a bell, sweet and aching. I felt it wrap around my ribs and squeeze. Because that was what I felt too, wasn’t it? Unbound. Unburdened. Untouchable. We were sitting here in a dark velvet booth, champagne in hand, drenched in strobe light and bass—and still, that one word undid me more than all of it.
Before I could spiral too far, his voice tugged me back. “What about you?” he asked, turning toward me with that crooked grin that always disarmed me. “How does it feel watching your husband crush it on the ice?”
Husband.
The word danced across my skin, unfamiliar and thrilling and a little terrifying. He said it so easily—like it was already carved into stone. My heart stuttered before speeding up.
“I’m proud,” I said softly, the truth of it resting heavy and warm in my chest. I gave his hand a small squeeze, needing the contact, needing him to feel how much I meant it.
His smile grew, a softer version of the usual cocky smirk, and he leaned in until I could barely hear him over the music. “You should be.”
And just like that, the club melted away—the noise, the people, the pulsing lights. All I could feel was him, warm beside me, grounded and solid, like an anchor in a storm I didn’t realize I’d been weathering.
Then he stood, holding out his hand to me, his eyes glowing with that reckless kind of joy I’d only ever seen on the ice. “Dance?”
There wasn’t a single second of hesitation in me.
I slipped my hand into his, letting him pull me to my feet, and we melted into the crowd—bodies moving, lights swirling, music thumping through our bones. And as I let myself sway against him, laugh against his neck, and feel his hands anchor me in the blur—I realized I didn’t feel lost anymore.
Not with him.
Not tonight.
Nick guided me onto the dance floor, his hand warm and steady in mine, and the moment our bodies touched, I melted into him like I was made for this. The music pulsed around us—slow, deliberate, sensual. It wrapped around us like silk, folding us into a world where nothing else existed.
We moved in sync, our rhythm effortless, our bodies closer than the space between heartbeats. The lights blurred, the crowd became a smear of movement and noise—but none of it touched me. Not when Nick was here, his touch grounding me, his presence carving out space for us in the chaos.
His hand found my waist, fingers spreading just enough to make me shiver, to remind me exactly who I belonged to. His thumb stroked over the curve of my hip like a promise he had no intention of breaking.
Then a voice slurred behind me—too close, too drunk.
“Hey sweetheart, care to dance?”
I barely had time to react before Nick stepped forward, his arm coming up fast, elbow pressing into the guy’s collarbone like he’d done it a thousand times before. No words. Just a look that could kill, and the drunk backed off immediately, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd.
My heart was pounding, not with fear—but with something hotter, darker.
Nick leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice low and rough from restraint. “You okay?”
I tightened my fingers around his, anchoring myself in the heat rolling off him. “Yeah,” I whispered back.
Nick looked down at me with that wolfish smile—the one that said he already knew. His eyes were lit with something protective and possessive, something feral and raw. And it didn’t scare me.
It thrilled me.
We moved again; the music turning slow and thick, wrapping around our bodies like heat. Every brush of his chest against mine sparked little fires under my skin. Every pass of his palm down my back had me clinging tighter.
People stared. I saw it out of the corner of my eye—murmurs, sideways glances. Whispers wrapped in envy or confusion or maybe even judgment.
But I didn’t flinch.
Not tonight.
Not when Nick was looking at me like this, not when his hands were on me like I was the only thing that mattered. Not when he pulled me tighter and said against my temple, “Just ignore them. None of it matters.”
