He watched her, waiting for the wall to go up again. Instead, she paused.
"I'm really not a dancer," she warned.
"Neither am I," he admitted with a grin. "But I'm willing to risk public humiliation if you are."
"One dance," she relented, placing her hand in his.
He closed his fingers gently, but deliberately, around hers and led her toward the edge of the dance floor. The band's cover of an old soul classic filled the room, sultry and smooth. He guided her into a loose hold, his hand settling at her waist—warm, steady, lingering a moment longer than shy. There was a subtle tension in her spine, and in the way she tracked each movement carefully, strategizing not just the dance, but what it meant to let him that close.
"See? Not so terrible," he murmured, voice low near her ear.
"I like knowing what comes next," she confessed, the breath behind her words brushing across his skin.
"That's the thing about dancing," he said. "Sometimes it's better when you don't know. When you just feel it."
He led her into a simple turn and her body tensed. Then she pressed back against him as she steadied herself. There wasn't much space between them now.
"Let me control it for a minute." He brushed his thumb over the curve of her waist. "Only for a minute. You can have all the control everywhere else."
She hesitated. Her breath caught and she forced away the flicker of resistance. And then, slowly, she gave in. Her body leaned into his more naturally, her movements trading sharpness for something fluid. Something responsive.
"There you go," he whispered, his lips shy of touching her temple. "See? The world doesn't end when you let go a little."
"The jury's still out on that," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
The music slipped into a slower, more intimate tempo. She slid her hand a fraction higher along his shoulder; her gaze lingered longer than casual. She pressed into him instinctively, her body fitting against his like a question waiting for an answer.
"You're getting the hang of this," he murmured, his breath grazing sensitive skin at her ear.
"Don't sound so surprised," she replied, voice lower. "I can follow directions when they make sense."
"Is that what we're doing here? Following directions?"
Her eyes met his—direct, uncertain, charged. "Isn't it?"
He smiled under the warm bar lights, his grip subtly tightening at her waist. "I think we might be improvising."
"I'm not good at improvising," she said with a hesitant smile, her mouth close enough to feel the shape of his on every word.
"Yet here you are." He turned her again, slow and deliberate, keeping her closer on the return. "Dancing with the man who makes underwear for a living."
She laughed, light and musical. "When you put it that way, this sounds like I've strayed pretty far from my comfort zone."
"The best things usually happen outside comfort zones," he replied, watching her take those words in. "I saw it on a T-shirt once, that's how I know it's true."
"This feels..." she began quietly.
"Dangerous?" he offered.
"Unexpected," she said, holding his gaze. "And the unexpected is always the most dangerous thing of all."
CHAPTER 13
41 DAYS UNTIL ANNA & DRAKE'S WEDDING
ZACH
The singer's voice faded into silence, drawing the song to a close. Around them, the bar resumed its usual energy. Zach kept holding her gaze for a beat longer.
