He sidles up next to her about twenty seconds before the wheel of people will begin to turn. Leans down and says into her ear, “You want to?”
Grace looks up at him, heart fluttering slightly in her chest. “I’ve only done this one a couple of times,” she admits, because it’d be easier to make an excuse and run off than it would be to stand at his side for the next four minutes, holding his hands and moving with him. Easier and significantly less dangerous. “I don’t know if I remember it.”
Crew is undeterred. He nods, then turns until he’s elbow to elbow with her. “That’s all right,” he says, giving her a little smirk.
Cocky and self-assured aboutdancing? She never would’ve guessed. “I can keep us in line,” he states, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s no skin off his nose to make sure she steps in the right direction. He lifts his hands, starts to reach one over her shoulder. With a slightly playful look in his eyes, he asks, “May I?”
Grace nods, then reaches up to grab both of his hands—the one near her chest, and the one that now lies over her right shoulder. His grip is somehow firm and soft, and his hands engulf hersentirely. Heat seeps from his palms into her skin, and Grace takes a deep, centering breath. Then the circle of people starts to move.
The song somehow simultaneously lasts for an eon and mere minutes. Crew’s grip on her never falters. It’s all well and good, really, nothing too crazy—but then they get to the bit where she is supposed to stand in front of him and…well, by looking at the people on either side of her, it would appear that she’s meant to swivel her hips to the beat while he continues to hold her hands. She glances at him over her shoulder the first time this happens, unsure of herself, and a moment passes before she’s able to follow along. They go back to marching hand in hand.
“Sorry,” Grace murmurs, flushing.
“Don’t be,” Crew says, squeezing the hand he holds at her shoulder.
When it happens again, Grace doesn’t miss it. She turns, giving him her back, holding both of his hands over her shoulders. There’s little space between them; she can feel his breath against her hair, the heat from his chest. She sees June a few feet away, laughing as she sways in front of Cooper, giving the move a flourish that’s all confidence and allure. Grace sucks in a quick breath and decides she may as well try to do the same.
What occurs then isn’t an exact impression of June, but it’s not terrible, either. Grace has always had some hint of rhythm, has always been able to keep up with beats and tempo. Dancing is no different—she is nowhere near an expert, but she can move her body to music in a way that doesn’t look clumsy or stilted. She sways, lets the song direct her, lets herself momentarily forget who stands behind her, holding her hands, watching. Her body moves toward the floor, then back up again with a natural finesse she has never been more grateful for.
Crew’s thumbs brush across the backs of her hands, and Grace shivers.
Toward the end of the song, the uniformity of the crowd begins to dissipate—couples start doing their own thing during the standing-in-front-of-your-partner bit. Elaborate twirls and dips; Mikey’s partner even jumps into his arms and lets him spin her around. Grace is more confident than she was at the start, but notthatconfident, so when the last round of it begins, she does only what feels natural, bending the rules of the dance just a hair. Without really thinking about it, she moves their joined hands from the tops of her shoulders to her hips, bringing his arms around her rather than above her. Crew lets out a quick breath, surprised at the adjustment, but he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t miss a beat. For a brief moment when his hands release hers, Grace panics, thinking she’s crossed a line, rung a bell that can never be unrung. Ruined everything with her attempt at being bold andfun.But then he grips her hips instead, his thumbs digging pleasantly into the bones there through the thin material of her dress.
Grace’s breath hitches in her throat. His hold is so— Nothing about Crew has ever struck her as timid, or meek, or anything but firm. His hold is no different. He holds her like a decision he’s made that won’t be contested, like a statement of fact rather than a show of desire.
Subtly, slowly, he drags her backward. With only seconds left of this part of the dance, they have little time to continue going off script, but he takes advantage anyway. Brings her flush against his chest, lets his chin dip until his nose brushes against the tip of her ear.
Though she wants to, though every fiber in her being is screaming at her to do so, she doesn’t lean back into him. She can’t—withthe flickering flames being stoked in her belly by his every touch, every caress, she can’t be held responsible for what would happen if she were to give in entirely. Not right now. Not here.
So she lets the music pull them apart, moves back to his side, and regrets it immediately when his hands leave her hips and return to their original places at her side and shoulder. They start to march, and she chances a peek up at him, finding him already looking at her.
They don’t say anything, but then, they’ve never had to say much to convey what it is they’re feeling. The language they share through eye contact has evolved since they first met—in the beginning, it was a lot ofAre you actually fucking kidding me?kinds of glares. Then, when they started to warm to each other, the looks softened along with the messages. They became more concerned, more curious, more reassuring.
It seems now they’ve progressed into new territory again, if Grace’s gut holds any truth. Because what she reads in Crew’s eyes is simple and direct, the same way he always is, but there’s something else, too. Something unexpected that leads to a little throb between her legs.
Something that looks—undeniably—like hunger.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
When Grace falls into herbunk that night, it feels like she’s floating. The makeup is scrubbed from her face, the curls in her hair are frizzy remnants of their original glory, but it doesn’t matter. On this night, she danced. She’s still riding that high, wanting to prolong it as much as possible, so she reaches for her phone and earbuds, ready to hear that second song, the one she moved to like water. The one Crew held her through, his gripwarm and unfaltering on her hips. But when she turns the phone on, a notification pops up that not only dampens her good mood—it drowns her in a sea of icy dread.
A text from an unknown number, but Grace knows exactly who it is. His utter lack of intelligence practically screams through each letter. And still, her stomach turns at the words, the boldness of them. The recklessness.
I no u sent tht bitch sniffing round here
Do u think I can’t get 2 u, Gracie? ?
Did U rlly think u were safe there??
Chapter 12
Caia leaves the next morning before dawn. Crew’s taillights beam as they drive away from the property, painting the gravel below the tires in a blanket of red. The ranch hands have already begun to scatter, trudging toward the first of their duties for the day. They are a symphony of yawns and hungover groans.
Forty walks with Grace toward the stables. He’s been tasked with cleaning the pens and grooming the horses—they’ve got a group of potential buyers coming in from Fort Worth later in the day, and everything needs to look presentable. Not that it ever doesn’t—Crew runs a tight ship—but if a little extra elbow grease gets them a better deal, Forty will happily oblige.
“Have fun last night?” he asks her in a thick morning voice.
Grace, having slept fitfully after staring at Bellamy’s texts for hours on end, manages a sleepy smile. Her eyelids feel heavy, ready to shut, even as she plods toward the barn. If given the chance, she could lie down right here in the grass and take a long, hard nap. “Yeah,” she says. “It was nice.”
