She hesitated. Then her hand slid into mine.
I led her to the edge of the dance floor and drew her in—one hand at her waist, the other holding hers at shoulder height. She was tense at first, her body rigid with the effort of being this close to me in public after three weeks of careful distance.
“Follow my lead,” I murmured.
“I don’t really dance.”
“I’ve got you.”
After a few bars, something in her loosened. The tension in her shoulders softened. Her body found the rhythm, and then found me, and the difference between those two things was a distance I felt closing with every step.
She was lighter than I expected. Or maybe I was just hyperaware of every point of contact—her hand in mine, her waist under my palm, the brush of her hip against my thigh when I guided her through a turn.
“See?” I said. “You’re a natural.”
“I have a good lead.” She glanced up and the look in her green eyes hit me somewhere below the sternum.
My hand moved from her waist to her hip. I didn’t decide to do it. It just happened, the way my hand had found her back at the entrance—my body making decisions my brain hadn’t authorized. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she moved closer, and the room shrank to the space between us.
“The earrings,” I said, because I needed to say something before I did something unforgivable in front of two hundred people. “What made you choose them?”
She touched one self-consciously. “They were simple. I’m not one for flashy jewelry.”
“Noted.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I was betting myself they’d be your favorite.”
Something shifted in her expression. Softened. “They’re borrowed. Like everything else tonight.”
“The earrings may be borrowed.” I guided her through another turn, holding her gaze. “But the intelligence, the passion, the brilliance—that’s all yours. That’s what matters here.”
The music ended. I didn’t let go. Neither did she. We stood there, connected, her hand still in mine, my palm warm against the silk at her hip.
Her breathing had changed. So had mine.
“There’s something I want to show you,” I said.
The research wing was quiet. I swiped Destry’s key card at the heavy doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and led her through.
“How do you have access to?—”
“My brother Destry’s a marine biologist. His research is conducted here when he’s not at sea.” I held the door for her. “Also, there’s nothing like money to provide access.”
She laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of her—and the sound went through me like current.
The main chamber took her breath away. I knew it would. Three stories of crystalline water, bioluminescent organisms drifting through the artificial current system, points of ethereal blue and green pulsing like underwater stars. The technology was staggering—but I wasn’t watching the technology.
I was watching her discover it.
Charlie moved toward the observation windows with the reverence of someone entering a cathedral. Her reflection inthe glass was ghosted by the blue light, and the wonder on her face—open, unguarded, completely stripped of the professional armor she wore like a second skin—undid three weeks of careful distance in about four seconds.
“This is incredible,” she breathed.
I moved behind her. Close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough that when I spoke, my breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I said.
