He swallows so hard his Adam’s apple bobs before he slowly extends the crook of his arm. When I don’t take it, he sighs heavily. “I don’t bite.”
My nerve endings fire on all cylinders at the thought of touching him on purpose, but we’ve come this far, and I planto call his bluff, to see if he really intended to go inside. I link my arm through his and feel him jolt at our touch.
He apparently finds me revolting. The feeling’s mutual.
“Shall we?” he extends his other arm, allowing me to lead the way to certain death—I mean,the ball.
“Sure.”
But neither of us take a step. He tips his head down and hitches a brow. “Anytime now.”
“Yes.”
I take one step, two, and he walks easily beside me, even with our height difference. I slide my gaze to the corner of my eye and notice that my head just brushes the top of his massively broad shoulder.
His gaze darts down to meet mine, and I jerk my eyes ahead of me.
We pass hedges, and I find myself looking longingly at them. If he hadn’t been here, my plan would’ve succeeded. I could’ve escaped.
Until Ovie found me and dragged me back, that was. If she didn’t shoot fire at me first.
We walk in silence until glass-lined French doors rise up in front of us.
He nods slightly (it occurs to me that I don’t even know his name) and the doors open by magic just as my aunt, who’s standing in the center of the ballroom, spins around and pins her scorching gaze on me. That look says it all—I’m in deep trouble. My soul shrivels just the tiniest bit.
“And the first to dance,” she says, biting out each word as she glares at me, “will be this couple.”
My stomach drops as we step inside and a string quartet begins to play, all eyes on us.
8
Not dancing. I hate dancing. I’m terrible at it.
But Ovie’s staring at me to begin, and every pair of eyes in the room is zeroed in on my face, making pinpricks crawl down my spine.
Mr. Arrogant’s breath caresses my ear as he leans down and says, “Shall we?”
There’s barely a chance to nod before I’m swept into his arms. His left hand slides around my waist while the roughly calloused fingers of his right hand brush against the soft inner flesh of mine.
My palm’s sweating so profusely I’m surprised salt water isn’t dripping onto the floor.
The music begins, setting a tempo that’s faster than I anticipate. My left foot stumbles over my right and I lurch forward.
ButArrogantcompensates, stepping closer and pulling me to him before my mistake becomes obvious to our audience.
“Thank you,” I murmur, glancing up into his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him inside, in actual light, and if it’s possible, he’s even more handsome under amber lamps than he is in moonlight.
His hair’s dark as charcoal, without a hint of gray, but there’s a heavy look in his eyes as if he’s lived many, many lives. He seems more than a decade older than my twenty-nine years. Not that I care about his age.
And not that I care that he’s touching me.
No, I don’t think about how tightly he’s holding me, how his fingers dig into my waist, pinning me to him, and how his touch is so scorching against my hand it feels like I’m being permanently mark by whatever evil wizard power he possesses. I certainly don’t think about the heat coming off him and how a slow bead of sweat trickles down my back from nervousness. Ithinkit’s nervousness. It’s probably anger since I clearly can’t stand this man. Look at me. I can’t even decipher my own emotions. His sheer presence has me all kinds of knotted up.
So instead of thinking about all of that, I focus on the music. It’s enchanting.
The violin’s sweet melody winds around us as he moves with fluid steps, more cautiously now that he’s realized I’m not quite as good at this as he is.
Of course he’s good at it. The man has to one-up me every chance he gets.
