A tight smile, a smile that’s holding back fury. “I hope to. Got one right on the edges of my mind, but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
One side of Storm’s mouth tips up in a half smile. His lips are thin, I notice, but not so thin that they can’t take hold of mine and claim them for himself.
“Would I know about your invention?” is all Storm asks.
We stand there for a long, awkward silence. Devlin must’ve forgotten what’s going on, so I clear my throat and glare at him. His eyes snap from Storm’s back to me.
“That’s right. You were cutting in. Well, Grayson, that’s usually not how these things are done?—”
“Yes, you can have me,” I declare like a heroine in a bodice-ripping novel.Have me?Did I really just say that? Why don’t I wrap myself up in a bow and show up at his hotel room later? That would look less desperate than I sound right now.
Also, Ovie would die if she heard me throwing myself at Grayson. Or would she? She does want me to marry, after all.
Before Devlin can embarrass himself by arguing about the etiquette of Storm cutting in, I unhook my hand from his shoulder and tug the other one from his grasp.
At first he doesn’t want to let go, but one sizzling look from me and he releases his hold.
I turn to Grayson and smile. There are other people on the dance floor, and the music has shifted from the tempo ofsweat bathto one that’s more like lounging in a pool float on a summer’s day.
Perfect for getting to know Storm.
Devlin slinks away like a hyena who’s stolen his latest meal, while I beam up at my new dance partner. Even though he’s tall, I’m not overextending my elbow joint in order to rest my hand on his shoulder, and I’m not looking up his nostrils and seeing his brain. This is a good start.
Also, his hand is warm, not sweaty, and when he begins to dance, he’s easy to follow. One gentle touch from Storm and I know which way that we’re moving, as if it’s instinct.
Not trying to get ahead of myself here, but this might be a perfect match.
Better rein in that enthusiasm. At least for now.
“Blair Thornrose,” he purrs. “I’m Storm Grayson.”
I’ve never been properly instructed on how to introduce myself to a celebrity. Are you supposed to pretend like you don’t know who they are? Or are you supposed to say,I know exactly who you are.Sounds kinda desperate and way too fangirl for me.
So I just go with, “It’s nice to meet you.”
He quirks a brow in intrigue. “You mean, you’re not going to ask how I know who you are?”
Time to flirt this up. An innocent shrug seems appropriate. “I assume you asked and someone told you. After all, the ball invitations have my name on them.”
He stares down at me, and a little shiver of excitement threads throughout my body. “They do. But there are plenty of other eligible bachelorettes here.”
Why is he talking about them? “But you’re not dancing with them.”
“No, I’m not.”
I grin. “So you did seek me out.”
He smiles, and it’s like seeing the heavens part. Nothing like the arrogant smiles that are Devlin Ross’s forte—you know, how one side of his mouth becomes lopsided like he’s totally innocent of all wrongdoing when it’s obvious that he’s Satan himself.
My body certainly responds to him like he’s the devil.
Stop thinking about Devlin and focus on Storm.
“I did look for you,” he confesses.
From the corner of my eye, my grandmother edges to the rim of the ballroom, watching us with the intensity of an eagle about to steal a meal from a hawk.
Can someone please stop her?
