The thumping music faded and a slower song replaced it, filtering across the yard to where they sat. Knightley immediately recognized it as “Unchained Melody,” but a modern cover, only a solitary woman’s voice and a piano.
“Well, this isn’t techno,” he murmured.
She laughed softly. “Definitely not.”
He stood and took a few steps toward the garden, then motioned her forward.
She froze, eyes wide, a small smile still on her face. “What?”
“C’mere.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you to dance, Woodhouse.”
Her smile faltered, and she looked up at him like he had said something substantial. Something that mattered. Perhaps he had. There was a heavy weight somewhere in his chest that feltlike it was constricting his breath, waiting for her reply before it snapped free.
Then she stood. Her smile had faded, but her eyes were still locked with his.
“Then ask me,” she said.
He took his time walking back to her, stopping with only inches between them.
“Would you like to dance, Emma?”
She didn’t answer, and for a moment Knightley thought she would say no. But then she put one hand on his chest and the other in his outstretched hand. With bare feet, her head barely met his shoulder, but she still fit against him perfectly as he pulled her close and began to sway with the music.
Knightley had never learned to dance, not properly, but then, this wasn’t dancing. Nothing as choreographed or planned as that. This was his chance to just hold her, to feel her body against his for a few precious minutes.
A soft sigh and he felt her forehead rest against his chest. The rigidness of her body faded and she became pliable in his arms, molding to his planes and angles as if all resistance had been abandoned. Yes, he knew that feeling. This battle he had been waging, this struggle for the status quo, to keep them right where they had always been, it was exhausting. He didn’t even know when it had begun, but he couldn’t maintain it. And at that moment, moving together to the music, he could feel himself begin to give up.
There was a rise in the voices from inside, some cheering and yelling and suddenly the music cut out as the DJ’s voice thundered through the night air. “Here we go, everybody! Get ready! 10… 9… 8… 7…”
Knightley froze, his arms still around Emma as she pulled back enough to look up at him.
“… 6… 5… 4…”
She was so close he could see the white tendrils of her warm breath in the cold air. He could just lean down; her lips were only inches away…
“… 3… 2… 1! Happy New Year!”
Screams and cheers and laughing exploded from the house, echoing off the buildings around them. But it all sounded far away, so fucking distant as he stared down at her.
“Happy New Year, Emma,” he murmured.
“Happy New Year,” she replied. Her voice was raspy and deep.
He leaned down and grazed his lips against her cheek. But he didn’t pull back. He couldn’t. She smelled sweet, her perfume mixed with the warmth of her body, withher, and he couldn’t help how his grip tightened, how he held her against his body as if she were about to disappear.
He turned his head slightly so his lips were hovering over hers, breathing the same air—a mix of champagne and whiskey and heat. She sighed and tilted her head up, pressing her body against his.
“Emma…” he growled, but the rest of his words became vapor in his throat, fading as he groaned. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, bring her home and worry about the consequences later. Nothing else mattered in that moment, nothing would if—
“Emma!” Nadine’s voice cut through the air.
Knightley froze as Emma’s body tensed under his fingers. Neither of them breathed as they heard her name again.
“Emma! Where are you? Happy New Year!”
