Then he smiled tightly. “Sure, man.”
He stepped back as Dani turned to face me. Surprise flickered across her face before her expression turned to awareness.
“Thought you didn’t dance,” she said over the music, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I don’t.”
She arched a brow.
“One song,” I said, holding out my hand.
When she placed her hand in mine, it was light, before she finally allowed her fingers to curl around mine, almost as if she was testing to see if she were truly welcome.
We swayed, stiff at first. Shoulders squared, posture locked by habit as my senses narrowed to the slick silk of the dress sliding over her hips. And the citrus and floral scent that rose as I drew her closer.
“You okay there?” she teased gently.
“I don’t dance,” I reminded her.
“I noticed,” she said, smiling. “You’re doing fine.”
I wasn’t, because this wasn’t just movement. It was proximity, heat, awareness. The kind that strips control down to something thinner than I was comfortable with.
My foot caught slightly, breaking rhythm, and my grip tightened instinctively at her waist.
But she didn’t pull away, didn’t even react, she just stayed there continuing to move her feet without acknowledging it.
I quickly regained my footing, not bothering with anything more than moving with the rhythm.
“You didn’t have to come rescue me,” she said, as if she’d been holding her tongue waiting for the right moment.
“I didn’t.” I replied, a little colder than I intended.
Her eyes searched mine. “Then why are you here?”
What was I going to say?Because watching you with him made me want to put my fist through something. Because I didn’t like how easy he looked with you.
Instead, I said, “Didn’t want to piss off the Bride.”
Her mouth opened again, something else ready, but nothing came out. And as she studied me; it was evident that she didn’t quite buy it. But she didn’t pull away.
My eyes dropped, taking inventory of the woman in from of me: her bare feet in the grass, red-painted toes pressing into the lawn. Then up again, catching the light freckles across her nose, her honey brown eyes, the soft curve of her mouth.
I dragged my gaze away.
“So,” she said, glancing up, “are you this bad at all social events, or just weddings?”
“Pretty much all of ’em, darlin’. I mostly come for Harper.”
Her head bent, causing the dusting of light freckles on her face to light up in the overhead glow. She was several inches shorter than I, maybe 5’7” or 5’8”, but I couldn’t help but notice how she fit against me.
Yeah. I didn’t stand a chance.
“You know,” she said after a beat, “for a guy who claims he doesn’t dance, you weren’t half bad,” she said as the music swelled, and her hip pressed closer. The warmth of her seeping through layers of fabric and restraint.
And for one dizzying beat, I lost all sense of control. My body ached toward hers, blood pounding, desire startling me with it’s force.
Then a loud cheer from the crowd burst through the air and snapped me back to reality. The reception pressed in andthe world reminded me this moment of quiet longing was only borrowed.
