The light catches her again.
Green silk. Pale skin. Hair burnished to gold at the edges.
Everything about her stands out.
My gaze follows the line of her shoulders, the movement of her hands as she turns back to face me.
“Come here,” she says suddenly.
I hold my ground.
She smiles, a little wider, like she knew I’d resist.
“Seriously. For a second.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You don’t have to dance.” She waves her hand, beckons me forward. “Just stand here.”
There’s no conscious decision to go to her.
I just…do.
One step. Then another. Until I’m standing directly in front of her, close enough that the air between us isn’t air anymore.
It’s heat.
Her breathing shifts first.
Shallow. Uneven.
Mine follows a second later.
She lifts her hand toward mine. I catch her wrist before her fingers make contact, firm enough to halt her but not enough to push her away.
I feel it, the warmth of her skin, the shape of her bones. So delicate. Easy to break. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, like it’s trying to get away from me. Or move closer.
Her eyes flick down, then back up to my face.
“Still not allowed?” she asks softly.
“Not like that.”
“Then how?” she asks, eyes on mine.
I swallow, my heart knocking unevenly against my ribs. The thought isn’t new. It’s been there a lot recently, returning when it shouldn’t. What it would be like to touch her. To let her touch me. It used to turn my stomach. I used to shut it down before it could take hold.
Now, it stays.
Maybe something I’d consider.
Possibly enjoy.
My fingers wrap around hers slowly, as I decide how much of this I’ll allow. Her breath quickens as the air between us grows heavier, charged like it gets right before a lightning strike.
She steps closer without touching, stopping short of me, but it’s enough that the space between us stops being distance and becomes something else.
Her eyes stay fixed on mine, wide, blown open in a way that wasn’t there before.
