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She laughs softly, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine where we’re pressed together. “You’re not subtle, Sinclair.”
My hand tightens instinctively. “Never claimed to be.”
We move together in a slow rhythm, her body following mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before. The warmth of her seeps through my clothes, and her sweet scent overwhelms my senses until I’m dizzy with it.
“You clean up nice,” she says, tipping her chin up, eyes tracing over my face. “The whole brooding-in-a-tux thing really works for you.”
“Is that right?”
She nods, smug and bright. “Devastating. Like, criminal levels of hot.”
I bark out a laugh, tightening my hold on her waist and pulling her just a fraction closer. “Funny,” I murmur, voice rough in a way I can’t quite smooth out. “I was just thinking you are the most beautiful thing in this room.”
Her breath hitches, just barely, but I feel it. Right beneath my hand.
She wants to deflect with a smartass comment—I can see it forming on her lips—but then she falters, blinking up at me.
“Beau—”
“I mean it, Red.”
And I do. God help me, I really do. She’s stunning.
Whitley doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the moment.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it, she says, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”
“What?”
Her hand tightens against my shoulder. “Just now. You laughed. I didn’t think you knew how.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I know how.”
She tilts her head, that spark in her eyes catching like dry kindling. “You just choose not to?”
“Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right reason.” I ease her in, my hand settling a little lower. She’s all silk and temptation, and the feel of her this close messes with every damn boundary I’ve tried to keep in place.
“And what would that reason be?”
The words are out before I can stop them. “You.”
She stills, her eyes widening. For once, Whitley Collins has nothing to say.
I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Look at that,” I tease. “I finally found something that leaves you speechless.”
That snaps her back into herself. Her eyes narrow, that sass returning faster than a tide rolling in. “Don’t get cocky, Sinclair. I’ve got enough words to drown you.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The song fades into another, something with a little more swing, but neither of us moves to leave the floor. We just sort of…orbit each other, the gravitational pull impossible to break. She’s grinning now, the kind of smile that starts with her mouth but takes over her whole face, and I’d do anything to keep seeing it.
“Was the wall thing at the rehearsal really about showing me who’s boss,” she asks, arching an eyebrow, “or did you just want an excuse to get your hands on me?”
I slide my hand higher, splaying my palm between her shoulder blades. “Why can’t it be both?”
She laughs, pressing close enough that I can feel the curve of her hip against mine. “Touché.”
I smirk, unable to trust myself to respond with words, and twirl her under my arm just so I can see the surprise on her face. She spins back into my chest, and this time I grip her waist, fingers digging gently into the soft burgundy fabric, holding her there.
