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Four seconds passed, my heart thundering in my throat, before Cam tugged me off the dance floor.

Thirty-Eight

Cam led me to a quieter room where guests crowded an open bar in one corner. In a furtive rush, he pulled me through a door into a small area lit only by dimmed wall sconces. It must have been used as a bridal suite during weddings, but it was empty now. White chairs sat stacked in twos and threes at the periphery, and a dressing table with a large mirror took up one wall.

I wandered to the middle of the room. “What⁠—”

“I’m not missing my chance this time,” he said, advancing on me.

I backed away compulsively, sparks crawling up and down my spine.

“I meant to take things slow, and I will, if that’s what you want. But I’ve waited so long, and you are so close.”

A breath hitched in my throat, and I wanted to tell him, I’ve been waiting too, but the words wouldn’t emerge.

His hands clenched and unclenched. “You are nearly impossible to read—you were back then, too—but I can see the same light in your eyes I saw when we were eighteen.”

He continued to stalk me, a predator trussed up in a fine tuxedo. I retreated step-by-step, hardly aware of anything except him and the clambering pulse in my limbs and belly.

His eyes shone in the dark, winking light at me with each pass over my face, my body. “I was too blind to realize what that light meant back then, but I get it now. You want this too, don’t you?”

Air still stuck in my throat, I offered a nod.

A small huff of relief escaped his lungs. “Good.”

My backside bumped into the dressing table, but he maintained his slow prowl toward me, full of intent.

I should have told him to stop. I should have told him about his father, about the things he might lose if he took this dive with me. But I didn’t. Those thoughts floated to the very surface of a fathomless lake inside, one composed of every charged glance, each whispered tease, every single second of knowing deep in my bones that this man differed from all the others. Better in every way. The place I belonged.

The scent of his cologne played chicken with my good sense, spiking my blood with lust. He stopped mere inches from my body, looking down into my face. “I just have one question.”

“W-what?”

“Did my father offer you money to stay away from me?”

My eyes widened. “What?”

“You said I was making it hard for you. I thought maybe he offered you money to stay away from me, or to not date me⁠—”

I pressed my fingers over his mouth. “He didn’t offer me money to stay away from you.”

His body relaxed. “Care to tell me what he said?”

I laughed and dropped my hand. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

He leaned closer, hovering over me. “If I kiss you, will I find you crying in another man’s arms afterward?”

I smiled. “I don’t know. Depends on how bad the kiss is.”

He hummed, eyes narrowed, and with one smooth move, he bent and set his mouth on mine.

Soft lips, fitting like a puzzle piece, and it had barely begun before the end stretched out before me. Like a shooting star, this thing between us would burn bright and beautiful, then disappear into the horizon. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, from hopping on the star and throwing my hands in the air, eager for the ride.

Nothing lasts forever. That was what I told myself. That was how I excused it. Better to have him for a short time, even though it would end in an aching, unhealing wound when he turned me away. One day, this would all be a memory, an inevitable montage of regrets. One day, I’d watch as he walked away from me, as he found happiness with someone else. Someone who garnered his father’s approval. Someone who deserved him.

Right then, I didn’t care.

That elusive butterfly of happiness was within my grasp, and I couldn’t help myself.