Jack finds us a spot near the middle and turns to face me, his hands already reaching for me. “Fair warning, I’m not great at this.”
“That makes two of us,” I say, though I’m fully prepared to embarrass myself.
He reaches for my hand, placing his other hand on my waist with confidence that contradicts his words, and when the band shifts into the next song, he starts to move. I immediately realize he’s lying through his teeth. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s confident, leading me through steps with the kind of ease that only comes from practice and natural rhythm.
“You’re a liar,” I accuse, laughing as he spins me out and pulls me back in smoothly. “You said you weren’t great at this.”
“I said I’m not great, not that I’m terrible,” he says as he leads me through another turn that makes my head spin pleasantly. “And I like keeping you on your toes, remember? I had a girlfriend briefly when I was twenty who was obsessed with salsa dancing. So we went out a lot and I picked up a few things.”
“Thank her for me later,” I say, and I can hear the breathlessness in my own voice, and can feel my heart racing. A guy who can actually dance is ridiculously, unfairly attractive. And when that guy is Jack Midnight, with his hands on my waist and those green eyes locked on mine like I’m the only person in this entire packed room, and his body moving against mine with perfect rhythm? I’m inwayover my head. Drowning and not even trying to surface.
We keep moving, and gradually I start to relax into it. Stop thinking so hard about where my feet should go and just feel the music instead. The percussion vibrates through the floorboards, and the horns cut through everything, bright and joyful and demanding.
Jack spins me again, and this time I don’t stumble or hesitate. When he pulls me back in, I have to tilt my head all the way back to look up at him. He’s so tall, and solid, and warm, and the way he’s holding me makes me feel both completely safe and utterly reckless at the same time.
“You’re actually really good at this yourself,” he says, his voice warm with approval that makes pride bloom in my chest.
“That’s only because you’re a good lead,” I point out breathlessly, my words coming fast.
Around us, the other dancers are in their own worlds. An older couple moving with the kind of synchronization that only comes from years together. A group of friends laughing as they try to coordinate some complicated move. A woman dancing solo with such pure joy on her face it makes me smile just watching her.
The song builds, tempo picking up, and Jack matches it perfectly. His hands tighten on my waist as he leads me through faster steps, more spins, and I’m laughing, breathless, feeling more alive than I have in years.
“Having fun?” Jack asks, his mouth close to my ear so I can actually hear him over the music and the crowd.
“So much fun,” I admit. When was the last time I felt like this? Completely present, completely in my body, completely free? I honestly can’t remember.
Jack’s hand stays firm on my back, guiding me through turns and steps with confidence, and I stop overthinking and just follow his lead, letting the music take over. For once I’m not in my head about performing or being perfect. I’m just dancing. Just having fun.
We dance through two more songs, then three. My hair is starting to stick to the back of my neck with sweat, my heart is racing, and I can’t stop smiling.
The fourth song starts with a shift in mood. Still upbeat but with a sensual undercurrent that changes everything. Around us, dancers pull their partners closer, movements becoming more intimate.
Jack hesitates for just a second, his eyes meeting mine like he’s asking permission. Then he draws me in. Closer.Much closer.Our bodies are pressed together now, moving together as one, and I can feel the heat radiating off him through his shirt. His hand slides from my waist to my back, fingers splaying wide and possessive, and I have to look up to meet his eyes because of the height difference.
The space between us has shrunk to almost nothing, and every single point where we touch feels electric, charged. His hand on my back burning through my shirt. My hand in his, our fingers intertwined. The way our hips move together with the music, synchronized without any conscious effort. The solid strength of him as he leads me through the steps, so sure and confident and completely in control.
This stopped being fake somewhere between the beach and here. Who am I kidding? It was never really fake at all. Not for me. Maybe not for him either, judging by the way he’s looking at me right now.
The song shifts, tempo slowing but the rhythm getting deeper, more sensual. Around us, couples press together, lost in the music and each other. His hand tightens on my back. My fingers curl into his shirt. We’re not really dancing anymore, just swaying together, bodies pressed flush, and the tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe through it.
“Lark…” he says, and my name is a warning and a question and a plea all at once.
I tilt my face up, and we’re so close now I can feel his breath on my lips. “Jack.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and stays there, intense and focused. His hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair at the base of my skull, and the warmth of his palm against my skin, the slight pressure of his fingers, sends shivers down my spine despite the oppressive heat, despite how much I’m sweating.
My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it, sure everyone can hear it over the music.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice barely audible over the music, over the blood rushing in my ears.
“No,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel. I’m done pretending I don’t want this. Done lying to myself.
“Lark—”
“No,” I repeat, more firmly this time, and rise up on my toes, closing the last bit of distance between us.
The second my lips touch his, he responds instantly, pulling me against him with enough force that I gasp into his mouth. He tastes like whiskey, and when he bites my lower lip I moan, opening my mouth for him, inviting him in, giving him everything.
