Her look could freeze hell. “Absolutely not.”
“Your form is too rigid.” I move closer without quite touching her. “Let go a little.” Before she can retreat, I capture her hands in mine and pull her up.
“The whole point is to have control,” she argues, but her fingers curl into mine despite her protests.
“Sometimes control comes from surrender.” I guide her into a gentle spin, keeping my touch light.
“This is ridiculous!” She stumbles, colliding with my chest. I fight the urge to pull her closer. “I’m supposed to be learning choreography!”
“And I’m helping you.” I place a hand on her waist to steady her, the thin fabric of her shirt doing nothing to mask the heat radiating off her. “My coach, Lev, scariest Russian bastard you’ll ever meet, made us take ballet and ballroom when we got sloppy in training. Seemed ridiculous, but it worked.”
Reese looks skeptical, but she starts to sway, her body unconsciously leaning into mine. “Tantsuy so mnoy,” I murmur, my lips barely brushing her ear. “Come on, dance with me.”
“I don’t know about this.” She hesitates but doesn’t pull away.
I let the music guide us. It pulses through the speaker on my phone as I lead her across the floor. I tower over her rigid frame and hum along to the song with an easy smile.
“Relax. This isn’t the Charleston.” Her face remains carefully neutral. “Like this—it’s like advancing and retreating with your sword.” She follows my lead, still too formal, still thinking too hard. My hand finds her waist, steadying her before gliding to the small of her back and guiding her through a turn. “Swordplay is its own kind of dance,” I tell her. “Let it flow through you. Light. Fluid.”
“This isn’t helping.”
“Let me worry about that,” I say, twirling her out of my arms and giving in to my wilder impulses. I drop to the floor with theatrical flair, belting the wrong lyrics out as I go. She stares at me with equal parts exasperation and fascination.
Then it happens. A laugh bursts out of her, and slowly, deliciously, she starts moving to the music. All unconscious sensuality.
“There we go. You’re loosening up,” I say, standing back up. “Now. Say your lines.”
“I feel ridiculous,” she mutters. Her fingers brush against mine as she moves—definitely not an accident, though we’ll both pretend it is for the sake of her carefully constructed boundaries.
“Humor me.”
And she does.
Not only does she humor me, but she nails every single line, the words rolling off her tongue. There’s this new fire in her voice I haven’t heard before—the rhythm’s unlocked somethingferal and real inside her. When she finishes, those brown eyes go wide, like she can’t quite believe what just happened.
“Keep moving,” I encourage. She’s all hips and strong arms, moving with a sway that’s impossible to ignore. When she catches me staring—oh, and I’m definitely staring—I don’t look away.
I grab her sword, bringing it over. “Keep listening to the music and watch me in the mirror,” I say, retrieving my own blade. I stand beside her, getting into position. “Ready to dance, fighter?”
“What do you want me to do?” She laughs.
“Repeat after me.”
We flow through her sequence, and fuck, it’s mesmerizing. Every step of hers lands exactly where it needs to. My chest tightens with a rush of pride because I knew she had this in her, she just needed the right push to unleash it.
“Again,” I call out, “but this time, I want to hear those lines. Loud and clear!”
Her words cut through the music.
“Yes, Reese! That’s exactly it!”
Her face lights up with pure victory as she twists around. We’re both on a high. There’s a flash in her eyes, a split second where she realizes we’re crossing lines we can’t uncross.
And yeah, maybe I’m looking at her like she’s everything I want wrapped up in one stunning package. Maybe that’s exactly what’s got her spooked.
Can’t bring myself to care, though. Not when she’s in front of me like this, her whole being illuminated beautifully.
As a fencer,I’m trained to pick up the most subtle shifts in movement. It’s a sixth sense, honed over a decade. Walking with Reese at midnight is no different.
