“Fine.”
Ben’s lips tip up, and I see way too much satisfaction in his blue eyes. He thinks he’s won, but he hasn’t seen my dance moves yet.
I let him lead me to the dance floor as the band picks a peppier number, drawing more couples in. He tugs me against his chest, his smile vanishing the second my heel finds his foot.
He winces but recovers, attempting to glide me across the floor. I yank hard to the right, sending his shoulder straight into another couple. Ben apologizes, then tightens his grip, challenge flashing in his eyes.
“I took you for a better dancer, Billy.” He spins me out and pulls me back in hard enough I crash into his chest, sending a rush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the dance.
I willnotromanticize this—no matter how much my heart wants to.
“Your mistake,Craig.” I stomp on his toe again, satisfied when his jaw twitches and his eyes water. “We don’t make good partners.”
Ben raises a brow, and my traitorous heart flutters like a communist sympathizer.
“You don’t think so?” His hand settles firmly against the small of my back, guiding me with smooth, deliberate steps. We move in perfect sync—too perfect—twisting and turning as the room blurs around us. His eyes never leave mine, and after a few more spins, I can’t help it. I laugh. Deep, soul-renewing laughter that I haven’t experienced since... the last time I was with Ben. He smiles back appreciatively, like I just gave him a gift, and there’s an undeniable and unexpected spark—a mix of comfort and something fragile—that makes my heart beat a little faster.
He spins me again, and for a moment, it’s like we were made for this, like that older couple with years of practice, and suddenly all the emotions I buried years ago come rushing back with a single, undeniable thought—I’m still in love with him.
Gazing into his blue eyes, I see the boy who made me feel safe. Wanted.Worthy.And now he’s here, making me feel all of it again.
The music slows, but Ben doesn’t let go. His fingers skim my waistas we sway, his eyes searching mine like he’s fighting a war I don’t understand.
“What are you doing talking to Milosh Kamarov?”
The question snaps me out of my Ben-trance, and just like that, I’m reminded of the dangerous game Ben might be playing. My chest tightens, and the warmth that lingered between us evaporates in an instant. This isn’t a fairy tale. Ben is involved in something I barely understand, something dark and risky, something that has Athena worried, and I have to remind myself why I’m here—why I can’t afford to get too close. Ben knows exactly how to use his charm to disarm me, and I can’t let that happen. But if he’s playing me, I’ll play him right back.It takes two to tango.
I raise a brow. “You dragged me to the dance floor to ask me about my conversation?”
He grins. “It works for James Bond.”
“You’re not James Bond.”
“Come on.” Ben tilts his head. “I’mkind oflike James Bond.” He twirls me out and reels me back in, our bodies colliding. I scowl at how annoyingly good he smells. “I got you safely out of the spilled cappuccino debacle, then rescued you from the dangerous fruit cart, and let’s not forget the cat that nearly got you killed on the ledge.Allvery Bond-like, if you ask me.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Newsflash, 007—I don’t need rescuing. Not from coffee, produce, or a charming billionaire.”
Ben’s eyes widen. “You find him charming?”
Not even a little bit, but you don’t get to know that.“Jealous?”
“Maybe.” His answer catches me off guard. “He doesn’t seem your type.”
I scoff. “And you know my type?”
Why am I letting him get to me?
“It’s not Russian oligarch.” His gaze smolders. “Or an Italian in a wolf-man mask.”
So thatwasjealousy I saw on his face. “I don’t know. Did you see his clavicles?”
Ben’s jaw muscle tics, eyes narrowing. “No, can’t say I noticed his collarbones.”
“Your loss. They wereamazing,” I purr, thoroughly enjoying the turmoil I see brewing in Ben’s baby blues. “Why are you so interested in Kamarov?”
“He’s got great clavicles.” Ben surprises me with a low dip, and I let out a small yelp, my fingers instinctively gripping his solid arms. His lips hover dangerously close to mine, and for a brief moment, I think I’d have a better chance resisting chocolate than I would pushing Ben away right now. As he lifts me back up, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and whispers, “I’m more curious about why someone as sharp as you is working for Earl Edmond.”
“Why do you care?” I whisper back, my voice betraying the way my heart races at the question. I’m unsettled—not by the words, but by how badly I want to hear his answer.
