“Well, the only person I want manhandling me right now is you. You promised me a dance.”
I slid him a look, but allowed the subject change. It was inevitable. I’d agreed to it earlier, and I wasn’t about to backtrack. No matter how much I might want to.
Following the ceremony, Ian had caught me in a moment of weakness. I’d been so damn grateful for the way he’d moved my sister to tears. For the way he’d spoken about Candace and Mercer and their love, the things he’d said.
I probably would have agreed to just about anything in that moment.
Now, Ian calmly waited, hand outstretched, intent to collect on my promise.
As if on cue, the music changed from upbeat and celebratory to something slow and romantic that I recognized from Candace’s playlist.
Resigned to my fate, I let Ian lead me out onto the dance floor. We passed other couples. Mac and Brady were fighting over who was going to lead. Becca had her head resting on Will’s shoulder as they swayed gently. And Candace and Mercer were wrapped up in one another. I was glad they were taking some time for themselves.
Ian’s warm hand settled against my bare back, and I fought a shiver.
He looked good in his dark suit, the tailored fabric soft beneath my palms. It struck me again how graceful Ian moved for someone his size. There was nothing oafish or lumbering about the man.
But this wasn’t a country western two-step. We were barely moving, bodies close together.
Unlike the last time we’d danced, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. My mouth had gone dry, and any easy conversation about the wedding or George or the damn weather had abandoned me.
There was only the feel of Ian’s palm on my naked spine. The brush of our legs as we shifted—the silky material of my dress sliding along sensitive thighs. The buzzed hair at his nape was soft and velvety beneath my fingers. I could feel Ian’s heart beating. Or maybe it was mine. I couldn’t tell at this point.
Time passed, and we still didn’t speak.
If I could just get us back on solid ground, things might not feel so heavy. Why wasn’t he cracking jokes or grinning at me?
The moment was rife with tension, charged with anticipation. I couldn’t believe we weren’t throwing off sparks. But I wasn’t about to pull away. I didn’t want to.
I’d been fighting whatever was happening between us for weeks now. Content to play pretend and ignore this unsettling attraction. Just because I didn’t understand it, didn’t mean I couldn’t feel it.
It was always there. A slow simmer just beneath the surface. A touch that lit me up. A laugh that made me smile. A bone-deep patience that unknotted all my wary mistrust.
Then there was the way he made time for George and the people he cared about. And today, he’d added my family to that list.
I liked Ian. I did.
I never expected to, and maybe that was the hardest pill to swallow. That I’d been so wrong about him. This felt like losing a game I was playing with myself.
The ballad ended, transitioning into “Love Shack” by The B-52s. But Ian and I stood unmoving in the middle of the floor. People whirled around us, dancing and shimmying, but we were still, staring at one another.
I exercised regularly and was in great shape, but for some reason, I couldn’t catch my breath. Ian watched me, gaze intense, and I felt the weight of more than just his attention.
We were in the middle of the crowd, exposed, on display. Ian would never be able to fade into any background. And that was where I was most comfortable.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I turned, gasping and unsteady, and walked determinedly toward one of the side doors.
The December night was cold, but I didn’t regret my decision. I’d rather be out here with my thin gown than inside where it was warm and I was a coward.
I leaned against the railing of the balcony that overlooked downtown and took slow, deliberate breaths.
Everything was decorated for the holidays, and warm white lights sparkled all around. A moment later, I felt Ian’s suit jacket settle gently over my bare shoulders. It was still warm from his body, and something about that felt more intimate than if he’d pressed himself against me completely naked.
He braced his forearms on the railing, mirroring my pose, shoulder pressed close. “You look beautiful. I meant to tell you that earlier, a dozen different times.”
I snorted a disbelieving laugh. My dress was pretty—Candace had picked it out because it didn’t matter to me what I wore, as long as she was happy. The silky emerald-green material was long and clung to my body. It dipped low in the back, just this side of indecent. My hair was curled and pinned and elegant. My nails had been buffed and painted, which felt like a waste on someone who had dirt under them any other time. The dramatic evening makeup completed the look of a woman who could shine up nice on occasion but rarely made the effort on her own.
If Ian was impressed by the version of me he saw today, he’d be disappointed the rest of the time.
