"Don't complain when I stomp on your feet."
He smiled more broadly than any self-respecting Kra-ell warrior should smile. "Stomp away. I'll welcome the pain and savor it."
Oh, hell. That was the wrong thing to say to her. She was too young for that kind of innuendo, and he probably assumed thatshe wouldn't get it. But she'd read enough romance novels to recognize it for what it was.
Not that he could ever find out about that.
Her reading habits were a secret that only Arezoo shared.
"Don't lie," she said as if she hadn't understood his meaning.
"It's not a lie. I want to dance with you, and if it means a little pain in the feet, I'm fine with that."
"Fine." She put her hand in his.
His hand closed around hers, and her response was totally disproportionate to the small touch. She got lightheaded, dizzy, and for the first time in her life, she understood what the writers of the romance novels she'd read meant by swooning.
She'd swooned.
Over a guy.
It was totally unacceptable.
She was a warrior, a powerful compeller, she'd gone on missions where the wrong move would have ended in a body count, and she had not hesitated, she had not flinched. She had charged ahead and had come out victorious.
He glanced down at her feet and frowned. "Are you wearing combat boots?"
"So?"
"With the dress."
"Yes."
He stared at her boots for a long moment and then laughed.
It was not a polite laugh, or nervous, or guarded. It was a deep belly laugh that shouldn't have been possible for a pureblooded Kra-ell to make because his belly was as tiny as hers. But that wasn't the only shocking thing about it. Pavel's expression was serious most of the time, which was appropriate for a warrior, and the laugh transformed him.
She forgot, briefly, to be irritated.
"What are you laughing so hard about?" she asked.
"The boots."
"When I warned you about stomping on your feet, did you imagine I was talking about doing it in some flimsy pumps?"
"Well, yes, because I did not look at your footwear. I looked at your face."
She shrugged. "I don't know why you are making such a big deal out of it. My black boots go perfectly with the damn red bridesmaid dress, and they are new and shiny."
He tilted his head. "Did you buy a new pair of combat boots specifically for the wedding?"
"It was my compromise with Arezoo. They are formal because they are new and unscuffed, but they are still practical, and I can wear them for years to come instead of donating them to charity, which I would have done with whatever Arezoo deemed appropriate for the occasion."
"I see."
She was growing tired of the fuss about her boots. "Are you going to dance with me or not?"
"Dance." He tugged on her hand and pulled her toward the platform.
