"Your technique reminds me of my neighbor's cat when I accidentally step on its tail," William says, his smile wide and bright.
I’m ready to be annoyed, but something in his expression catches me off guard. He's laughing, yes, but there's a gentleness in his gaze, a warmth that makes my irritation melt away. Isink down onto the sofa beside him, far enough away to be respectable, but close enough that his warmth envelops me.
EJ, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit, jumps up and grabs Blake. "Come on, old man. Let's show the boss how it's done." He scrolls through the song list and selects what looks like a duet.
"That's a weakness I didn't know you had," he whispers, shifting closer until our thighs touch. His breath tickles my ear.
"Everyone has flaws," I mutter, hyperaware of his proximity.
"True. Mine is that I can't stop thinking about you."
The simple confession steals my breath. "That's not a flaw."
"It is when you're trying to focus on race prep and all you can think about is your boss's smile, or if she’s okay."
EJ and Blake have launched into some romantic ballad with sweeping verses. Their voices blend surprisingly well, creating a tender atmosphere that only heightens the tension between William and me.
"I'm not technically your boss," I whisper.
William leans closer, his nose brushing against my neck in a touch so light, it might be my imagination. "No? Then what are you?" His voice drops lower, a near-moan in my ear. "Because right now, all I can think about is being with you. Around you. Under…you. Just us,boss."
He reaches up and boops my cheek with his finger. "You're adorable, you know. Even if singing isn't your thing."
"I am not adorable," I protest with a mock pout.
"Cute, then," he amends, his fingers brushing against mine on the cushion between us.
"I'm the CEO of a Formula 1 team."
"Who sings like a wounded seagull." He grins, dodging my elbow.
I can't help it—I laugh. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," he says softly, and the humor in his tone shifts to something deeper, more serious.
William listens to Blake and EJ performing their ballad, his expression softening. Then he turns to me, extending his hand in a simple gesture that feels monumental.
"Dance with me?"
The request is quiet, almost shy—so unlike his usual confidence. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at his outstretched palm.
I hesitate. "William, we shouldn't—"
"Dancing is harmless," he says, eyes never leaving mine. "Just a dance, Violet."
Nothing about us has ever been "just" anything. But I take his hand anyway, letting him pull me to my feet. We move to the corner of the room, far enough from the makeshift stage that we're partially shadowed.
He finds my waist, his hand warm and solid through the thin fabric of my blouse. I settle my own hand on his shoulder and the firm muscle beneath. We begin to sway, not quite in time with the ballad Blake and EJ are singing, but to some rhythm only we can feel.
"This is nice," William murmurs, pulling me slightly closer.
"It's dangerous," I correct him, but I don't pull away.
His hand splays across my lower back, large and protective. "I miss this. I miss you." His voice drops lower. "I miss the way you smell. The way you feel. The little crease you get between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard."
I swallow hard. "William..."
"I know." He presses his forehead against mine. "I know all the reasons. I still miss you."
