A soft chuckle. “That we will.”
I’m dimly aware of Brendan still standing around, gaping and fuming, but he’s just background noise at this point.
Pretty sure he always was.
“Shall we?” Dr. Sutherland holds out his arm, his eyes glimmering with something fierce and possessive.
Andveryhot.
I narrow my gaze, like,are you sure?
There’s a quick wink, a firm nod of assent. Ever so carefully, ever so gratefully, I hook my hand through the crook of his elbow. He gives a tiny, nearly imperceptible shiver, then leads me away.
I expect him to release me once we’re back in the main area, but he doesn’t. Just watches me intently, his gaze turning serious, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“Um… you good?” I ask.
“Yes, fine. Fine. I just thought… That is, I was hoping…” He trails off, his momentary confidence receding, my favorite Very Socially Awkward Demon taking charge once more. “I realize your taste in dance partners runs a bit more on the elderly side, but… Would you like to dance?”
“With you?”
“That is the idea, yes.”
“You do realize dancing requires touching, right?” I laugh, repeating his words from the Kettles encounter. “Actual touching?”
“I do.”
“Not just standing kind of near each other and quite-unquote ‘perceiving energetic signatures?’”
“Miss Bonnivarde, at this rate, the band is going to retire before I’ve gotten my answer.”
“What was the question, again?” I tease, feeling a little dizzy at the sight of him, the new determination in his eyes, blazing in spite of the awkwardness.
When he responds, it doesn’t come out like a question at all. It comes out like a command.
“Dance with me.”
“Well, since you put that way.” I smile and shift my grip from his elbow to his hand, giving him a moment to adjust tothe sensation. He takes a deep breath, laces our fingers together, and squeezes. Firm. Decisive.
And suddenly, my teensy, tiny, infinitesimal, minuscule, pea-sized, microscopic crush no longer exists.
Because I’m falling for him for real.
twenty-two
MERRICK
Her touch is positively electric. Tingles race along my arm, straight to my heart. Every ingrained instinct screams at me to pull away. To flee.
But I tighten my hold and lead her into the ballroom, every step digging me deeper into this impossible charade where I play the role of a man capable of intimacy and she the smart, funny, beautiful woman who chose me.
This dance might well be the death of me.
But if it will save her from that retched cunt in the ill-fitting suit with the leering gaze, then call me a willing sacrifice. Depending on how the evening progresses, perhaps I’ll ask Oliver to carve out the man’s eyes with an oyster spoon. A request I’m sure he’d be thrilled to oblige.
At the edge of the dance floor, I stop and close my eyes, summoning my composure.
With a final steadying breath, I open my eyes and draw her close, stiffly leading us into the dance.
