Sienna turns to face me, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “You know how to slow dance, right? Or are we about to witness a tragic display of poor coordination?”
I step in close, sliding one hand to the small of her back and catching her other hand, lifting it to shoulder height.
“I’ve seen movies. That counts, doesn’t it?” I pull her flush against me, my voice dropping. “Besides, I’m a quick learner, especially when my teacher looks as beautiful as you do.”
She snorts, but she’s already melting into me, her body fitting against mine as if it were meant to be there. “That’s not reassuring at all. I’m a terrible slow dancer, Milo. I’ll probably break both your feet—andmine.”
I spread my hand wider across her lower back, pulling her closer. “Worth the risk.”
She feels perfect against me. Warm. Alive in a way that makes something in my chest ache. Her head tilts just enough to tuck under my chin, the purple wig tickling my throat.
We start moving—small, lazy sways at first, barely more than shifting our weight from one foot to the other—but it feels monumental. Her body moves with mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Her fingers curl into my shirt collar, her thumb brushing slow strokes along the side of my neck, making my pulse jump. Every time she shifts against me or sighs softly, something deep in my chest loosens.
I keep telling myself this is just vacation heat, just forced proximity and incredible sex—even if that only happened one time.
But the truth is creeping in anyway.
She’s chaos and light and sharp wit wrapped in sparkles and sarcasm, and I’m starting to crave all of it.
Not just the nights we’re alone or the way she falls apart for me. I want the rambling, the laughter, the way she looks at me like I’m the only person in the room even when I’m not.
I don’t want just fourteen days with her.
I want her in New York.
I want her burning breakfast, dragging me on ridiculous adventures, and making me feel alive again after so long of feeling like I’ve just been existing… notliving.
“You’re not so terrible at this,” Sienna murmurs into my chest. “I thought you’d be stiff, counting steps in your head.”
“I’m counting your breaths instead,” I say quietly, my thumb tracing slow circles on her lower back. “They’re uneven. You’re nervous.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Maybe yours are just too loud, or maybe it’s because you’re holding me like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you loosen your grip.”
I smile into her hair. “You’re deflecting.”
“Deflecting?” she echoes, pulling back to look at me. “From what, exactly?”
“From the truth.”
She raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her eyes. “And what truth would that be, Mr. Wet-Pants-Wonder?”
I let out a low laugh at the ridiculous nickname, but I don’t back down. My hand stays firm on her lower back, keeping her close as we continue to sway.
“From the real reason you’re nervous.”
She playfully rolls her eyes. “And what reason would that be?”
My lips curve. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself, won’t you?”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Some things are more fun when you have to say them out loud.”
“Ugh. You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re insanely beautiful.”
