Page 59 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

She reached the last step, glanced from Max to me, and in that fraction of distraction, her heel slipped against the worn edge of the stair.

I moved before I thought.

My hand caught her at the waist. Her fingers closed around my forearm, quick and firm, and the momentum brought her close enough that the scent of her perfume, clean and faintly floral, overshadowed the old-building smell of dust and radiator heat. The dress was smooth beneath my palm, and her heat radiated through it.

Her smile had vanished, replaced by a startled look that made her seem less practiced, less quick to cover herself with humor. Her hand stayed on my arm. Mine stayed at her waist. The stairwell around us was too narrow, the silence too complete, Max too tactfully still at our feet.

Then Quinn let out a small laugh, breathless and embarrassed. “Well. That was almost the shortest legal career in history.”

I should’ve released her immediately.

I didn’t.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“No. Just humbled by footwear, which I did warn Octavia was possible.”

Only then did I let my hand fall away, though the shape of her waist seemed to have imprinted against my palm. She smoothed the front of her dress with more care than necessary and looked anywhere but directly at me.

Max gave a quiet huff.

“Well. Good evening,” I said, because every other possible sentence had temporarily abandoned me.

I took a few steps back because proximity to her was making me stupid.

Quinn stood at the bottom of the stairs and glanced down at Max. “Did you hear that? You got a good evening. That’s rich-person speak for wow, Max, you look incredible.”

Max’s ears shifted.

“I was addressing both of you,” I said.

Her gaze came back to mine, quick and searching. “Very diplomatic.”

“It is one of my lesser-known skills.”

“Lesser known because you hide it under all the glaring?”

“I do not glare.”

“You absolutely do.”

I should’ve given a dry answer to reset the balance between us. Instead, I watched the dress move around her as she walked toward me.

There was nothing indecent about it. The cut was elegant, the neckline modest, the skirt fluid without clinging. Still, every step made it clear that Quinn possessed an ease inside herself that her office clothes had only hinted at. She wasn’t polished in the way the women at these events often were, all expensive understatement and inherited certainty. Quinn’s polish had an edge. Ingenuity. She’d met the requirements without disappearing into them.

She was stunning.

That, I thought, would be difficult for people to dismiss.

“You look…” I swallowed hard.

Her eyebrows rose.

I had no idea why language had become abruptly insufficient. Compliments were not complicated. They were social tools, easily deployed when necessary. Beautiful was accurate but too intimate. Lovely was too light. Appropriate was true and insulting. Striking was closer, but it sounded like something said about a portrait rather than a person standing in front of me with one hand on a retired military dog’s leash and anxiety carefully disguised as banter.

“You chose well,” I said at last.

For half a second, disappointment crossed her face so quickly I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching too closely.