Page 92 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Quinn’s voice brought me back to the present.

She stood beside me, no longer laughing. “Do you know this song?”

“Yes.”

The answer came out lower than I intended.

Her face softened. “Oh.”

I should’ve stepped back. The moment had turned private too quickly for a public space. The correct thing would have been to suggest we find refreshments, check on Max, and review the plan for Friday. Anything practical that would have restored the evening to shape.

I didn’t do any of that, though. I raised my arms into the old ballroom frame. “Would you like to keep dancing?” I asked Quinn.

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know this one.”

“I do.” I held her gaze. “I can lead.”

Her humor rose, ready and familiar, then softened before it could become a shield. She smoothed one hand over her dress, then placed her fingers lightly in mine.

“All right,” she said. “But if I step on your toes, I’m blaming you.”

“Acceptable.”

When her gaze lifted to mine again, the air between us became charged.

I placed my other hand at her back, above her waist. She set her hand on my shoulder, and the contact was formal enough for any ballroom, yet it moved through me with startling force.

For the first few steps, she watched my face too intently, trying to anticipate the pattern.

“Don’t look at me,” I said.

Her brows lifted. “That feels counterproductive.”

“Watch the line of my shoulder. You’ll feel the direction before you need to think about it.”

“Of course you make dancing sound like litigation.”

“I think we can agree that litigation is less pleasant.” I stepped forward, guiding her back.

She followed half a beat late, but she quickly found the rhythm. The music was slow enough to allow mistakes and graceful enough to forgive them. Around us, couples turned in measured circles beneath the chandelier light. Max trotted at the edge of the dance floor for several steps. When he’d decided we weren’t abandoning him, he settled near Miriam, who had returned from dancing with Georgiana and now watched us with open amusement.

Quinn noticed. “Your new friend is staring.”

“She’s your new friend.”

“She likes Max best.”

“Don’t most sensible people like animals more than people?”

Quinn’s mouth curved, and this time she didn’t look away from me. Her nerves loosened by degrees. I felt it in the way her hand settled more fully against my shoulder, the way her steps became smoother as she let herself be led through the dance.

The pleasure of that should’ve been simple.

It wasn’t.

Guiding her required attention, but not the kind I used in negotiations or flight. This was different. My hand at her back, her breath brushing my cheek when I turned us, the exact moment she trusted the next step enough to stop bracing. She was warm and alive with the same quick intelligence she brought to everything, only now it moved through her body instead of her words.

“You’re really good at this,” she said.