Page 185 of The Edge of Darkness

My thoughts faded as she, too, lowered and set her mug on the ground beside mine. When she stood again, I thought my stomach might plummet right out my ass.

“All right,” she said.

She hesitated, but the moment she placed her hand in mine, my breath stuttered. Her hand felt so incredibly delicate that I wasn’t sure she was really even touching me.

I gently wrapped my fingers around hers and forced my feet to move. I didn’t walk far, just enough to give us some distance from the mugs we’d abandoned. Then, I was pulling her toward me. The rigidity in her movements and the uncertainty of her steps told me she probably had not danced before. So I took her free hand in mine and brought it up to my shoulder. “This goes here,” I said.

Her fist unfurled, and her fingers spread, lightly gripping at my collar. I didn’t correct her, I simply moved my hand down and placed it against her waist. She sucked in a breath, but allowed it.

“Just follow my lead.”

When I moved, she moved. My hands guided her, keeping her close. I’d never been the greatest dancer. The waltz was about all I knew how to do—aside from swaying back and forth, which was what I was doing now.

My frame was hulking compared to hers. I felt like a hunter trying not to spook a deer on approach. I didn’t want to overpower or intimidate her.

Fates, dancing wasn’t complicated, but my mind was making it out to be the most stressful thing ever.

With each breath, her chest swelled beneath the neckline of her dress as she watched our feet, anticipating the next move.

“It’s probably easier if you look up,” I offered, not just because it would be easier, but because I wanted to see her eyes.

The hand at my collar tightened like she was trying to lift herself off the ground before each step, but her eyes found mine and remained there.

“I’m not going to step on you,” I said, chuckling.

“I . . . That’s not—” She pushed a breath out of her nose and closed her mouth.

“What are you afraid of?”

Her hands loosened. “Who says I’m afraid of anything?”

Shit.

Slipping. She was slipping away.

“I didn’t mean—” I searched for the right thing to say, instantly frustrated that the slightest misspoken thing was enough to set her off. “I just want you to know you don’t have to be like that around me.”

“Like what?” she bit out.

“Worried. Bitter . . .”

Her expression shifted as if I’d dealt her a physical blow. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“And I don’t pretend to,” I replied.

She began to withdraw from my grip, but I tightened my hands, if only to keep her close for one more fleeting moment. “But what I do know is that you look beautiful tonight.”

There, I said it.

I flung it into the void between us.

Her body stiffened, but something in her eyes softened—so briefly I almost missed it. But I didn’t have long to delight in it, because the next thing I knew, she was trying to tug free.

“Let me go,” she near-whispered.

“Why?” That single word lit the fire inside her, I could see it. “Tell me why, and I will.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”