Page 85 of Allegiant

“To make you quit arguing.” I grin, tugging on his hand. “Come on. This’ll be fun, I promise.”

He follows me into an empty dance studio. I flick on the lights and lead him into the middle of the room. “Wait here.”

Amusement has replaced the heat in his eyes as he watches me flit over to the stereo. A few clicks have soft music filling the air.

“What are you doing?”

I return to him, offering him a wide smile. “I thought maybe we could have another private dance lesson.”

He thumbs at my lip. “With a happy ending this time?”

I laugh. “I was thinking a real dance lesson. One where it’s just me and you, and where we don’t get distracted by wanting to fuck each other.”

“Then you really should be wearing more clothes.”

“Come on,” I say, sliding my hand into his. “Think how fun it’ll be with all this space. You won’t need to duck your head or worry about knocking into anything. And no one will record you in here. This is a safe space.”

Samson shivers. “I wouldn’t put it past Neo. Fucker has cameras everywhere.”

“Not in here,” I say firmly. “This is safe. I promise.”

“Thank you.” He lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. “You don’t have to convince me. I signed up for one of your classes, remember?”

“I know, but this is different.” I lay my spare hand over his chest. “In class, you’re surrounded by other students. Here, it’s just us. You and me. You can be and do whatever you want.”

Something passes over Samson’s face—a combination of joy and gratitude that has my knees weakening. His throat bobs before he speaks. “You’re really special, you know that?”

“Allowing you to be yourself doesn’t make me special,” I counter. “It’s basic human decency.”

“That’s not how I see it. But that’s okay, I can wait until you see it my way.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he means by that, but that’ll only distract us further. And it’s not like he’ll give me a straight answer. Hell, only two hours ago he told me he’s an assassin. Like that’s a normal job people actually have.

But I set that aside and focus on him, turning on music and helping him find the beat. It’s not natural for him, but I find a way to help him get there. It’s frustrating for him; I can see it on his face. But when I move my hands against him to guide him, he’s distracted enough to put aside his irritation and just feel it.

It’s then that he manages to find the rhythm, and then we’re working on some simple steps. By the time we have to leave because another class needs the room, we’re both sweating.

And he’s smiling.

“I did it,” he murmurs. “On my own.”

“You did. And you looked good, too.”

“I think I’ll be able to replicate it.”

“You will. It’s in your DNA. I can tell.”

I let my gaze rake over his body before meeting his hooded eyes.

“Shall we go home?” he asks, and I find myself nodding, even though Samson’s house isn’t my home. Even if it sort of feels like it. So I allow him to drive me there, our hands linked, a grin lingering on his lips.

Soon, I’ll cut back on this happiness I’m allowing myself.

Very soon.

Before it’s taken from me.

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