Page 16 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

Well, that and the best training my perpetually absent parents’ money could buy. But that’s neither here nor there.

Maya rests a hand on my forearm. “Look. If you don’t want anyone to know, we’ll help you hide any trace of Peter’s scent, okay? But first”—she leans closer, elbows on the table and chin resting on her fists—“tell us everything.”

Chapter Five

Imogen

I linger at the edge of the dance floor, observing the late-night festivities. It’s been a nonstop party since we moved from the dinner tent to the dance tent, but I still haven’t given Peter the dance I promised him. He’s been patient though, waiting for his moment, watching me as I danced with Haven, Wesley, and everyone else.

But the reception is dying down. Couples are disappearing, turning in for the evening—including the lucky bride and groom—and I’m no longer content with waiting for him.

Peter meanders over, setting his wineglass on a nearby table before he reaches me. As he stands next to me, he hooks his pinky around mine, hiding our hands with the angle of his body and his navy plaid suit jacket. It seems he’s run out of patience as well.

“I’m cashing in on the dance you promised me.” A smile plays on his lips. “I’m done waiting.”

He doesn’t give me time to respond before he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor as the music changes to a slower song. When we reach the center, he spins me under his arm, then pulls me against him, one hand on my lower back and the other holding mine between our bodies.

“Sei bello.” He presses his cheek against mine as we sway in time to the music. “You’re beautiful. This color suits you.”

“It’s my favorite color.”

His knuckles brush the deep-red velvet fabric above my chest and his nose brushes my ear. “Another of the many things I’ve noticed about you.”

My free hand moves to his lapel, and I lean closer, wrapping my arm around his neck. His hand slides lower on my back, almost stroking my ass. I swallow back a moan, closing my eyes.

We continue our slow dance, wrapped in each other’s arms. I revel in the unchoreographed syncopation of our movement with the music. But I’m careful not to get too caught up in the moment. I can’t lose myself in him the way I want to. Not here. Not now.

The music fades and switches again, back to the peppy beats from before. We pull apart, although our hands stay clasped as we weave through the guests and over to a shadowed corner of the tent.

Peter brings my hand to his lips and kisses it as he turns to face me. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Yes. Will you stay with me? Blink yourself in there again?”

He tenses and frowns down at me. “Why can’t I just walk with you to your room?”

“Someone might see.”

“And?”

“And it’s only been a week.”

“A wonderful week,” he says, moving forward, cupping my cheek and angling my face up.

“Yes, but—”

“But? Why can’t it just be yes? Why does there have to be a but? Why are you hiding me?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hiding you. I just—”

“Don’t want people to know about me?”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask. “I thought we agreed it was better to keep this between us for now?”

“What are you afraid of, piccola ballerina?”

I pinch my lips together and stare at him, heart stammering in my chest, my eyes widening and itching. “I—” My throat tightens, and I step back, wiping my hands on my dress to dry my sweaty palms. I glance around the tent, avoiding his stare so he won’t see the tears threatening to spill or the panicked heaving of my chest as I struggle to catch my breath.

Peter reaches for me. “Imogen.”