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“Yeah, but I don't want to dance to it.”

As if they'd heard me, the band finished their sad song and slid into a more romantic ballad.

I set my glass down on the table, turned to Tristan, and extended my hand. “Now this, I can work with.”

A slow, breathtaking smile curved his mouth. “Are you asking me to dance, Ms. Takeda?”

“I am. Women can do that these days, remember?”

“So scandalous.” He grinned as he took my hand and led me onto the floor.

The moment Tristan turned and drew me against him, I knew he was an exceptional dancer. His right hand settled on the small of my back while his left hand enveloped mine. He used his hands and body to guide me into a slow, rolling movement. Tristan didn't simply dance; he commanded the space with a fluid, liquid grace. When the music sped up, he led me through an intricate turn, catching my waist and drawing me flush against his chest before easing into an elegant pivot that matched the plaintive rise of the fiddle.

I laughed against his collar, breathless and delighted. “Show-off.”

“I am merely keeping time.” His breath was warm against my ear as we turned.

“Seriously, this is impressive. People are watching us.”

“I spent the late 1920s in the hills of Tennessee when the first field recordings were being made,” he admitted, his eyes gleaming with dark humor as he spun me out and pulled me back, his arm catching me firmly against his torso. “And the 1940s in Texas dance halls. Times change, but dancing, much like the music, remains the same at its core.”

“What's its core?”

Tristan slowed our steps, matching the dragging pulse of the bass, pulling me close until my cheek rested against the soft cashmere of his sweater.

“It allows two people to communicate without speaking,” he whispered into my ear. “No words to misunderstand. Just weight, balance, and intent. You can learn a lot about someone by how they move with you in the dark.”

I looked up at him. “And what are you learning about me?”

His gaze locked onto mine, intense and stripped of all defenses. “That you trust me. And you have no intention of letting me go.”

I blinked. “I think you've just convinced me.”

The music swelled and then gently tapered off to scattered applause. Tristan kept his arm around my waist for a second longer than necessary before stepping back, his hand lingering on mine until we reached the edge of the dance floor. We sipped our drinks and danced some more until we both knew it was time to go. Warm from all the dancing, I sighed when the night hit my face. Tristan took my hand, and we strolled back to the car. It felt like a real date, one I didn't want to end.

Back at the estate, we climbed the stairs to our suite in comfortable silence. Once inside, Tristan dumped our haul from the sex store on the bed. He removed his shoes, socks, and belt before sitting on the bed cross-legged to inspect his treasures. I kicked off my shoes and joined him.

“For you, my lady.” He handed me the box with the jewelry.

“Thank you, good sir.”

Holding a sleek leather paddle, he said, “Thank you for tonight.”

“For what?”

“For insisting we go. For being honest with me. For not letting me hide behind my fear. For being open to all of this.” He motioned at the toys with his paddle.

“I love that you want to experiment. I haven't been with anyone who wanted to.” I picked up a gag. “I don't remember approving this purchase.”

“I grabbed it when you weren't looking.”

“You want to gag me?”

“No, that's for me. I don't want to shout too loud when you spank me.”

I burst out laughing. “What if I want to use it?”

“We can share, Miss Contrary.” He leaned over and kissed me. The kiss was different from the desperate, hungry ones we'd shared before. This was slower, more deliberate—a promise rather than a plea. When we finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Tristan rested his forehead against mine. “I love you. You've lightened my heart.”