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Maybe she wanted it to be real.

Later, when the music slowed and couples began drifting toward the dance floor, Claire and Noah stayed near the edge, watching.

She told herself she was perfectly content there.

Then Noah stepped closer behind her.

“Maybe,” he murmured near her ear, his voice low enough that she felt it more than heard it.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“We should dance.”

Claire’s grip tightened around the glass in her hand.

There was absolutely no way Noah did not know what he was doing.

He had to know that standing that close made it difficult to think. He had to know that lowering his voice like that sent warmth crawling up the back of her neck. He had to know she suddenly seemed incapable of remembering how breathing worked.

She swallowed and turned slightly toward him.

Bad idea.

He was even closer than she had realized.

“Maybe so,” she managed, though her voice came out embarrassingly unsteady, “all the other couples are dancing.”

Noah’s mouth curved.

That tiny smile told her everything.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

Claire narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Enjoying what?”

She gave him a look.

His expression remained perfectly innocent, which somehow made it worse.

“This,” she said.

“This is very specific.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Noah leaned just slightly closer. “Do I?”

Her stomach flipped.

Claire hated him.

No, she didn’t. It was becoming increasingly impossible to pretend she did.

Before she could come up with a response, Noah held out his hand. “Come on, princess.”