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And still, my bride-to-be appears poised and calm, the smile never faltering from her face. Where the shy introvert I’ve witnessed for months has vanished to, I don’t know. But I’m dumbstruck, transfixed. And now that we’re through with the assembly line of greetings, I want to see her dance.
She gives a subtle nod and politely brings her conversation to a close with Elinor Mansfield, one of the old biddies who live on Central Park South that my mother insisted on inviting.
The older woman has barely stepped away when I take Silvia’s hand and pull her onto the dance floor. In a ballroom full of middle-aged billionaires my mother insists on maintaining ties with, there’s no grinding or rowdy mosh pits at this party. Instead, the music is classical, perfect for ballroom dancing.
And when I pull Silvia into a proper frame, she settles into my hold like she was born to it. The new song introduces a waltz, and as I lead her across the dance floor, Silvia follows with comfortable ease, moving in her high heels as though she were floating on air.
“You know how to dance?” I ask, mildly surprised.
My mother drilled formal dancing into me against my will at a young age, insisting it would serve me well, along with all the shadier lessons my father would teach me when I got older.
Silvia smiles. “It’s one of the few things my mother actually enjoys. I used to join her for ballroom dance classes a few times a week.”
“You’re just full of surprises tonight,” I observe.
“Says the man who knows how to ride English and willingly asks a girl to waltz,” she teases.
“I would have done just about anything to avoid another conversation revolving around when our wedding date is set for and how many children we expect to have,” I state, cringing at the excruciating hours we just endured.
Silvia’s light, bubbly laughter brightens the air around us. “Well, if that’s what it takes to get a man to dance with me….”
“Oh, no,” I counter, pulling her tighter against my body as I move her across the floor. “I’ve been wanting to dance with you far longer than that.”
“Oh? Well then, what’s the secret to inspiring you to dance? I’ll have to do it more often.”
Is she… flirting with me?Fucking hell, it’s sexy to see her so bold and carefree.
“This dress is definitely helping the matter,” I state.
Between my hand covering the soft, bare dimples at the small of her back, the low-cut neckline enticing my gaze downward, and the slit in her skirt flashing her long leg at every spin–not to mention the way she’s pressed firmly against my body–it’s taking all my self-control to not pop a boner right here and now.
The fresh color that brightens her cheeks makes my heart beat faster.
“Well, it sounds like I might need to go shopping then,” she says, her light tone contrasting the shyness that so plainly intensifies her blush.
She is flirting with me.I’m not quite sure I know what to do with this new side of Silvia. All I know is that I like it.
The song transitions from a waltz to a foxtrot, then to a tango. And the longer I hold her in my arms, the more potent the tension crackles between us. A sexual tension that’s been building to an almost intolerable level since our first day together in New York.
The rest of the party fades from my vision as I twirl, dip, and guide Silvia across the dance floor. And regardless of the dance, our eyes seem to have a magnetic pull, catching sight of each other and eliciting a shared smile.
It’s almost easy to forget I’ve been tasked with fucking the Marchetti Princess tonight because I want Silvia so intensely. It’s taking every ounce of restraint and composure I possess not to haul her away from the party early to have her all to myself.
She’s come to life this weekend, captivating me in a way I never thought possible. Because I’ve seen countless girls, been with as many of them as have caught my interest. And none hold a candle to this shy, intelligent, compassionate, artistic being in my arms.
“What?” Silvia asks, her hazel eyes fathomless as she follows me around the dance floor.
I’ve lost track of the number of dances we’ve done. And that suits me just fine. I plan on keeping her to myself for as long as she’s willing.
“I didn’t say anything,” I say, smiling as I quirk an eyebrow.
“No, just the look on your face. You seemed to be having a deep thought. I was just curious what it was.” Silvia follows my raised arm into a spin, never losing sight of me as she twirls.
Her dress flares dangerously, making my balls tighten. Fuck, I want this girl. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted someone so badly in my life. And I’m shocked by the suddenness of it. The fact that it happened even when I was railing against the inequities of the forces bringing us together.
“I was just thinking you’re something special,” I state simply.
It’s the truth, but at the same time, I can see Silvia’s defenses crumbling against me. I know what I’m doing. I know how to tell girls what they want to hear. Which makes the statement feel manipulative because I don’t just want Silvia to like me. I need her to.
