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In him.
In us.
I don’t know what it is yet, but I feel the weighted shift.
We drove home in silence. We didn’t touch, yet my body is singing like he was everywhere.
Music floats in the air when I walk into the living room. I throw my purse on the couch and switch on the fire.
I don’t think it’s cold, but I’ve got a chill in my bones, and I think turning on the fire with remote control is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.
His heat is at my back before I can turn, wine glass ready.
I dip my head in a curtsy. “Thank you, Sir.”
He rolls his eyes.
He holds the glass to my lips for me to drink but doesn’t let me hold it. His eyes remain on me as I swallow the liquid before he takes it again and places it on a side table with his tumbler before reaching his hand toward me.
“I think you owe me a dance?”
I gawk at it like it’s on fire.
He really is an idiot.
Loosening his bow tie, I slide it from his collar and throw it on the chair. I press my lips to his cheek, but he moves, and it comes awfully close to his mouth.
“Let me change,” I say, needing a distraction from the way he’s looking at me.
When I try to walk away, his hand tightens around my wrist, pulling me back.
“I thought I told you I was going to remove this dress.”
“So you did.”
“Dance with me.” His voice is thick, betraying the playful smile on his lips.
“Nora should have warned people before she put me on the market. I can’t dance.” I look away, suddenly nervous, my stomach tying in knots.
He steps closer, crowding me, making every inch of me tingle with awareness. He tucks my hair behind my ear.
Tentatively, his hand slips to my waist, his other hand spreading out to interlock with mine. “I’ve seen you dance.”
“You’ve seen me flail. I can’t dance.”
When I don’t move, he says, “I didn’t get the privilege to feel you in my arms tonight, and it’s always a privilege to hold you.”
I think my heart stops. A shaky breath escapes and I tighten my hold on his arm to support my unsteady legs.
Oh no.
This isn’t good.
My chest feels heavy in all the beautiful ways I don’t want it to.
But there’s a short circuit somewhere because I think my heart stopped listening to my head a long time ago.
“Dance with me, baby,” he repeats, but our feet have already started to move to the soft sway of the music. We hardly do more than a shuffle, but the world feels like it’s spinning at lightning speed around me.
