One dance wouldn't hurt, would it?
That was the lie I fed myself as Rion's fingers threaded through mine and drew me into the warm center of the music.
My blue skirt skimmed my ankles, catching on the rhythm. I lifted my chin and pretended my pulse wasn't already sprinting.
He didn't ask. He simply took. A hand at my waist, sure and authoritative, and my body answered as if he had pressed a secret switch hidden under my skin.
He angled me with a light pressure, guiding my left foot back, my right to the side. I hadn't danced this pattern in years, yet my muscles remembered the logic of it once he set the frame.
One-two-three, turn. One-two-three, breathe. He was unyielding where I needed him to be, relaxed everywhere else. It made following him disarmingly easy.
Rion smelled faintly of rain struck stone and something darker beneath—shadow warmed by heat. Every time we turned, that scent pulled a thread through me. The room blurred at the edges.
