Chapter forty-one
Luc
The dance between us.
“I was thinking, you could teach me some moves,” I say, needing something to cut through the heaviness hanging between us.
“You want me to teach you ballet?” She looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Just a couple of moves.”
She studies me for a second, then a small smile tugs at her lips. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” The idiot grin on my face is impossible to hide. I stand first and offer her my hand. She takes it, letting me pull her up.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Lucien Kingley. This isn’t your office,” she teases, her smile widening.
“Alright, show me.” I chuckle, enjoying her playful tone.
“Let’s start with the basics. First position.” She straightens, demonstrating. “Chin up, shoulders down, open chest. Legs straight, knees together, heels touching, and feet turned out.”
I watch her closely, copying her movements. I might have taken a few classes, but pretending I’m clueless is worth it to see the sparkle of excitement in her eyes.
“Not bad,” she says, circling me and studying my posture. She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Now, let’s try a plié. Bend your knees, but keep your back straight.”
I bend, over-exaggerating the movement on purpose, and give her a cocky grin. “Like this?”
Her laughter bursts free, contagious. “No, not like that.”
“Alright, alright. Show me again,” I say, letting my smirk soften into something more sincere.
She steps closer, her hands brushing against my shoulders to adjust my posture. Her touch lingers as she shifts my arms, curving them just right.
“You know, if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just said so, Preciosa,” I tease.
She freezes, tilting her head to look at me. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re enjoying this.”
She doesn’t reply, but the little red spots on her cheeks give her away.
As she adjusts my stance for what feels like the hundredth time, I fake a wobble, nearly toppling over.
“Luc,” she groans, throwing her hands in the air. “Are you even trying?”
“Trying my best,” I say with a mock-serious expression.
She narrows her eyes, her lips twitching. “You have the coordination of a drunk elephant.”
“Drunk elephant?” I shoot her an offended look. “That’s harsh. How do you even know what a drunk elephant looks like?”
She rolls her eyes, but an unguarded laugh slips out.
“Alright, last chance,” she says, straightening. “Let me show you again.”
“Anything for my favorite teacher.” I give her my most innocent look, but the way she shakes her head tells me she’s not buying it.
“Let’s try it with music this time.” She pulls out her phone. “It’s easier to feel the movements when there’s rhythm to follow.”
She selects a soft classical song and sets the phone on the floor. Taking her place, she demonstrates the first few steps.
Closing the distance between us, I guide her into the next step. She follows instinctively, her body responding to mine as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Luc…” she breathes, a whisper that barely reaches me as I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist. My arms tighten around her back, holding her securely. One arm circles my neck while her other hand grazes my cheek, her fingers leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
My eyes close for just a moment, my heart pounding—not from the effort of the movements, but from the nearness of her. When I open them again, her gaze is locked on mine, stealing the breath I’ve barely managed to hold.
“Yes, Mon Trésor?” Slowly, I lower her back to the ground, spinning her lightly before pulling her back into my arms with a grin.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’ve done this before?”
I smirk, finally letting the act drop. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Once or twice?”
“Fine,” I admit with a chuckle, spinning her again. “I’ve taken lessons.” What I don’t tell her is that I took those lessons hoping for this moment right here, to share in her magic.
Before she can respond, I dip her low, her body arching perfectly in my arms. Her hair brushes against my forearm as I pull her back up. Her body melding seamlessly into mine as the music swirls around us. Her gaze drops to my lips, and mine to hers.
When our lips meet, the kiss is featherlight. It feels more like a question and an answer at the same time. There’s no urgency, just the quiet communication of lips brushing against each other, as though they’ve found exactly where they belong.
For the first time, I don’t feel the need to deepen it, to push for more. Just this is enough. I guess Frenchmen can kiss without tongue after all.
When we finally pull apart, both of us breathing hard, her lips curve into a soft, sweet smile. “That wasn’t part of the lesson.”
“I can think of a few more lessons,” I tease, my grin widening.
“Shut up.” She pushes against my chest.
I catch her wrist, pulling her back into my arms. My lips find hers again, deeper this time, letting the moment consume us.