CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Skye
We catch the last of the flying hearts, stuffing them into a large transparent bag, where they continue to flap around like a love-themed snow globe.
Hannah checks with Severin about keeping the hearts in the greenhouse.
“We’ll try keeping them with the walking tulips and rolling pumpkins, and see if that makes them happy. ”
“Oh, god.” Kayla lets out a groan and scrubs at her face. “We’re going to have to look at Valentine’s hearts all year long now, aren’t we?”
“Yep,” Autumn says.
“Well, I like it,” I say. “A few hearts never hurt anyone.”
The purple-haired witch’s lips twitch. “Yeah, well, not all of us can be kidnapped by a dragon and kept in his castle.”
“Speaking of which. I should get back to the castle.” I gesture toward the window table, where Luke waits. “Thanks for helping me out of the gossip sinkhole.”
“Just don’t go near Bling It On anytime soon.” Hannah grins. “Or the entire town will be convinced you’re shopping for engagement rings.”
The others laugh, and I try to as well. But the gossip network got everything wrong. So completely and utterly wrong.
The photo fills my mind: me smiling with little cartoon hearts in my eyes, while Luke looks like Luke always looks, resting grumpy face and all.
We’re not “in love” like everyone in town keeps texting. In love implies reciprocated feelings, and this is purely a one-way street.
I turn to the table, breath catching as the morning sunshine falls across the beautiful lines of Luke’s face, burnishing his horns and making his hair flare like fire. My heart pinches with the most bittersweet of aches.
He’s grumpy, sure, but underneath all that grump is a man who constantly helps others, expecting nothing but cool disdain in return.
He renovated his entire castle just so I’d feel comfortable for a couple of weeks and installed cat doors and cat beds everywhere for Princess Buttercup.
Luke’s also the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, his mind so brilliant he takes my breath away every day.
The picture showed it all so very clearly: I love him.
But he doesn’t love me.
Gossip crisis averted, we spend the next day and a half throwing ourselves into our research, clearing shelf after shelf of the witch collection, looking for more books with dark-purple auras.
Luke also refuses to let us slack off on our dance practices, and every moment spent in his arms is the sweetest of tortures.
We move together so much better now, our bodies growing familiar with one another in a way that feels almost magical.
We even manage to do one successful lift, with me hanging in the air above him, held up by the incredibly strong grip of his large hands on my hips.
By the time the golden sparkles surround us to whisk us into the book, I’m hopeful we’ll ace any dancing we may need to do without too many upsets.
We appear in the middle of the dance studio, Luke already holding me in his arms. His hand flexes on my bare shoulder blade, and I gasp, glancing down to find my adorable sailor jeans and off-the-shoulder sweater combo have disappeared to be replaced by a ballroom dancing dress that has less visible fabric than some of my lingerie!
Ropes of fake pearls hold flimsy scraps of pale pink in place over my breasts and hips, while skin-colored fabric covers the rest of my torso. I glance in the mirror, and yep! From only a couple of feet away, I look like I’m practically nude.
And Luke! I give another gasp as my eyes drink him in. Luke wears blue satin pants made from a material so thin they beat gray sweatpants for “most likely to show a bulge.” His dress shirt is completely transparent, the gauzy fabric clinging to his muscled chest and shoulders.
“By the goddess, what are you wearing?” He glances down. “Strike that. What am I wearing?”
“Luke, Skye, love the costumes. It’s so good to see you getting into the spirit of things.” Miss Michelle glides toward us. “Are you ready to mambo?”
“Mambo?” I mumble through numb lips. We haven’t practiced that one!
“Hell, yeah, Miss M,” Luke says, the male book character taking over. “Finally a sexy one.”
“Oh, Luke.” My eyelashes flutter furiously as the book takes control of my body. I swat his chest with the back of my hand. “You’re too much.”
“It’s all you, babe.” He picks up my hand and presses a kiss to the palm. “I see you in this dress, and all I can think are sexy thoughts.”
The instructor laughs. “Channel those into your dance, young man.”
Fortunately, this time, the scene starts at the beginning of the dance lesson, and we get a good twenty minutes of Miss Michelle taking us through the basic steps. “One, step forward on two, three, step back on four. One, step backward on two, three, step forward on four.”
She has us watch our movements in the mirror, and as much as I know I should focus on what I’m doing so we don’t get Groundhog Day-ed, my eyes still stray to Luke regularly, to the movement of his hips and the way the satin pants cling to his muscular thighs… and other parts.
I also catch him watching me, a hungry look in his eyes as my fake-naked dress makes it seem as if I’m about to have a wardrobe malfunction any second now.
This is why we’re getting the whole lesson, because the longer we spend in these costumes, the more we look but don’t touch, the more I want him.
By the time Miss Michelle has us practice the steps together, I’m almost panting to have Luke’s hands on me. I bite my lip to keep from moaning at the feel of his palm on my back, his fingertips flexing against my skin.
He groans when I grip his shoulder, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a visible swallow.
Hoo boy, I was wrong. Touching each other with a chaperone around is even hotter than looking at each other.
The first time we try to move together, I’m so caught by desire I completely flub the steps, moving forward instead of back.
I crash into Luke, his tall body a wall of muscle pressing against me in all the right ways.
It’s almost worth it as the golden sparkles surround us and take us right back to the start of the lesson.
In those few seconds we have before the book takes control of our words, I whisper, “Sorry!”
“It’s all right,” he rumbles.
But he’s wrong, so very wrong, because it’s even worse to go through the twenty minutes of individual practice the second time around. The tease of watching each other in the mirror has my body humming with tension, and I feel like I’m going to scream if I can’t get Luke’s hands on me now.
Finally, Miss Michelle lets us partner, and I give myself a stern talking to in my head: You have to keep it together, Skye! You won’t survive another round of that.
We dance around the room slowly, the instructor clapping out the beat. My body is intensely aware of his, Luke’s presence a pressure all down my front. Even in this skimpy costume, I feel too warm and constrained and antsy.
Then we find it, the rhythm of moving together as one. It’s hypnotic, my body reacting to every hint his gives me, where we’re going, how our hips are swaying. We become something greater than our parts, a creature of beauty in motion.
Luke spins me across the floor, and I feel like we’re flying, a giddy joy filling me. This is what I always wanted from learning to dance, this intense connection with my partner.
“Beautiful, beautiful!” Miss Michelle calls out.
And we are. I want to hold this moment in my heart, tuck it away and keep it forever.
The most perfect dance with the most perfect man.
“Skye,” Luke rumbles, husky and deep, and I know it’s the real Luke speaking, my Luke. “I—”
The front door to the studio bangs open, and three couples burst inside, laughing and chatting, voices excited and loud.
Miss Michelle comes over to us. “I’m so sorry. This is my next class, and they’re early.” She raises her voice so it carries across the room in that way teachers have.
“We couldn’t help ourselves, Miss Michelle! We’re just so excited to get started,” one of the men calls out.
The instructor turns back to us. “It’s my wedding dance class, and all of them just got engaged.” She smiles and gives a happy shrug. “Young love at Valentine’s is a beautiful thing.”
Several more couples enter, and I realize they’re all the ones from the ice cream shop.
Lastly, a young man pulls a woman into the studio. She protests, “But Charles, the sign on the door says this is a wedding dance class. We shouldn’t be here.”
“What if we should?” He drops to one knee, holding up a ring. “Bianca, will you marry me?”
She squeals yes and throws her arms around him.
Another couple comes in, repeating almost exactly the same lines. By the time we’ve seen three new proposals, Luke’s swearing under his breath in an ongoing litany.
“Is this going to keep happening every time we’re in the book?” he leans over to growl in my ear, sending shivers racing through me.
“I guess so.”
“It’s not exactly subtle.”
“It’s romantic,” I say. “Romance doesn’t need to be subtle.” All the best grand gestures are the opposite of subtle. They’re public and messy and a bit embarrassing, and that’s what makes them mean so much.
He grunts.
Golden sparkles fill my vision, making the dance studio and all its happy couples spin. Then we’re dropped back in Luke’s library, where we’re still wearing the ballroom dance outfits.
Only now, it’s the real Luke wearing the revealing clothes, my Luke. He looks even more amazing with his wings framing his back, his horns rising above his head.
Don’t look at his cocks, I chant to myself. Don’t look at his cocks! The double bulge will be absolutely obscene in those pants.
I look. Fudging fudge, do I look.
“Goddess,” Luke grits out, jerking my gaze up to his face. He reaches into his invisible pocket, pulls out a silky golden robe, and shoves it toward me. “Dress yourself.”
My whole body goes numb as I shrug into the voluminous robe and wrap it around me like protection, like it can shield my squishy heart from this new bruise. I don’t know why I’m so shocked. We’re no longer in the book. There’s nothing here in the real world to make him enjoy looking at me.