Chapter Eleven #2
Zach’s shirt was half undone, his collar damp, his hands low at her waist. Cass looked up at him with a dangerous ease she saved for beautiful men. Curiosity and invitation. She was sex and poetry in motion.
Harmony’s partner spun her, then pulled her back. She laughed, then made the mistake of looking up again. This time, Zach’s gaze met hers. The music seemed to wrap around her, and her body pulsed with need.
“I think you’re just the right amount of trouble,” her partner said, drawing her attention back.
“Only when I’m bored,” she replied.
He laughed and spun her again.
This time, when Harmony looked up, she caught her cousin’s eyes. Cass’s gaze sparkled as she winked, mischief flaring deep blue. She whispered something to Zach, who smiled, then accepted a kiss on his cheek before she danced away.
Harmony tried to look elsewhere, but Zach’s gaze captured hers again. It wasn’t innocent. It held something else she couldn’t read—a question, a warning.
Suddenly, Cass reappeared, cheeks flushed. She smiled at Harmony’s dance partner, all charm and trouble. “Mind if I cut in?”
She took the man’s hand without waiting. He looked at Harmony, and she nodded. He looked starstruck. Cass had that effect.
“Great taste, Cuz,” Cass said as they spun away.
Harmony laughed. The man was tipsy and in heaven. He didn’t know it yet, but there was no chance he’d be going home with Harmony. With Cass in this mood, his odds had just skyrocketed.
“Now, it’s my turn.”
Harmony’s spine tingled at the voice behind her. She turned to see Zach standing inches away.
“Are you stealing dances now?” she asked.
“Only when they’re worth stealing.”
He closed the gap between them, one hand on her waist, the other guiding hers to his shoulder. The world melted again—just breath and pulse and unbearable nearness. His body was solid heat, his thumb drawing idle circles through the fabric of her dress.
“I wouldn’t have taken you as a dancing man.”
“I’m not. I’ve been known to make exceptions, though.”
“I should be watching out for Cass before she gets into trouble.”
His mouth curved near her ear. “She looks just fine to me.”
Harmony’s laugh came out softer than she meant it to.
“Do you always flirt with multiple women?” she asked.
“Only when they’re standing too close.”
Harmony laughed again. These were the games she enjoyed most. As long as all the players knew the score, there was no harm in turning up the heat.
Zach moved so much better than she’d expected. Controlled, measured, every shift deliberate. He led in a way that said he would never relinquish control.
She liked it.
The chaos from earlier felt a million miles away. Now it was only the two of them. His hand was rough, his touch steady, but deliberate. She didn’t know what was coming, which was rare for her.
“This has been quite a night,” she said, needing to break the silence, the intimacy.
“Every night on the island is,” he replied. “You just have to know where to look.”
“I’ve noticed you’re always watching from the corners.”
“They’re great hiding places. You can watch everything without being seen,” he replied.
“Except by me,” she told him.
He laughed. “I think you see far too much.”
They turned in slow circles beneath the glittering ceiling. The room still buzzed with whispers, but Harmony heard only the soft rasp of his voice.
High above them on the mezzanine, shadows shifted near the rail. For a second, Harmony had the unnerving sense that someone was looking down on them, cataloging every brush of their hands. By the time she glanced up, all she saw was the sway of a chandelier.
“Tell me something, Harmony,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath. “When you write about us . . . do you ever wonder if one of your characters reads it?”
She met his gaze, steady. “I’d hope they’d appreciate my honesty.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you think you’re honest?”
She thought for a moment. “I’m observant. I write what I see, what I feel.” She paused and gave him a wicked grin. “But, sometimes the ordinary is boring, so I write what I think is better.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Better?”
“Sure. Life is boring. We wake up with bad breath and messy hair, do the dishes, feed the animals, go to work, exercise, cook dinner, do laundry. Rinse and repeat. Why wouldn’t a writer create a world without boundaries? Isn’t that what we all want? A world without rules?”
“Rules keep us alive. They keep us honest.”
“Some rules are meant to be broken, but we don’t get that in real life. That’s why we read. That’s why we write. We get to break all the rules consequence-free.”
“There are always consequences,” he warned.
“Not in my world,” she said, leaning a little closer, testing the very rules she’d just dismissed.
He mirrored her danger for danger. “I guess none of it matters if a person is dangerous enough.”
Their eyes locked. Attraction, yes—but something else, too. A warning neither of them seemed willing to heed.
His breath touched her ear, and a shiver ran down her spine. “You pretend you don’t like being seen, but I don’t think you want people to look away.”
“It’s not pretend,” she said. “Being seen means being bound.”
“You’ve been watching me since we got here,” he said, confident.
She smiled, not denying it. “Maybe I’m dissecting you . . . for research.”
“What have you learned?”
“That you’re dangerous . . . in many, many ways.”
“And you aren’t?” he pushed.
She didn’t answer. She simply smiled.
Their steps slowed. His thumb traced the edge of her hip through the fabric, enough to make her breath catch. Her fingers tightened at the back of his neck. The song didn’t end—it melted into another—slower, deeper, more sensual.
The band had switched to a rhythm for lovers. All around them, hands slid on hips, mouths brushed necks, and laughter turned into sighs. Everyone was looking for a bed, a way to silence the island’s drumbeat for a few hours. Avalon had turned molten.
Zach’s hand drifted upward, resting just below her ribs. “You’re playing with fire, Harmony.”
“Maybe it’s what I came here for. I like a good burn.”
He studied her, gaze dark. “Aren’t you afraid the island will burn you back?”
“It already has.”
Zach smiled. “Maybe we deserve each other.”
He leaned in. The air between them thinned until she could feel his heartbeat, matching hers. His breath mingled with hers—salt, heat, the faintest trace of whiskey. She almost closed the distance. Almost. But she didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, she whispered. “We always stop before the good part.”
He looked surprised, then smiled. “Maybe I’m waiting for the right song.” His breath brushed her temple. “Besides, you always seem as if you’re somewhere else instead of in the moment.”
She considered that. “Maybe I am.”
“That might be the problem.”
She lifted her chin enough to meet his eyes. “You think I’m a problem?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His hand tightened at her waist—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her how easily he could. “Maybe,” he finally said. “But I don’t always mind problems.”
The space between them vanished for another heartbeat. It was nearly a kiss, possibly something more. But neither closed that final gap. Why? Maybe because then it would be real instead of a game. And perhaps they were both players.
Zach’s lips grazed her jaw. “Everyone’s looking to push out the loneliness tonight,” he huskily said.
“Maybe we should keep dancing then.”
“We probably should.”
The song ended. The room exhaled. Without thinking, they each took a step back, hunger and worry in their eyes.
Were they pushing it too far? He stepped forward again, this time so close that not even a whisper could get between them.
His lips brushed past hers. Her heart thundered . . . then she stepped back once more.
“Careful, Zach. The island’s watching.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth before slowly coming back to her eyes. “So am I.”
Her heart pounded as temptation and willpower fought for dominance. He smirked, as if knowing this round belonged to him.
“You’d better be careful, Harmony. You’re starting to become part of the story.”
She smiled. “Maybe I’ve always been.”
Mystery and heat swirled in his eyes. “That’s what scares me.”
He finally let go and turned away. Harmony realized she’d been holding her breath. She wasn’t sure if she truly was part of the story she didn’t want to be in.
Was she the next victim?
The music swelled again, trying to drown out the words. The crowd resumed its false laughter. Harmony stood alone for a long moment, pulse steadying, thoughts spinning.
Cass found her by the balcony doors, champagne untouched in her hand.
“What a freaking disaster,” Cass muttered. “Where’s Mary?”
“Gone.”
“Torie?”
Harmony scanned the room. Torie was gone, too. So was Candy.
Only Zach remained where he’d been most of the night—now back to his column, arms crossed, watching everything with faint, cold amusement. Their eyes met across the chaos. They held too many secrets between them. She should walk to him and take his hand. She should let go.
She couldn’t make herself do it, though.
“What happened to your dance partner?” Harmony asked.
“He bored me. I slipped away.”
Harmony laughed.
Cass bumped Harmony’s shoulder. “Besides, it’s more fun to be with you and watch all the chaos. Since you’re the director, after all.”
Harmony shrugged. “I simply write what happens.”
“Maybe it happens because you write it.”
Nonsense. That was utter nonsense. If this weren’t true, though, why was her pulse pounding at the thought of it?
She downed her champagne.
Somewhere in the ballroom, the old building seemed to exhale. The light glowed a fraction too bright, like they were rehearsing for the moment they’d be asked to go out for real.
When the lights turned off . . . then came back on, who would still be with them?