25. A Dance of Desire #4
“Finn,” Amelia says, cutting through the charged silence.
After what feels like an eternity, he blinks and glances over at Amelia, as if searching for an anchor.
“Evenin’, Amelia,” he rasps.
She nods slowly as her eyes flit between us with a playful smile. With a gentle pat on my arm, she declares, “Bran, my dear, follow me to the refreshment table.” Her tone brooks no argument.
Without another word, he follows Amelia, his movements comically stiff as they vanish into the crowd.
Then our eyes meet—and everything around us seems to pause, not in some grand, sweeping way, but in the still, breathless quiet of something about to begin .
He blinks once, slowly, as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. His gaze moves over—reverently, longingly—as if he’s seeing something he hadn’t let himself believe could be real.
Finn clears his throat, his voice rougher than usual.
“Little Doe,” he murmurs—softer now. “You look… exceptional.”
His words hold meaning far heavier than their simplicity. The name—once playful, once a tease—now inspires an entirely unfamiliar emotion.
The air between us shimmers with unspoken words, a fragile thread pulling tighter with each breath we share. I ache for him to let me in, to shatter the barrier he holds so firmly in place, to offer me just one fragment of what hides behind those guarded, golden eyes.
One word. One touch. One moment that assures me this means as much to him as it does to me.
That I am not just a fleeting thought, a brief spark in his endless storm, but something more.
I’d give anything for proof, even the smallest hint, that this connection is not just borrowed time.
That I could have more of him if I dared to reach for it.
“Our outfits match almost perfectly,” I murmur, my voice softer than I intend, as my fingers reach out to brush along the lapels of his jacket.
Divine doesn’t do him justice. The deep crimson fabric, the intricate embellishments—it all seems crafted to make him look otherworldly, untouchable, yet here he stands, so close I can feel the heat radiating from him.
His expression doesn’t shift, but his hand moves, catching mine before it falls away.
His grip on me is firm and unyielding, its heat coursing through my body and igniting an ache deep within my core. My thighs clench instinctively, desperate for relief. If he notices, he gives no sign, his attention steadfast.
“It’s almost as if it were meant to be. Or a—not at all heavily orchestrated—coincidence,” he teases, affirming what we know to be true.
“I do wonder if Amelia was born with that meddlesome streak, or if it’s a skill she’s had to fine-tune over the years.”
He steps in closer, the space between us charged. His gaze flicks to my mouth, then slowly rises to meet mine again. He catches his lower lip between his teeth and releases it with a subtle exhale, as if he’s burying wicked intent.
“Must run in the family,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now.
Before I can fire back, his fingers slide along my wrist, slow and deliberate, as though he’s memorising the feel of my pulse.
I draw in a sharp breath, trying to hold his gaze, but it’s like looking directly into a flame.
“Let’s not pretend you don’t love it,” I whisper, breath hitching, the words a challenge.
He hums in response, as his gaze makes a final pass over the entirety of me. His jaw flexes once before he leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, not touching, just letting the heat of his breath skate across my skin.
A shiver rolls through me, sharp and immediate.
“Have I ever pretended,” he murmurs, voice like a touch meant to linger, “not to love how headstrong you can be?”
Then—slowly—he pulls back.
Not far. Just enough to watch the change in my expression. To see how his words land.
As if guided by instinct, he releases my wrist and steps in closer. Slowly, deliberately, he takes my hand and places it against his chest—right over his heart.
The steady thrum beneath my palm is impossible to ignore.
Then his other hand slides to the small of my back, his touch warm through the thin fabric of my gown. The contact robs the air from my lungs, leaving me weightless and wanting.
His lips curl into a slow, appreciative smirk, his mouth lowering just enough to hover near the curve of my neck.
“Dance with me, Doe,” his voice a velvet command.
When Finn takes charge, I want to surrender—completely. It’s a dangerous contrast to the fierce woman I know myself to be, and yet it feels like coming home.
My lips part, and the words spill out—unbidden, but true. “I’d love nothing more than to dance in your arms, Finn.”
His hand tightens at the small of my back. Without a word, he leads me onto the floor. His movements are sure, effortless—as though he’s always known how to move me this way.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur, my voice low, my eyes searching his. “What’s going through your mind?”
“Just enjoyin’ the moment,” he replies, though his tone is too careful, too controlled .
His grip on my back tightens, drawing me imperceptibly nearer, as though closing even the smallest distance between us is a necessity. “I’m tryin’ to form coherent thoughts, and they all just keep leavin’ me.”
The tension between us hums like a drawn wire, ready to snap with the slightest movement. An eagerness I’ve never known coils tight in my chest—hope and frustration warring in equal measure. I’m wrestling with the unbearable thought that he might let this moment pass untouched.
“Why do they seem to leave you?”
Every beat of my heart is a lull, challenging him to cross the chasm between us. This all feels too meaningful to just be a fleeting dance. It feels… destined.
The last note of the song lingers in the air. He slows to a near stop, his thumb tracing slow, aching circles against my back. His lips part—but the words never come.
“May I have a dance?”
The voice cuts through the moment like cold water on an open flame.
Mannie.
His fair hair gleams under the chandeliers, and his tailored suit speaks volumes. He smiles at me, but his eyes flick to Finn, assessing the situation.
Finn’s hand stiffens on my back. For one breathless second, I think he might speak—might do something. His lips part, the shadow of resistance flickering in his eyes as he looks at Mannie, then back at me. The pause lingers, just long enough for hope to stir in my chest… only to tremble.
“Ah,” Mannie says, his smile shifting into something sly as he catches Finn’s hesitation. “Is she now spoken for? It seemed she was not when you arrived. Forgive me if I’ve trod where I should not.”
My heart pounds in the silence that follows. I look at Finn expectantly, my breath stills in my throat as I wait for him to say the words I’ve been longing to hear. Say the words—say I’m yours.
But he doesn’t.
Finn shakes his head, his expression unreadable as he steps back, releasing me. “No,” he whispers, the single word a jagged knife in my chest.
The sting of his refusal radiates through me. My face falls before I can stop it, the hope I’d carried extinguished in an instant. If he won’t fight for me, then I won’t stand here waiting for him to decide I’m worth it .
With a sharp smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, I turn to Mannie, sliding my hand into his outstretched one.
My heart protests, each beat a silent plea for the man beside me to stop me, to fight for me.
But I bury the yearning deep, layering my actions with feigned confidence.
If Finn won’t step forward, then I’ll do what I must do to protect myself—even if it means hiding the truth of how deeply his rejection cuts.
A small spiteful voice inside urges me to push forward, to show him what he’s letting slip through his fingers. “I’d love to dance,” I say, my voice laced with a forced sweetness.
Mannie glances at Finn, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before leading me back to the floor. My steps are deliberately lighter, my laughter too bright as I throw myself into the dance. Bitterness threatens to ruin this night if I don’t tamper down this hurt.
Fighting to hold a smile, I let Mannie lead me deeper into the crowd. With each step, Finn fades from view, swallowed by the sea of dancers and gilded light.