Chapter Eight #2
That waltz was followed by another. By the end Violet’s eyes were dark as night, her cheeks flushed.
I was getting closer and closer to the edge, almost at the point where throwing her over my shoulder seemed like a reasonable way to end the evening.
The band changed tempo and started up a Glenn Miller classic.
“Can you?” I asked. The foxtrot and waltz were one thing, but swing dancing—real swing dancing—was different. I’d learned. We all had. I wasn’t expecting Violet to raise an eyebrow and challenge, “Of course, but can you?”
I didn’t bother to answer but pulled her into the fast-paced dance. A wide, unaffected smile split her face and she moved in my arms as if she’d been waiting her entire life for this one dance. I spun her, dipped her, and held her against me until we were both breathless and laughing.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye Jacob and Abigail on the dance floor, holding their own. Gage had coaxed Sophie into the dance, and she bit her lip in concentration as she tried to keep up.
The music faded away and Violet said, “Champagne. I hate to say it, but I’m thirsty.”
We made our way off the dance floor, heading for the open doors of the terrace. Passing a waiter carrying a tray, I took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Violet.
“Dance class?” I asked.
Violet laughed, her eyes sparkling as she took a deep drink of the champagne. I wasn’t going to tell her to stop. I’d get her home safely, and I liked her with her guard down.
“Five years,” she said. “You, too?”
“My mother’s command. All of us went. Even Charlie, though I practically had to drag her in.”
“Us too. I never minded, but Ch-, my brother, hated it. He only went for a year before he quit.”
“But you liked it?” I probed, letting the brief mention of her brother go without comment. If I probed, she’d clam up. This was the first time she’d talked about herself. I wanted to hear more.
“I did. I loved it—the music, learning the steps.”
“And the boys?” I teased.
I still remembered the girls from dance class, their starched dresses and shiny shoes.
The flirtatious smiles. Those first few years of dance class none of us thought much of the girls.
We were all still thinking about video games and secret clubhouses.
I’d hated dance class right up until my hormones kicked in, and it became an exquisite torture.
I was moving Violet back as we talked, guiding her along the edge of the terrace where tall potted plants in the corner created a private nook. On the way, I snagged another two glasses of champagne and exchanged our empties.
“You know how it was,” she said. “Lined up on each side of the room. The boys with their sweaty hands. Waiting for the instructor to pair us up. I was shy, and the boys made me nervous.”
“And now? Do boys still make you nervous?”
She stared up at me, her lips parted, breath held, as if frozen on a precipice.
I waited for her to choose, my own breath tight in my chest. After an endless moment, she looked away, took the champagne glass from my hand, and lifted it to her lips.
In one long sip, she drained it and set it on the railing of the terrace.
Those deep lavender eyes met mine. “Only you. Only you make me nervous.”
Her confession was the most honest thing she’d ever said to me. I closed my hands over her shoulders and ran them down her arms, her skin warm and impossibly soft. She leaned into me and raised her mouth to mine.
Every moment of the evening, of the last few weeks, had been leading to this. I drew her hands up, leaving them to rest on my shoulders, and cupped her face in my palms, feeling her frantic pulse beat under my fingertips.
It started in a whisper of touch, my lips brushing hers, her breath mingling with mine, tasting of champagne. Her lips opened, inviting, and I didn’t hesitate. Her hands moved up, fingers burying themselves in my hair, pulling me against her as the kiss turned abruptly hungry.
Carnal.
Her mouth under mine was hot and eager, her tongue sliding against my own, her lips falling apart as I slanted my mouth into hers over and over again, drinking in her barely audible moans.
I turned her, pressing her back to the wall, crowding her, needing to feel her against me, to keep her still. To keep her exactly where I wanted her as I kissed her again and again.
I was barely aware we had company, too caught up in Violet to care about anyone else until she went stiff in my arms and let out a sound of distress.
Angling my body to shield her from whatever had caused her to tense, I turned to see Gage standing behind me, his arms crossed over his chest, his face like thunder.
Glaring back at him, I stepped fully in front of Violet, pulling my phone from my pocket and sending a quick text to my driver. There was no way we were going back into the ballroom after that kiss.
First, I had to get rid of Gage.
“What?” I asked, impatient. For all the times I’d walked in on Gage and Sophie in all manner of compromising positions, everywhere but in their own rooms, you’d think he could keep his fucking nose out of my business. A kiss in the corner wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like I had anything to hide.
“Can we talk?” Gage asked stiffly, looking past me to Violet, his blue eyes hard with dislike.