19. Milonga Night #2
I blink, coming back to reality as I realize—everyone stopped dancing. The once lively floor, filled with swirling bodies and rhythmic footwork, now stands still. Every pair of eyes is locked onto us. A captive audience.
Heat flushes my skin as the realization sinks in. Damian, ever composed, simply smirks and releases me slowly, his touch lingering longer than necessary before we both take a step back and bow.
The applause grows louder, cheers ringing out from different corners of the room, but all I can think about is getting the hell out of here before I completely fall apart.
Muttering a quick excuse, I turn on my heel and make my way toward the bathroom, trying not to sprint.
The moment I step into the stall, I press my back against the door, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to catch my breath. My pulse is still erratic, my entire body thrumming with an energy I don’t know how to contain.
That was intense. More than intense. It was the most sensual, most raw experience of my life.
I squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt to ground myself, but the second I do, I feel it.
The evidence of just how much that dance affected me.
My stomach drops.
No. No, no, no.
I press my fingers against my temple, exhaling shakily as reality sets in. Are you serious? I’ve never—never—had this happen before. Not from a kiss. Not from a touch. And definitely not from a dance.
Swearing under my breath, I reach beneath my dress. Sure enough, my panties are ruined.
I squeeze my eyes shut in mortification. Of all nights, of all pairs—why did it have to be these? They were my favorite.
With a frustrated sigh, I slip them off, balling the damp lace in my fist before stepping out of the stall. Making my way to the sink, I turn on the faucet, running cold water over my wrists in a weak attempt to steady myself.
I take a deep breath, smoothing out my dress, willing myself to pull it together before I walk back out there. I can do this. I can face Damian without—
The moment I push open the bathroom door, my breath catches.
Damian is standing right there.
Waiting for me.
My stomach lurches, and before I can even react, my fingers slip, and to my absolute horror, the wadded-up lace in my hand falls straight to the floor.
Time stops.
I stop breathing.
Damian’s sharp blue eyes flick downward.
I scramble to grab them, but he’s faster.
Bending down, he picks up the delicate scrap of lace and straightens, holding them between his fingers.
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips.
I think I might actually die on the spot.
He twirls the lace between his fingers before tucking them neatly into his pocket. His smirk deepens as his gaze flicks back up to mine, amusement and something far darker swirling in his expression.
“Forget something?” His voice is deep, rich, and entirely too amused.
I gape at him, absolutely speechless.
He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to send shivers down my spine. “I’ll hold onto these.”
I swear my heart stops.
Then, before I can react—before I can process what just happened—Damian takes my hand.
For a second, I think he’s leading me to the exit. But no. Instead, he guides me back to my table.
My mind is still spinning, but I follow, helpless to do anything else. With effortless charm, he pulls out my chair, waiting until I sit before taking the seat across from me. Then, without missing a beat, he waves down a waitress.
“Two whiskeys,” he orders smoothly. “Neat.”
The waitress nods and leaves.
Damian leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze locked onto mine, sharp and undeniably entertained. “So,” he says, smirking. “Was it the dance, or was it me?”
I grip the edge of the table, my pulse still thundering in my ears.
I narrow my eyes at him, forcing myself to ignore the warmth still simmering low in my stomach. Two can play this game.
I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Damian chuckles, a deep, rich sound that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
He leans in just a fraction more, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Liar.”
My breath hitches.
The waitress returns, setting our drinks down in front of us.
I quickly grab my glass, needing the burn of alcohol to ground me.
But as I take my first sip, Damian lifts his own glass, tilting it slightly in a mock toast.
“To unforgettable dances,” he murmurs, his gaze burning into mine.
I swallow hard.
This night just took a very dangerous turn.
And the worst part?
I’m not sure I want to find my way back.
I finally regain some of my composure, but one thing is abundantly clear—Damian holds all the power in this moment. He sits across from me, completely relaxed, like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile, my pulse still hasn’t returned to normal.
He lifts his glass, swirling the liquid inside before taking a slow sip, watching me over the rim. That same knowing smirk lingers at the corners of his lips, like he’s savoring my unraveling.
I refuse to let him have the upper hand any longer.
“So,” I start, picking up my own glass and leaning back into my seat with as much nonchalance as I can manage. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
Damian tilts his head, amused but saying nothing.
I arch a brow, feigning curiosity. “Are you a regular who’s been hiding in the shadows, or did you just come tonight to find me?”
His lips curve slightly as he sets his drink down. “What do you think?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s not an answer.”
“It wasn’t a question,” he counters smoothly.
I roll my eyes. “Are you always this cryptic, or do you just enjoy being difficult?”
He leans in slightly, resting his forearm on the table. “Only when the company is worth the effort.”
A slow warmth spreads through me at the intensity in his gaze, but I push past it. I need to regain control.
“You danced like someone who has been doing this for years,” I point out, tilting my head. “And yet, I’ve never seen you before. That’s an interesting contradiction.”
Damian chuckles, the sound low and rich. “The right teacher can make all the difference.”
I study him, intrigued. “So you’re telling me you just picked this up overnight?”
His smirk deepens. “Some things come naturally.”
There’s something dangerously alluring about the way he says it, and I don’t miss the double meaning. My mind flashes back to the way he led me across the dance floor, how seamlessly our bodies fit together, how effortlessly he matched my movements.
No, this was not natural.
This was deliberate.
“You’re still avoiding my question,” I point out, swirling my drink as I hold his gaze. “Are you a dancer, or did you come here for another reason?”
He lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Let’s just say the stars aligned.”
I huff, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, eyes glinting with amusement, “you’re still sitting here.”
I can’t argue with that.
The conversation shifts subtly, the flirtation still present but layered with something deeper. I find myself wanting to know more about him—who he is, what he does, why he carries himself like a man who controls everything around him.
“What about you?” he asks suddenly, turning the focus back on me. “You dance like it’s in your blood.”
Something inside me flickers.
“It is,” I admit softly. “My father—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “My uncle—he taught me when I was young. We used to come here together every month. This is the first time I’ve been back without him.”
Damian’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something different in his eyes. He’s listening—not just to the words but to what they mean.
I’m not sure why I just told him that.
“I’m sure he was an incredible dancer,” Damian says after a pause. “But I have a hard time believing anyone could have been a better partner than you.”
His words settle into something warm inside me.