4. Kara #2
The whole thing took less than seven seconds. Nobody around us even noticed; the music kept playing, the laughter continued near the bar, and the crowd kept moving.
I stand there, my chest rising and falling slightly faster than usual, my eyes fixed on Leander.
Leander turns his head to look at me. His posture is relaxed again, his hands sliding back into his tuxedo pockets as if he just picked up a dropped napkin from the floor.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice deep and completely steady.
"He was drunk," I mutter, keeping my voice calm, though my heart is beating heavily against my ribs. "And you just broke a senior orthopedic surgeon's wrist in the middle of a hospital fundraiser."
"He'll heal in six weeks," Leander replies. "And his left hand still works fine for signing charts."
I let out a short, sharp breath that is half a laugh and half disbelief. "You're unbelievable."
"He put his hands on you," Leander murmurs, his eyes locking onto mine with deep intensity. "He shouldn't have done that."
The absoluteness in his voice makes something warm and sharp coil in the pit of my stomach. He didn't do it to show off. He did it because someone crossed a boundary with me, and his reaction was as automatic as breathing.
"I had it under control," I tell him, stepping an inch closer to him. "I was about to break his foot."
A tiny, almost invisible tilt appears at the corner of Leander's mouth. "I saved you the dry-cleaning bill for your dress."
"Fair point," I concede softly.
We stand there for a moment in the dimly lit alcove, the ambient light from the chandelier reflecting off his dark eyes. The distance between us, the distance we've maintained so carefully for four days has completely vanished.
The jazz band shifts into a slow rhythm, the bass reverberating faintly through the hardwood floor under my heels. On the main floor, several couples have moved toward the space in front of the stage.
Leander looks down at me, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before coming back up to my eyes.
"Do you want to leave?" he asks quietly.
"Not yet, I’d like to dance.” I reply, surprising myself with the quickness of the answer. "I haven't danced once tonight. Will you dance with me?"
Kara, what are you saying? A minute ago you thought he was a cold, irritating grumpy guy now you’re asking him to dance?
Leander stares at me, his brow rising slightly. "I don't dance, Kara."
"You don't talk much either, but here we are," I reply, holding out my hand to him. "One song, Dr. Sartori. Then you can go back to standing against your pillar like a security guard."
He looks at my hand for two long seconds. I expect him to refuse, to make a cold comment about professional boundaries and walk away.
Instead, he reaches out, his large, warm palm wrapping around my fingers. His skin is slightly rough, his grip firm and solid.
He leads me out of the alcove and onto the edge of the floor, away from the bright overhead lights, into the softer shadows near the side drapery.
He pulls me in close, his left hand settling against the small of my waist, his fingers pressing firm through the thin silk of my dress. My right hand rests against his shoulder, feeling the broad, hard muscle beneath his tuxedo jacket.
He moves with a slow, effortless grace that completely contradicts his massive frame. He isn't stiff or hesitant; he controls the space around us completely.
Well, well, well. Mr grumpy knows how to dance, who would’ve thought.
"You're full of surprises," I murmur, looking up into his face.
"So are you," Leander replies, his dark eyes holding mine. "I expected you to report Callahan to HR tomorrow morning with a twelve-page deposition."
"I still might," I reply, my thumb absently brushing against the fabric of his shoulder. "Legal documentation is very effective. But a broken wrist is much faster."
A quiet exhale escapes his nose, the closest thing to a genuine laugh I've heard from him since we met.
"You're dangerous, Rossi," he whispers softly.
"You're the one stepping over people on the carpet," I counter, my voice dropping an octave as the proximity between us grows heavier.
His hand on my waist pulls me half an inch closer, until there is no air left between us. I can feel the heat radiating off his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.
The hostility that has been buzzing between us all week morphs into something else entirely. Something sharp, dark, and heavy.
"I didn't like you on the sidewalk," I whisper, my eyes fixing on his sharp jawline.
"I know," Leander replies, his thumb moving slightly against my waist, sending a shiver straight up my spine. "You made that very clear."
"And I don't like how you look at me in the hospital like I'm an obstacle."
"I don't look at you like an obstacle," he corrects quietly, his head tilting down, his breath warm against my cheek.
"How do you look at me then?"
Leander stops moving. The music continues around us, but the world narrows down to just the two of us standing in the shadow of the velvet curtains.
"Like a distraction," he answers, his raspy voice dropping into a register that makes my pulse spike. "A distraction I don't need."
"Then stop looking," I challenge softly, leaning up just an inch on my heels.
Leander lets out a low, rough breath.
His hand slides up from my waist to the side of my neck, his long fingers tangling into the loose strands of hair near my jaw, his thumb pressing gently against my pulse point.
"I tried," he mutters.
And then he tilts his head down and kisses me.
The kiss isn't gentle or hesitant. It’s hard and possessing, with all the restrained friction of the past week. His lips press against mine with a fierce, quiet demand that makes my mind go completely blank.
I gasp slightly against his mouth, and he uses the moment to deepen the kiss, his hand tightening at the back of my neck, pulling me flush against his chest. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him down to me.
Kara, what are you doing?
There is no restraint left in him, none of the calm or cold indifference he wears like armor during the day. Just raw, unyielding heat that burns right through my composure, leaving me breathless against his mouth.
He pulls back half an inch, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes wide and intense, his chest rising and falling fast against my own.
My lips are warm and tingling, my breathing shallow, my hands still gripped tightly around his shoulders.
We stare at each other in the dark corner of the room, the music playing on, both of us realizing with sudden, terrifying clarity that whatever line we just crossed, there is no going back from it.