It wasn’t a dance. It was a hug. Because she needed it. And while my mind picked up the particulars—the press of her breasts against my upper abs, the way her thighs touched mine, the warmth of her body—it didn’t feel purely sexual. It felt like salvation. I hugged her, but she changed me from the inside out. It had been a lonely year, empty and cold, but here in the darkness, I felt whole. I hugged her because I needed it too.

It was almost too much, the exposed emotion. Like a raw wound being poked. But she felt too good to let go. And I was tired of resisting. Just plain tired of everything but her.

We swayed to Fiona Apple’s husky voice singing “I Know,” and when it ended, another song came on, a little more upbeat, but Emma stayed where she was.

“Thank you,” she finally said, tilting her head back to meet my eyes.

Her face was light and shadows, eyes gleaming in the dark. I wanted to touch her cheek, see if it was as cool and smooth as it looked, but I couldn’t seem to let go. Her gaze moved over my face, and I felt the exact moment she started thinking again. Her body tensed just enough to put a sliver of space between us. I wanted that space back, but I held still, kept my voice gentle.

“You okay?” I asked.

“What a question,” she said with a small husk of a laugh.

I found myself smiling. “I know it’s difficult assessing these feelings, Snoopy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Snoopy is a dog, you realize.”

She said it as though slightly offended, like I’d never called her the name before. But it was all there in her face, the need to tease and be teased, to lighten the mood that had fallen over us. I got it. In truth, I needed it too.

“A cute dog.”

“You’re comparing me to a dog.” Her brows rose like punctuation. “A dog.”

God, she was cute.

“What do you have against dogs?”

“Not a thing.” She rested her head on my chest again. “I just don’t want to be called one.”

Fighting a grin, I turned her, dancing now. “Stop fishing for compliments, Em. You don’t need them.”

“I don’t?”

“Oh, come on, I told you that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I glanced down at her upturned face and lost my breath. “You’re stunning.”

“You still unhappy about that, Brick?”

My chin touched the top of her head. “Yes.”

“Years I worried that men only wanted me for my looks. And now you come along, and you’re pissed off I’m pretty.” She sounded so aggrieved I wanted to chuckle.

“Stunning,” I corrected, a smile blooming when she growled. My lips ghosted over the warm skin near her temple. “It’s hard enough staying away from you.”

A tremor went through her slim body, but she kept her tone bland. “And you think if I was unattractive, it would be easier?”

I paused, considering the question. “No, even then.”

Her breath hitched, and I knew there would be more questions. Things that would change this moment of quiet perfection.

I put my hand on her head and guided her back to the spot on my chest that felt like it already belonged to her. “Stop thinking so much. Rest here for a while and just dance, little honeybee.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so comfortable to lean on,” she grumped without heat. “Otherwise, I’d protest this bit of manhandling.”

I let my cheek rest on her head once more. “Don’t worry; you can return the favor and order me around later.”

Weirdly, I was counting on that.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emma

Avoidance could only go so far. Eventually, one had to give in. Lucian and I stayed at the wedding until the last of the guests began to amble to their rooms. And then we left too. To our room.

It had been all fun and games when I had teased him about our single room earlier. It didn’t feel that way now. Not when he’d danced with me under the stars and told me he believed in me. No one had ever said that to me. Not like that, as though it came straight from their very core. Lucian believed in me. It changed everything. I wanted him. Him. No one else.

My fingertips were cold, my skin so tight that my movements felt unnatural as I dressed for bed in the ultraquiet of the bathroom. Given that I’d thought I would be alone tonight, my nightclothes consisted of a far-too-thin cotton nightshirt that reached the tops of my thighs and boy shorts underwear.

Honestly, I’d shown more in the pool. The man, like countless others, had seen me practically naked on television. Oh, the hubris in taunting him with that little nugget of information. It didn’t feel particularly amusing anymore.

I dithered in the bathroom, rubbing lotion into my feet and legs, waiting for my damn nipples to go down. But my heart kept pounding against the fragile wall of my chest.