her waist.
The smooth, steady rhythm of the music seemed to pound through the wall of her chest before joining her own erratic heartbeat. He pulled her close. So close that the smooth dark skin of his open collar was directly in her eye line, mere inches away. The tips of her breasts pressed momentarily against a wall of warm hard muscle before he moved back slightly. Her free hand hovered uncertainly for a moment before she bravely moved it upwards to link around his neck, her fingers resting between warm skin and the thick dark hair of his nape as he led her into an easy rhythm.
She had been given the finest dancing lessons as a young teenager to prepare her for the many occasions that a princess was required to perform a simple waltz or foxtrot. Nine times out of ten she tripped over her own feet, of course, but she knew the basics. But none of that could have prepared her for this moment. They seemed to dance for hours, moving in perfect unison. He was an excellent lead, confident and strong. He held her in such a way that she almost felt graceful for the first time in her life. His hands did not wander from their place on her waist; he didn’t even try to pull her too close against him. She felt safe, she realised. What a strange thing to feel in the arms of a man she barely knew.
Her dark stranger bent his head and for a moment she wondered if he planned to kiss her. She held her breath, relaxing when instead his mouth stopped somewhere just above her earlobe.
‘In my country, dancing like this is considered a very intimate act.’ His voice was a soft rumble that sent an earthquake of shivers down her spine.
‘Is that so?’ Cressida breathed, hardly believing that such a husky murmur had just escaped her own suddenly dry throat. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
A mischievous smile played on his lips. ‘You can’t?’
‘People dance all of the time. It’s hardly dangerous.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ he murmured. ‘Swaying like this...pressed so close... I can see how it would be seen as temptation.’
‘Temptation for what...?’ Her feverish brain wondered momentarily at his choice of words before realisation dawned with all the grace of a sledgehammer. She clumsily missed a step but her dancing partner barely reacted, correcting her misstep with graceful ease and continuing as though nothing had occurred.
‘It is usually only married couples who might dance like this,’ he continued, oblivious to her embarrassment. ‘Or perhaps those who are engaged to be married.’
She barely registered his words as her mind focused on the heat of his hand as it began to move higher on her waist, resting ever so slightly on the bared skin of her lower back. It was as though the movement of his hand shifted some kind of invisible barrier between them. She looked up, meeting the visible heat in his eyes for a long silent moment. The air seemed to pulse with heat along with the slow seductive crooning of the jazz in the background.
Suddenly it felt as though every inch of her front was glued to a wall of warm hard muscle. Her body felt heated and loose in his arms, her mind telling her to move closer. A tiny fragment of her logical brain warned her to walk away. She ignored it.
‘I doubt anyone else in here considers slow dancing to be such an important act.’ She kept her tone even, trying to maintain some level of worldly composure in the face of her body’s ridiculous reaction.
‘I had quite forgotten that there was anyone else here at all,’ he said softly.
Cressida looked up to meet his eyes; they were dark and earnest, no trace of humour or sarcasm. She felt her cheeks heat, her eyes lowering to rest comfortably on his chin. This was it, she told herself sternly—this was the moment where she should thank him for a lovely dance and make a calm and graceful exit.
The dance had been perfect, she told herself sternly—exactly what she had needed. She had sought a little excitement on her night of freedom and now she would leave London tomorrow and go happily to her duty. She could forget about this night, forget about this handsome stranger and easily go on for ever without wondering...
Suddenly she became aware that they had stopped dancing. The music had got faster and the other couples moved around the spot where they stood, entirely still in their embrace. She looked up. He was still watching her with that impenetrable gaze in a moment that seemed to stretch on as though separate from time entirely. His fingers flexed slightly at her waist, sending tingles up her spine.
What would it be like to feel his mouth on hers and his hands roaming over her body? The thought caught her by surprise, her cheeks heating as she ran the tip of her tongue along her suddenly dry lips. Her sister had described a kind of madness that had taken over when she’d met the man who was now her fiancé, an attraction that had overcome logic and reason. She doubted she could ever harbour such a passion. All of a sudden she despised the calm, rational Cressida who lived in fear of straying too far from her comfort zone. What would it feel like to simply have a thought pop into one’s mind and act on it? To be a different version of herself, even for just a moment?
He cleared his throat and she felt the moment slipping away; the small window of time she had been granted seemed to be disappearing, leaving nothing but the promise of tomorrow. Of the life being forced upon her. The choices she would no longer be free to make. But not yet...a small voice inside whispered.
She looked up into the deep brown of his gaze, catching her breath at the blatant heat she saw there. Madness indeed, she thought as her breath stopped completely, realising what she was about to do. Letting impulse take the lead, she flexed her body upwards and pressed her lips to his.
Soft, firm lips remained still under the clumsy touch of her inexperienced kiss. The hands on her waist applied pressure, holding her where she stood as his lips began to move against hers, hard and fast. Suddenly the kiss was demanding and filled with a hunger that took her breath away. It was intoxicating and overwhelming and...utterly perfect.
Was this what everyone felt when they kissed a man for the first time? Was this what she had been missing out on all these years? It felt as though she was waking up from a deep sleep and feeling her body come to life for the first time.
When he pulled his mouth from hers all too soon, she felt the loss keenly, as though going from the warmth of a fire to the bitter cold.
He uttered something harsh and guttural in a foreign language before she felt herself being unceremoniously hauled away from the dance floor towards the private area at the back of the club. Still dazed by the earth-shattering kiss, she didn’t think to protest, allowing herself to be steered into a semi-private booth shielded partially from view by a thick red velvet curtain.
‘I didn’t mean for that to happen.’ He spoke harshly, his breathing slightly laboured. ‘I didn’t intend to—’
‘Please, don’t apologise,’ she blurted, not wanting his regretful words to taint what had been such a wonderful moment for her. One half of her prayed silently that he would leave, while the other half wanted nothing more than for him to take her in his arms again. ‘I kissed you, after all.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I’m glad that I did.’
‘You might not feel that way if you knew who I was.’ He spoke evenly, but his expression held a trace of darkness that had not been there before.
‘Maybe it adds to the sense of mystery.’ She attempted a smile.
‘Is this what you were seeking tonight, coming here?’ His voice was a low rumble as he took a step closer. ‘Kissing strangers on a darkened dance floor?’
Something in his eyes brought gooseflesh to her exposed skin. She couldn’t put her finger on it but the atmosphere no longer felt warm and anonymous; she felt suddenly exposed and thoroughly out of her depth. The realisation of what she had just done came crashing upon her like a cold shower and she took a few slow backwards steps.
‘Thank you for the dance,’ she murmured, avoiding his eyes. ‘It was...wonderful.’
He raised one brow, leaning against the side panel on the wall. ‘Time to return to reality already?’
Cressida