Page 69 of Burning Caine
“You know,” I said, placing my shaking hand in his. “I’m kind of fond of dancing.”
“As am I. Do you know this song?”
“No.”
He chuckled over his shoulder as he towed me to the dance floor. “‘Perfect Symphony’ by Ed Sheeran and Andrea Bocelli. I’ll be covered in goosebumps in precisely one minute.”
He’d held my hand to kiss it earlier, but as we walked—him clutching my hand near his back—this kind of intimacy caused butterflies to swirl in my stomach. He guided me to the middle of the crowd and pulled me into the starting position. I looked around at the other couples, checking if we were surrounded by experienced dancers. We were. He pivoted my chin, so I faced him.
“I’m the only one here, bella.”
Unexpectedly, he lowered his hand from my shoulder to the small of my back and pulled me in against him. My hand on his arm instinctively slid to his neck, and his cologne hit me like a wave, notes of amber and vanilla. I felt every inch of his hard, muscled body against mine like we were designed for each other, and my body tingled with desperation at the full-body touch I’d wanted since the first moment I saw him.
“Wait for it.” He looked at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. We stood in the middle of the floor, stationary, as other couples swirled around us. When the Italian tenor’s voice layered into the song, his deep vibrato penetrating us, goosebumps shot up my arms.
“You, too?” He beamed as he broke our grip and ran a hand lightly over my arm, guiding my hand to his chest, to his heart, which echoed my thundering beat. He shook his wrist so his sleeve rose high enough I could glimpse his goosebumps. He dipped his forehead toward mine, closing his eyes. “I have no words for this moment, Samantha.”
His mouth was so close, I could feel his hot, wine-tinged breath on my cheek, as rapid as my own. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, not sure how I’d survive much longer without combusting.Iffriendswas this all-consuming, what wouldmorebe like?
His hand swept along the length of my arm as we began to sway, and his temple met mine. He sang the Italian lyrics, his lips close to my ear so only I could hear, in a voice so deep, it reverberated all the way down to my toes. I kept my eyes shut tightly, willing the moment to never end.
When he pulled his head away, I opened my eyes, and he was staring right back, still so close, as he sang the final Italian lyrics:Because you are perfect for me.It was just a song, but a shudder ran through me. He knew I spoke Italian. What was he doing?
This was too much. Too fast. It wasn’t real.
“Um, thanks.” I removed my hand from his chest and stepped away. “For the dance, I mean.”
He didn’t release my waist. Instead, he drew me against him so forcefully I gasped, and he whispered, “We are not done dancing.”
Gone were the smiles, the smirks, the pleasantries. Replaced by an intensity that made my body ache, like he was about to devour me. And I wanted him to. I swallowed hard, the tightness in my chest traveling south and taking residence between my thighs.
When he licked his bottom lip, I had to fight against my instincts to run. Replaced immediately by a new instinct to kiss those lips and discover if they were truly as soft as they felt on the back of my hand. I ignored it all.
As the next song started, he pushed against me, and I stepped back, to the side, forward and again, as we fell into a waltz.
“You dance beautifully,” he said as he led us across the floor.
I couldn’t rip my eyes from him, from the way he kept staring at me, as if he were memorizing my face. It was like I was drowning, everyone else a blur outside the little bubble we shared.“Took lessons.”
“Bene. Do you know the tango?” He spoke slowly, every word a weight between us.
“Um, yeah, all the standards.”
“I doubt we’ll have the opportunity here, but I would very much like to tango with you.” The way his eyes scanned my face, lingering on my lips as they parted under his gaze, I was pretty sure he didn’t mean the dance. “After all, it is the dance of…”
He paused, releasing his hold on my waist to spin me slowly, then pulled me back against him, impossibly tighter than before. The hand at the small of my back inched to my tailbone, and the tightness escalated.It was the most closed closed-position I’d ever danced in.
“Argentina?” I said, unable to utter the words he was suggesting, like love, passion, or desire, and not so sure I could handle hearing them from him.
The spell was broken. He tried not to laugh, but once I started, he was done for. He spun me again, the laughter continuing.
“You are too clever, bella,” he said, the gentle smile returning. He curled his lead hand to his chest, taking mine with it, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles and then along my arm.
When the music switched tempo, the couples separated. More people joined the crowd, but we remained, in the middle of the dance floor, still in each other’s arms.
“Grazie.” He kissed me on the cheek, and we stepped apart while dozens of people around us started enjoying the high-energy music. I would have called it a chaste kiss, but my body was begging for him so vehemently the word wouldn’t fit in my vocabulary.
He retook my hand and led me toward our table. On the way there, he was interrupted by a man who wanted to speak with him, and I excused myself to the dessert buffet. Being away from him gave me a moment to clear my head. It was hard to imagine I’d planned to spend the evening with his sister.