Not in body, maybe, but in the way she checks the door. In the way she measures laughter. In the way she looks guilty after enjoying a drink.
She sets the glass down. “No. He’s not.”
Then she slides out of the booth.
I blink. “Where you going?”
“To dance badly before I change my mind.”
Well.
Hell.
I get up, and the room notices again because apparently I’m now public entertainment.
Amelia walks to the open space like she is marching toward execution. Her shoulders are tight. Her chin is up. She looks ridiculous and brave and sexy enough to make my back teeth ache.
I stop beside her. “You want me touching you?”
She looks around.
People are watching.
Let them burn their tongues.
Her eyes come back to mine. “Hand.”
I offer mine.
She puts her fingers in my palm.
Not much.
Just fingers.
It still feels like getting trusted with something loaded.
The song is slow enough to be dangerous but not so slow the room gets ideas. I keep space between us at first. One hand holding hers. The other nowhere. She notices and rolls her eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“This isn’t dancing. This is escorting me across invisible ice.”
“You said hand.”
“I did.”
“That’s what you got.”
Something like warmth moves over her face. “You are impossible.”
“Frequently.”
She takes half a step closer.
My body goes still.
“My waist is okay,” she says.