Page 109 of When Hearts Collide

Just as I’m mulling over my options, Ryland’s eyes sweep over the room, past where I’m standing by the refreshments table before his gaze springs back and locks onto me.

His confident strides falter and he stops mid-step. His gray eyes darken impossibly so, and his nostrils flare. I can see his corded throat rippling as he swallows, and his hands slowly fist at his sides.

A quiet murmur breaks through the crowd at his sudden inaction and a beautiful, aching melody sweeps through the room as the orchestra begins a waltz.

Ryland’s intense gaze is searing, warming up my skin, the heat and awareness sizzling from the base of my spine, radiating to my hands and feet. I feel a blush blooming on my face as my heart tries to escape from my rib cage and hurl itself toward him. My breathing quickens, and I wet my parched lips with my tongue.

His eyes smolder at the motion, and just as abruptly as his stopping in the middle of the room, he starts walking once more.

He’s coming to me.

This time, the leisurely stroll in his gait disappears, replaced with urgency in his long strides. He reaches me in a matter of seconds, ignoring the passersby calling out to him, clamoring for his attention.

My breath freezes, my drumming pulse nearly eclipsing the music in my ears, and I stare up at him as he stops a foot away from me.

“Millie,” he whispers, his chest heaving like he ran a few miles to stand before me. His voice is filled with awe, warmth, and so much penetrating intensity it threatens to melt me on the spot.

“Ry—Mr. Anderson,” I reply, my eyes darting to the sides, keenly aware of the interest from the large crowd around us.

Ryland doesn’t seem to notice, his undivided attention intoxicating, it feels like a spotlight shining on top of me in a dark room. I can’t see anyone else as they fade into the shadows. In this moment, I don’t feel like his illicit secret, and my heart flutters with elation.

Slowly, he dips into a bow and I can’t help but curtsy, the action involuntary, and he unleashes a glorious, lethal smile.

“May I have this dance, Ms. Callahan?” He extends his hand.

Swallowing, I nod wordlessly, my hand reaching into his. A sharp current sizzles through me when his hand touches mine. His eyes snap up to my face, a fire burning brightly in them, and I know I’m not alone in this swirling inferno we find ourselves mired in.

Ryland leads me to the dance floor, places my hands in the proper positions, and sweeps me into the swells of the music.

My heart swoops and falls with his practiced movements, my body yielding to his dominance, the surety of his hand pressing on my lower back, the confidence in his footwork on the dance floor. I’ve only waltzed a few times before, the last time at my brother’s wedding. My movements felt stilted then, my hands and feet not quite coordinated.

But here with him, I’m gliding. Flying. Whirling. I feel as graceful as a swan.

Our bodies move as one as he twirls and dips me into expert moves to the romantic strains of the music, the velvet strings serenading the room in a poignant, heartrending melody.

My eyes never fall away from his, and he seems equally entranced with me.

The rest of the room simply falls away. Vaporized. Inconsequential.

Maybe this whirlwind can be permanent, and I can be in his arms forever.

His chest heaves, and he swallows, his eyes burning with tethered emotions and unspoken words. He pulls me tighter against him, far closer than the usual respectable distance of a waltz. I find myself not caring, the heaviness in my chest finally dissolving in the intimacy of his embrace.

“Millie,” he rasps, his lips almost grazing my ear, “You’re breathtaking. I…I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re my beautiful meadowlark, singing your sweet melody for me to hear, gifting me with your presence. You set me free.”

My eyes flutter shut and I whisper, “I didn’t take you for a poet.”

“Only with you, Millie.”

A burn gathers behind them while I lean into his embrace. There’s heartbreak behind the hoarseness in his voice and the sentiments behind his words. The soulful man still doesn’t believe he deserves the happiness he’s experiencing right now.

I pull him closer, my touch conveying everything I want to tell him but haven’t yet. I feel so treasured. So loved. My soul is entrenched in his tempest, and I never want to leave.

In this moment, the sadness of hiding in the shadows, the frustration of desiring more, all fall to the wayside. When I’m basking in his attentions, a flower angling toward the rays of the sun after a long storm, I feel loved and I realize, much to my dismay, my heart would much rather have these fleeting moments with him than have nothing at all. And what does this say about me?

“I’ll only sing for you, Ryland. Only for you,” I whisper as he whirls me into another spin before pulling me tightly against him once more. “You may feel you’re chaining me down, but it’s because of you I feel safe enough to fly. Higher than before.”

I pull back and smile at the man I love—my feelings as clear as the sun shining brightly on unblemished skies—moisture coating my eyes because nothing in the world feels righter than this moment, more perfect, than being wrapped up in his arms.

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