Page 7 of All We Want

With a deep breath, I remind myself of the game I chose to play. Whatever awaited me at the charity ball, I would face it with the same resilience that kept me afloat in the world of secrets and shadows.

The ballroom hosting the charity ball was adorned with elegant decorations and glittering lights. The hum of conversations blended with the soft melodies of classical Christmas music.

Almost instantly Declan Blackstone emerged from the crowd, his gaze finding mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He approached with a confident stride, his eyes lingering on the red dress that clung to my curves. "Ms. Monroe, you look absolutely stunning," he remarks, a subtle smirk playing on his lips.

I acknowledge the compliment with a subtle smile. He looks devastating himself in what could only be a very expensive and tailored black suit.

"Thank you, Mr. Blackstone," I reply, maintaining the mask that I perfected long ago. The tension between us was palpable, the unspoken dialogue echoing beneath the strains of the Christmas music.

We are interrupted by other guests wanting to greet each of us with pleasant words and well wishes for the season. After the fourth time Declan turns to me. “How bout we escape the crowd a moment? Perhaps over a drink?"

We walk away from the crowd toward a more secluded bar and he steps up to speak to the bartender. Moments later, he turns to pass me a glass of red wine, the deep crimson liquid a perfect match for the shade of my dress.

His own drink of scotch in one hand, he moves his empty hand to my back, not so subtly directing me toward a secluded balcony.

As we step onto the balcony, the chilly night air brushes against my skin, adding an extra layer of intensity. The city lights below twinkle like distant stars, and the soft murmur of the party behind us provides a comforting backdrop.

Declan's hand on my back was a subtle yet commanding gesture as he guided me towards the railing. The quiet balcony offered a reprieve from the festive chaos inside, and for a moment, it felt like we existed in a world of our own.

The city lights sprawl beneath us, creating an enchanting backdrop. Declan leans against the railing, his gaze fixed on the skyline. "Quite a view," he remarks, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

I take a sip of the red wine, its velvety richness dancing on my tongue. "And quite the choice of drink," I quip, acknowledging the seamless match with my preferences.

Declan's gaze turns toward me, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. "Details, Ms. Monroe," he says with a knowing smile. "They make all da difference."

I grin, matching his playful tone. "Ah, details. The little things that add flavor to life." I gesture with the glass of wine in my hand. "Like this, for instance. A man who knows the perfect drink for a woman he barely knows. Impressive."

Declan chuckles, a low, enticing sound. "Ya be a mystery worth unravelin’, Scarlette Monroe."

I couldn't deny the thrill of his words, the undercurrent of attraction weaving through our banter. "And what about you, Declan Blackstone? Any hidden mysteries behind that composed exterior?"

He leans closer, the city lights casting a glint in his eyes. "Maybe, but some secrets are meant to be discovered in due time."

Declan's response hung in the air, filled with promise and a touch of danger. The dance of words continued, a carefully choreographed exchange that hinted at depths beyond our casual banter.

His gaze locked onto mine, and in that charged moment, he took a step closer. The distance between us diminishes, and I feel the warmth and strength of his presence.

"But here's a thought," Declan says, his voice a soft whisper against the backdrop of the city sounds. "Why talk ‘bout mysteries when we can experience them?"

Chapter 6

Scarlette

Before I comprehend his suggestion, he smoothly shifts, one hand extending towards me. "Care for a dance, Ms. Monroe?"

Surprise flickers through me. "Dancing? Right here on the balcony?"

Declan's confident grin never wavers. "Why not? We've been dancin’ around topics all nigh’. A real dance migh’ just be the perfect way to express what words can't capture."

As if heeding his unspoken invitation, the soft strains of music from the ballroom below reach us. A rhythmic melody, an unspoken cue to join the dance.

Without waiting for my answer, Declan takes my wine glass and his whiskey glass and places them on a nearby table. He then takes my hand and pulls me into a slow, intimate dance. The balcony transforms into our private stage, the city lights below mere spectators to the dance between Declan and I. The music embraces us, its gentle rhythm guiding our steps.

As we sway in the quiet dance, Declan's hand on my back creates a tangible connection. The soft graze of his fingers against the exposed skin sends a shiver through me. His touch was confident, each movement deliberate, and his hand pressed me closer, his hard body molding seamlessly against mine.

The black of his suit is a stark contrast to the vibrant red of my dress, and the sensation of fabric against fabric heightens my awareness of our proximity. Every step, every subtle turn, draws us closer, and the dance becomes a subtle exploration of boundaries.

The crisp night air carries a hint of his cologne, a spicy, intoxicating fragrance that adds to the heady atmosphere.

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