Page 9 of Midnight Rebel

Neither of us moves. The rest of the ballroom fades away, leaving just the two of us locked in this moment.

I close the distance between us, my hand slipping onto her arm—firm, resolute. I won’t let her slip away from me this time.

“Ghost,” she breathes.

“We meet again.” Without breaking eye contact, I guide her toward a secluded alcove, away from prying eyes.

She comes easily, without resistance, which both reassures and threatens to unravel me at the same time.

A shadow of a smile dances across her lips as we slip behind the heavy curtains. “Following me, Ghost?”

I pretend to consider her words, letting her closeness draw me in. “Maybe I am.” My voice drops again, lower, pairing with my increasing pulse. “What are you going to do about it?”

She tilts her head, assessing me with those piercing eyes. “That depends,” she murmurs. “Are your intentions honorable?”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Not in the slightest.”

Her laughter is soft—almost too soft for anyone but me to hear. “At least you’re honest.”

The alcove is small, barely big enough for two. But that suits me fine. I release her arm, but I don’t step back. Neither does she.

It’s dangerous how natural this feels—the warmth of her so close to me, her perfume a whisper of subtle florals that keep pulling pulls at my senses.

I shouldn’t let her affect me like this. I need to keep my head clear, stay focused on why I’m here.

“Most people come to masquerades to dance,” I say, keeping my voice low, “not to sneak around in gardens with a camera.”

She stiffens the slightest bit, a tell I don’t miss. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” I extend my fingers, tracing them along the hidden strap of her camera that peeks out beneath her cape. “Then what’s this?”

For a moment, I think she might bolt. But she squares her shoulders.

“A girl can have hobbies.”

“Dangerous hobbies,” I counter, my gaze hardening.

“The best kind.” Her voice is light, but there’s an edge underneath.

Our game of cat and mouse continues, neither of us giving an inch. I find myself admiring her quick wit, the way she holds her ground. It’s... intriguing. More than it should be.

“Can’t blame a guy for being curious,” I say, stepping closer—close enough that our bodies almost touch.

Her breath catches, faint but there. Her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back her smile. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

I lean in, my voice a low growl. “I’m not here to play, Firefly. Don’t test me.”

A flicker of something—surprise? excitement?—crosses her face. She takes half a step back, and I feel a surge of... disappointment? No. That’s not it. It’s frustration. At her? At myself? I’m not sure.

“What are you doing here?” The words slip out more forcefully than I intended.

She doesn’t flinch. “I could ask you the same thing, Ghost.”

We’ve reached an impasse. Neither willing to back down. The air between us holds a charge, like the moment before lightning strikes.

I hold out a hand, palm up. “Dance with me.”

She hesitates. “I thought you were more interested in interrogation than dancing.”

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