Page 74 of Forever To Me

I slide my hand into his, and before I can say a word, he tugs me into his arms. His other hand settles on my waist, firm and sure, while mine lands against the solid wall of his chest. Ifeel the warmth of him through the soft cotton of his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under my palm.

The music flows around us, lazy and familiar. And then, without warning, he moves.

He steps back, leading me effortlessly into the rhythm. One step, then another, his body guiding mine with practiced ease. He spins me once, pulls me back, and sways us into a smooth turn.

“Wait—” I stumble. “You actually know how to dance?”

His laugh rumbles low in his chest. “What happened to all that talk of showing me up? Let's see what you've got, Red."

I cling tighter as he dips me, his hand strong against my back. My heart leaps into my throat, my pulse racing. He pulls me upright again, his smile cocky and devastating.

“No one said anything about you being a ballroom cowboy,” I mutter, breathless. Damn, he’s good. I was just fibbing. I actually don’t know how to dance, but damn, he does.

“Didn’t think I had to.” He spins me again, the kind of spin that makes my hair fly.

“Well, good job. You're full of surprises, Walker.”

He grins, slowing the pace until we’re swaying again, the energy softening into something that makes my chest ache. His thumb brushes against my waist, and my breath catches.

I should step back. Crack a joke. Do something to break the tension.

Instead, I tilt my head up, and our eyes meet.

The jukebox hums the last line of the chorus, and the air grows thick, crackling with something unspoken. His gaze drops to my mouth, just for a second, before he looks away, exhaling hard.

“This is dangerous,” I whisper.

His lips quirk. “I know.”

His grip tightens just a little like he doesn’t want to let go.

I don’t either.

Walker’s hand rests low on my back, warm and steady, his thumb drawing circles through the thin cotton of my shirt. His broad chest, strong arms, and the scent of leather and soap that always makes me want to breathe him in when I'm near him.

I should’ve never asked him to dance. I'm playing with fire now, and I know it. The problem is that I can't stop. I don't want to stop. Now it’s like a game of emotional chicken, and I’m about two seconds away from swerving off the road entirely.

Because this isn’t how friends dance. This is how people who are falling in love dance, and we both damn well know it.

The song ends, and the noise in the bar fades into a low hum. I can feel the weight of his gaze without even looking.

I finally lift my eyes to his.

His jaw is tight, his whiskey-colored eyes sharp and unreadable. But underneath that? There’s heat. Slow, simmering, and far more dangerous than I’m ready to deal with.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “What are we doing here, Walker?”

His head tilts, and the corner of his mouth curves, but it’s not his usual cocky grin. It’s softer. Deeper. “What do you want to do here, Red?”

His voice is low and rough, with a tone that should come with a warning label. And the way he saysRed? Like it’s a challenge. A dare.

I swallow hard. “I...I don’t know.”

He steps closer. My toes bump against his boots. His thumb strokes along my side, slow and deliberate. “Yeah, you do.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he dips his head just a little, his lips a breath from mine. I can see the faint scar by his eyebrow, the gold flecks in his eyes.

I should step back. Make a joke. Laugh it off. That’swhat we do.

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