Page 19 of One Night Flame

Lucy’s shoulders dropped. Just a little. But enough to notice.

I adjusted my grip, gave her space to find her own way. She moved with more ease now, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile too soon. A few beats later, she gave in and smiled, anyway.

Then she spun.

Not perfectly. Not with flair. But just enough to catch her own surprise—and mine. She landed back in my hands with a soft gasp and a laugh that punched straight through my ribs.

She laughed again, full this time, head tilting back slightly like she forgot to be self-conscious. Like it felt good to move.

I grinned, tightening my arm around her waist for a half-second before easing us back into the rhythm. “There she is.”

She shot me a look, mock offended. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “But this you just showed up.”

And hell if she wasn’t beautiful like this. Loose, warm, not tucked behind layers of nerves or second-guessing. Whatevershe’d been holding back cracked open, and damn, it was a hell of a thing to see.

I wasn’t expecting this. I hadn’t expected her. But now I didn’t want the night to end.

One song rolled into another. Then another. The band shifted gears, tempo dropping like a sigh. The lights dimmed overhead, softening the gold of the room into something warmer, slower. The chatter dipped around us as the opening chords of a slow country ballad rolled out across the floor. One of those heartbreak songs you didn’t even need to know the words to. You just felt it in your chest.

I turned to Lucy and offered my hand again. “You still with me?”

Her blue eyes met mine, a little dazed, a little breathless. “Barely.” But she slid her hand into mine, anyway.

I pulled her in slow, giving her time to adjust—but not too much. One arm curved around her waist, the other holding her hand lightly in mine, and when she settled against me, it was… right.

Not forced. Not flashy. Just right.

We swayed into the rhythm, her body warm and solid against mine, the space between us full of unspoken things. Close enough to notice everything. Far enough to pretend none of it mattered.

But it did. God, it did.

I’d had hands on a lot of backs. Held a lot of women like this.

But this?

This wasn’t routine. This was gravity.

Every breath she took curved against mine. Every shift of her hips, every soft exhale, every accidental brush of her thigh, felt like it echoed through my whole damn body.

And I didn’t want to let go.

The song faded out on a last lingering note, but neither of us moved.

We just stood there, still wrapped up in each other, like the silence was part of the music too. The crowd had thinned, but I didn’t care. Didn’t even glance around to see who was watching.

I wasn’t thinking about the auction. Or rules. Or boundaries.

Just her.

I lifted my hand and brushed a lock of dark brown hair back from her face. Let my fingers linger longer than they should have. Her skin was warm under my touch, soft in a way that made my chest feel too tight.

She looked up at me, eyes darker now in the dim light, her breath catching just slightly.

Then she leaned in—just a little. Just enough to tilt the world on its axis.

“We should probably go,” she whispered.

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