Page 7 of Legacy
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he adds, a teasing smirk tugging at his mouth. “I won’t bite.”
I laugh softly, but it’s shaky, betrayed by the heat crawling into my cheeks. My skin feels too warm, my breath too shallow.
His thumb drags lightly across the curve of my lower lip, and the simple touch short-circuits everything in my brain.
“Are you always this forward?” I whisper, my voice trembling just enough to betray me. I want it to sound like a challenge, but it comes out softer, more curious. Like part of mewantsthe answer.
He chuckles, low and warm, the sound rumbling straight through my chest. “Only when I see something I like.”
His hand leaves my cheek to rest on my waist, resting there like he has every right to touch me. My breath catches as he draws me closer, until there’s no space left between us.
“And what makes you think you can have what you like?” I ask, but it doesn’t sound daring. Not really. It sounds like a question I already know the answer to.
His grin deepens, eyes glinting with heat and something darker. “I believe everyone has the right to pursue what they desire,” he says, fingers now tracing lazy, featherlight circles on my lower back. It’s such a gentle touch for a man who feels like danger.
The air is charged, thick and trembling—like the second before lightning strikes. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I can’t tell if I’m lightheaded from the nearness of him or the smoky bite of tobacco layered with something like bergamot and sin… probably both.
“Dance with me,” he says suddenly.
I blink, caught off guard, glancing at my heels discarded nearby. “Barefoot?”
“Why not?” His eyes don’t waver. Not once.
I nod, and his arms slide around me, pulling me into him until our bodies are aligned in a slow, subtle rhythm. The music from inside drifts out to us, soft and dreamlike. The cool tile beneath my feet grounds me, but nothing about this moment feels real.
We sway like we’ve done this a thousand times. Like we belong in this quiet corner of the night. Our bodies a whisper from each other, but it feels intimate in a way that makes my heart stutter. His gaze never leaves mine, and there’s something in it that’s both promise and warning.
He could ruin me, I think.
And I don’t step away.
“Can you feel it, Scarlet?” he asks, his voice a quiet command that slices through the silence.
“Feel what?” I murmur, trying to keep my balance; on my feet, in my head, everywhere.
His eyes darken, just a fraction. “The connection between us.”
His arms tighten slightly, drawing me closer. I feel his breath against my temple, his presence wrapping around me like velvet and smoke. “I can,” he continues. “It’s almost… tangible.”
A shiver ripples through me, and I hate that he notices. Or maybe I don’t.
Because he’s right.
I feel it too.
I nod, barely, because words would betray too much.
His smile is softer this time, touched with satisfaction as his hand lifts to cup my cheek. His thumb brushes gently across my skin.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Then, quietly, like it’s the most natural question in the world:
“Do you want to get out of here?”
My heart thumps wildly in my chest, every beat screaming this is insane.
I can’t just leave with a stranger. A handsome stranger, sure. But still a stranger. He’s older, definitely, probably some polished political wannabe if he’s even allowed at this party. And if he really knew who I was? He’d be running in the other direction.
