Page 158 of Wings of Ash & Flame
The music swelled as they moved together in intricate steps, their bodies never fully losing contact. Twirling around the room, she pulled her spiraling thoughts together. “Kaia organized all of this. I’d have attended in leathers if it were up to me.”
“Then I’ll have to thank her.” His half-smile revealed that dimple, eyes alight with mischief.
Alaire’s heart raced at his compliment.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” Dawson asked.
“It’s undoubtedly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but everyone has an agenda, and they cover it with a polite, shiny veneer.”
“Including you?” Dawson’s brows rose, curiosity piqued.
“Pardon?”
“You said everyone here has an agenda. Does that include you?”
“What would make you say that?” She gave him her most innocent expression.
“Answering a question with a question. Clever tactic.” His gaze held hers, intense. “Let’s be truthful here. The evening was utterly dull before I showed up.”
Cocky bastard.
“That’s not entirely true. Kaia, Archer, and I were enjoying ourselves. I was introduced to several important members of court. And, of course, how could I forget dancing with Caelan not once, but twice?”
Dawson’s jaw tightened, fingertips digging into her skin. “You danced with him before the waltz?”
“I sure did.” Alaire delighted in the jealousy flaring through him, surprised his skin didn’t turn green.
“He doesn’t have a chance,” Dawson declared, possessiveness thick in his tone.
She narrowed her eyes. “And what gives you the right to say that?”
“Because I see the way you look at me,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “The way you react when I’m close.”
“You’re delusional.” Her breath hitched. She hated that he was right.
“Am I?” He spun her again, pulling her back so swiftly she nearly stumbled, but his arm was there, solid and steady. “Then why are you still here, dancing with me?”
A strand of raven hair slipped loose across his brow. Turquoise eyes bore into hers, pinning her in place, demanding a truth she couldn’t give. Not one she could give anyone.
“Because I enjoy dancing,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
“And that’s all this is? A dance?” He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You can lie to yourself, Alaire, but not to me.”
She closed her eyes, his proximity making it hard to think.
“And yet,” he murmured, softer now, almost tender, “here we are. Always drawn together, no matter how much I try to stay away.”
“Maybe I like the fight,” she whispered, trembling. “Maybe I need it.”
“Maybe we both do.” His thumb traced a slow line up and down her spine. “Gods know I should walk away from you.”
“It’s a game,” she said, refusing to be the first to lower her walls—not after all the times he’d refused her entry behind his.
“I wish it were just a game.” His arms wrapped around her ribcage, squeezing tight. “It’d be easier if I could control this.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Tell me you don’t feel this tearing you apart the way it’s destroying me.”
“Do I?” Her voice was barely a whisper, more vulnerable than she wanted to admit. Her eyes flicked to the strong column of his neck, watching the restrained movement of muscle and sinew.
“Yes.” He leaned in, their foreheads almost touching. “And I hate that you do.”
