Page 75 of Wicked Ends
“Harry? Please. He’s just being weird.”
“If you say so.”
I’m about to protest further when I feel a presence behind me, familiar and commanding.
Lucien appears at my side in a black tux. He’s unfairly gorgeous, with his dark hair groomed perfectly, and his aristocratic features made even more striking by the formal setting. I can almost picture him as lord of the manor.
A smile spreads across my face. “Like what you see?”
His eyes move over me slowly, lingering in ways that make me blush. “Very much so.”
Drake clears his throat. “Lucien.”
“Drake.” There’s a nod of acknowledgment between them. “You’re looking very… present.”
There’s a moment of tension, then both men seem to relax slightly. Whatever silent communication just happened, they’ve reached some kind of understanding.
Lucien extends his hand. “May I see the dress?”
I place my hand in his and let him twirl me, the gown flaring around my legs in a satisfying swish. When I come to a stop, facing him again, his eyes have darkened with appreciation.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Just as I imagined.”
He leans closer and says, “Though I confess I’m looking forward to removing it later tonight.”
My cheeks get hot. “Is that so?”
“Indeed.” His fingertips brush against my bare shoulder, the gesture so quick and light that anyone watching wouldn’t notice, but it leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You’ve worn the dress beautifully. But I find myself already anticipating what comes after.”
I’m about to respond when a tall woman approaches. “Mr. de Lacroix, Professor Moriaen needs your assistance with a situation. It appears one of the students has gotten themselves into a predicament with an ice sculpture.”
I don’t even want to know what that means.
“Of course. I’ll be right there.” Lucien turns back to me. “Save a dance for me, Rose.”
“Always,” I reply, watching as he walks away.
Drake’s hand settles at the small of my back. “Dance with me?”
The orchestra has shifted to something slower, more intimate. All around us, couples are moving onto the dance floor. “I should warn you, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Follow my lead.” Drake guides me to the center of the floor, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine. “I was quite a dancer in my day.”
“Your day being...?”
“The 1920s.” He smiles. “The Charleston was my specialty, but I think we’ll keep it simple tonight.”
He begins to move, and I follow, surprised at how easy it feels. We glide across the floor, and for a few moments, everything else fades away, all the stares, the whispers, the worry about Jasmine. It’s just Drake and me, moving together.
“I never thought I’d do this again,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Dance with someone. Hold someone. Be seen.”
“How does it feel?”
“Like a miracle. Like you are a miracle.”
We stay that way for two more songs.
“Mind if I cut in?” I turn to see Soren looking sinfully sexy. “It’s considered polite to share at these things.”
