Page 25 of Crowning His Innocent Assistant

She took his hand then and electricity zipped through her body, and she was grateful that he quickly pulled her up against the hardness of his chest, for it hid the flaming heat that flooded her face, that she knew would be visible if he were to look. “Like this,” he said, beginning to move. “One two three four. One, two, three, four.” And with each count, a step, and a sweep of movement. He established a steady rhythm that carried her over the floor as if she was flying through the air, and all the music that she would ever need was inside of her. Flooding her, filling her, and then, she could no longer hide her face, because she needed to see his. She looked up, meeting his gaze. “Just like that,” he said, his voice soft. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Perfect.”

“This isn’t so hard,” she said, her voice trembling. Betraying her.

“It will depend on your partner, of course. For not all men have quite the skill I do in leading.”

“So arrogant.”

“One, two, three, four. Good girl.”

Pleasure poured over her. Oh, she badly wanted to be a good girl for him. To be what he needed her to be. The things she felt for this man were... Well, they were beyond anything she had ever experienced before. And really, she hoped to never experience them again. She could scarcely stand it with a man who didn’t much acknowledge her as a human being.

Sometimes, she felt she did not want it to be more. Did not want to take it deeper, and sometimes she badly did. But it didn’t matter. Because it would never be anything. It never could. He was not teaching her to dance so that she could dance with him, but so she could blend and not embarrass him at an event if the opportunity arose.

That was all.

“One, two, three, four.”

It got lost, though, in that steady rhythm of his beautiful voice. Oh, she truly was a lost cause, finding everything about him so enticing. She suddenly became aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Steady, like the rhythm he counted. Her own was not so steady. It was bouncing around erratically in her chest.

“Very good,” he said, and it took her a moment to realize they had stopped moving, because everything inside of her was still spinning.

And then suddenly, as she looked up at his face, she felt something crackle in the air. Felt the thickness there, like a tension band being slowly stretched. And her heart jittered, slamming against her breastbone.

She could barely breathe. She could...

“I think that is enough for today,” he said, turning away from her.

“Yes,” she said, feeling dizzy and breathless and entirely out of sorts. “Quite enough.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes,” she said.

He took her hand, and led her away from the table, down the hall into a small, intimate room, where there were other couples. There was music playing and people were swaying together slowly.

He took her into his arms, and she felt that same thrill she had years ago, being held up against that big, solid chest. He had only grown broader and more solid with the passing years. A man who had grown exponentially in strength and character.

Of course, she would keep all that to herself, for it was a bit fanciful. But she never felt fanciful. Not really. But now, in his arms...

She just wanted to forget everything else for a moment. To forget the proposal, and why she had run. To forget that he didn’t feel the things that she did.

To forget how much she feared being in a relationship where she was the one who loved, and the other one did not. Oh, why couldn’t she just accept what he was offering? Accept the commitment, even without the feeling.

That made her feel strange and hollowed out and she decided she didn’t want to think of it at all.

Not in the least.

So she pushed it aside and focused on nothing more than the precise feeling of where she was at the moment; the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, the feeling of his suit jacket beneath her hands, and the heat and strength of the muscle beneath.

This wasn’t a memory. It was now, and it was happening. He was dancing with her as he had done with any number of women over the years. With her dressed up, and with music. Not just counting off the rhythm in the privacy of his office while she was wearing her sensible uniform. Now, so much of her skin was exposed, and she felt every inch of it.

She didn’t know how to feel about the fact that his touch didn’t affect her any less now than it had when she was nineteen. That she could know all the many things she did about him, have years’ worth of experience knowing him, living with him, caring for him, being hurt by him... How could she still be so enamored? She wanted to know better. Fleeing to Paris was her trying to know better. It really was. She had no desire to be a fool where Matteo was concerned, but there were times when she worried that there was simply no other way for her to be with the man, so it had seemed like the better part of virtue to leave. Completely.

But he had come after her.

And if she’d been thinking, really thinking, about the man that he was she would have realized that.

Did you not?

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