Page 118 of Don't Be in Love

It was her, my heart pounded.She was here.

It was like seeing your favorite painting for the first time. This strong urge to feel it, wrap yourself in it, cover every wall in it.

She was my favorite painting.

I could see the shape of her waist and the outward slope of her hips. Even her chest was accentuated by the deep neckline and thin straps. As she took a step forward, a slit that ran up her leg was revealed. My jaw went slack as she rushed to keep the fabric closed at the top of her thigh. The bottom of the palepurple dress shifted like a field of lavender taken by the wind around her heels.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, pulling at the tie gripping my throat.

Her gaze swept the room and suddenly … it stopped on me.

Her lips parted while her eyes sparked, roaming my figure. The grasp on my glass tightened.

You have to pretend that you never met me.

She whipped her stare away and picked up her skirts, taking the stairs with haste.

I handed over my drink. “Can you excuse me?” I started my strides before he could answer.

It was the masquerade all over again. I couldn’t control the instinct to find her before someone else did.

She was going to hate me. Probably more than she already did. But this could be the last time the two of us were ever in the same room.

No one can ever see us together.

Moving through the crowd, I adjusted arms, and shifted shoulders and skirts to get through. I lost sight of her the closer I got. But a few more dodges and I could see the bottom step,justas her heel hit it.

Before I could change my mind, I took her hand and pulled her into the center of the ballroom where everyone was dancing in unison.

“Whatare you doing?” she breathed.

I pulled her into my chest. With one hand on the middle of her back and the other in her palm, I was breathing fresh air and suffocating all at the same time. The feeling of her exposed leg through the slit of the dress against my thigh was causing the latter.

“I’m dancing with you, what does it look like?” I replied, trying to steady my heartbeat.

The air coming out of her nose, hitting my shoulder, was hot.

“Did I hallucinate the last conversation we had? Or did you hit your head off someone’s headboard and forget everything I said?” she asked impatiently.

“I try not to make a habit of hitting my skull off my headboard, thank you for caring though.”

“Oh no, I was more worried for the status of Victoria’s bedframe.” She smiled.

“You have a lot to say for someone who got to do all the talking last time,” I argued, but the chandelier light bouncing off her merlot-painted lips made itmuchmore difficult to maintain my frustration.

“Not my fault we had a lot to catch up on. If I was prancing around London with other men, I’m sure you would’ve had more to say.”

“Is Adelaide Adorno admitting jealousy?”

“I hate you,”she seethed, squeezing my palm.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re a pig,” she scoffed.

“That’d probably be more believable if you weren’t looking at me like you wanted to kiss me.”

She looked away. “You’re predictable.”