As Sarah meandered around the ballroom, her steps slow, the terrible song of the symphony stayed in her head. The people gathered around her moved with deliberate ease; their whispers and laughs produced an interesting symphony. Still, her mind kept returning to Vane—and the way his touch had stayed just a minute too long—even if she tried so hard to concentrate on the beauty of the evening.
Every flutter of lighting and fabric movement suggested unsaid tension in the heated air. Sarah gripped the mask—its tiny silver filigree pushing into her hand—and felt her heart hammer. She detested her lack of direction and the ease with which Vane's very presence could disturb her carefully maintained serenity.
A deep voice trailed behind her, murmuring, "Lost in thought?"
Turning suddenly, Sarah gasped for air. Vane stood there, his black-and-gold mask catching the light and creating shadows across his sculpted face. Vane maintained a relaxed yet firm posture, his eyes piercing even through the mask. He looked every bit like the predator.
With a clipped tone, she said, "I was enjoying the music." She will not let him know how much he unsettled her.
"Ah, but the music is only half the experience," he remarked, curling his lips slightly in a faint smile. "The dance finishes."
He reached out his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation before she could object. The ballroom appeared to be silent, the surrounding humans blurring in color and light. Though Sarah's senses shouted at her to turn away from whatever this was, her treacherous hand slid naturally into his.
Vane's hold was strong but not cruel; his fingers warmed hers. He guided her onto the dance floor with a confidence that would have her feeling both liberated and imprisoned. The orchestra began a new piece, its dark, enticing tones enveloping them like a spell.
Sarah said, "I told you, I don't dance," and her cheeks flushed as he positioned her in his arms.
Then think of this as a lesson, he said, his voice a deep growl. His hand rested on her waist, pushing her in closer than she had planned. "Unload, Sarah. You could even have fun with it.
The opening strides were hesitant; Sarah battled to emulate his smooth motions. She felt ungainly, her feet hardly matching his natural elegance. But Vane's touch was consistent; his hand guided her with a surety that eliminated any possibility for uncertainty.
With his breath warm against her ear, he whispered softly, "You're overthinking it." Dancing has more to do with expression than with control. It has to do with trust.
"Trust!" she said, her voice slightly incredulous. "Coming from you, that's rich."
Vane laughed a rich, velvety sound that made her spine tingle. He said, "Touché."". " Even I know, though, when to let go.
The song guided Sarah into its rhythm, causing their movements to become more fluid. Their surroundings vanished, leaving just the heat of his body and the intensity of his stare. She detested his seemingly simple demand for her attention and his ability to make her ignore everything else.
"Why do you do this?" she asked in a voice that was almost a whisper.
"Do what?" he said, his tone light but his eyes keen.
"Pull me." See me. Play these games," she murmured, her irritation coming to the surface. "What do you want from me, Vane?"
His features briefly softened, revealing an unguarded flutter across them. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, giving way to his usual expression of amusement and control.
"Maybe I just enjoy the dance," he remarked, his voice weighted enough to contradict his words. "Maybe I see something in you that even you don't."
At his mysterious answer, Sarah's chest constricted. She opened her lips to demand more, but Vane turned her easily and left her short of breath as the music surged. Their faces were inches apart as he pulled her back into his arms, his eyes fixed on hers with a passion that set her heart pounding.
When the song stopped, the magic dissolved. Vane released her gently; his hand lingered on hers for a second before he turned away. Sarah attempted to calm herself, her pulse thumping in her veins; the plaudits of the other visitors hardly registered in her ears.
"You pick things up quickly," he added, sounding somewhat approving.
"And you're insufferable," she snapped back, her words lacking the venom she intended.
Vane's smirk grew increasingly prominent. "Perhaps. But you'll discover that the finest companions are sometimes obnoxious men.
She was standing alone in the middle of the dance floor when he bowed gently and vanished into the throng before she could reply. Sarah's hands closed at her sides, the echo of his touch still blazing on her flesh. Though one thing was clear: Vane Russell was a force she couldn't ignore—and the dance was far from finished—she was unsure about whether she should feel triumphant or defeated.