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I laugh. “Grinch!”
“You’ve been eyeing the champagne like it insulted your mother.” He extends a hand as a waltz begins. “Dance with me.”
“I’m warning you,” I say, placing my hand in his. “I’m terrible.”
“I’ll make you float.”
He’s not lying.
The second he wraps his arm around me, I melt into his frame. He leads with confidence, his movements fluid, easy, like the music is coming from his body instead of the orchestra.
I forget how to breathe.
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” he murmurs into my ear.
“It must be you,” I whisper. “You’re a very good leader.”
“Are you flattering me, Miss Craft?”
My eyes meet his and everything else fades. Just us. Heat. Breath.
“I’m telling it like it is,” I say, my voice barely audible.
He leans in.
Then he spins me.
The moment shatters.
When he pulls me back, his voice is rough. “What do you say we get out of here and head for that night we were originally going to check out?”
“I’d rather go back to the hotel,” I lie. “I’m tired.”
He doesn’t argue.
In the penthouse, he watches me.
“Would you like me to order something to eat? You didn’t eat much at the function.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
For food, anyway.
“I think I’m going to shower, then sleep.”
Konstantin nods, and I don’t look at him. I’m afraid that if I do, I’m going to embarrass myself as I jump his bones.Jesus, Tara. What the fuck is wrong with you?
I’m halfway down the hall when I slip.
The floor skims out from under me. Panic hits like a gunshot. I’m falling. My hands grab air. My heart spikes as my brain screams—the baby.
Then, arms wrap around me. Konstantin catches me before I hit the ground.
I grip his waist, burying my face into his chest, trying to breathe.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re shaking.”
“If I’d hit the floor…” My voice is thin, broken. “I could’ve lost the baby.”