Page 123 of Collide

“One dance,” I say softly, then slide my hand into his. His grip is warm. Steady—too steady. My pulse jumps in response, and I try to ignore it. It doesn’t mean anything. Just…proof. That I’m not ignoring him.

The band plays a rendition of “I Finally Found Someone” by Barbra Streisand, all strings and delicate piano chords.

Around us, couples begin to sway, drawn to the pull of it. Broderick steps in, his hand finding the small of my back as if he’s done it a hundred times before. My other hand rests lightly against his chest, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of his tux.

The lyrics drift through the air around us, echoing a feeling I desperately want to ignore—one that seems to unfold, note by note.

“I have to say,” he murmurs, voice low enough for only me to hear. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

I tilt my head up at him, one brow raised. “Had what in me?”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin. “Watching you online versus seeing you tonight—it’s different. You had the room in the palm of your hand.”

I smile, teasing. “I’ll be sure to send you a signed copy of my album—one for my newest number one fan.”

“Include a poster,” he says, eyes glinting. “I’ll hang it on my wall.”

A flush creeps up the back of my neck, but I laugh it off. “And coming from the man who pledged half a million dollars to build homes for people in need? I thinkyouwin tonight’s ‘most impressive’ award.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm, reverberating against my palm. “It’s not a competition, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I say, though my voice is softer than I mean it to be.

His thumb brushes across the bare skin at the back of my dress—barely there, just a lazy circle. My spine straightens, every nerve locking into place. He keeps dancing like he hasn’t done anything.

“You were incredible, El. Really.”

I look up, meeting his gaze again. And then I can’t look away. The ballroom, the music, the hum of voices—it all fades away. It’s his eyes. Unflinching. Like he’s seeing something I’m not ready to admit exists.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, trying to keep it breezy, though the warmth in my chest betrays me. “I was so wrong about you.”

His mouth curves. Not a smirk. Just soft. Honest. “So youdothink I’m impressive.”

I roll my eyes, trying to keep the heat crawling up my throat at bay. “I think you’re tolerable.”

Broderick’s hand tightens at my waist, not enough to be obvious, just enough to pull me closer. I feel the change in my breathing before I notice I’ve moved in. His breath hits the side of my neck.

“I’ll take it,” he whispers.

I freeze. Just for a second. My whole body lights up with tension, seeping into my bones, and suddenly, I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my feelings.

Fuck.

We keep dancing—slow, quiet. The world blurs at the edges, tuxedos and ballgowns fading into nothing. As if there’s nowhere else to be.

His hand stays exactly where it is. I can feel his heartbeat under my fingers. I don’t dare look up again.

I stop thinking. For once. I follow his lead, moving with him in a rhythm that feels instinctive—as if our bodies have always known each other.

And then the song ends. We both linger for half a second too long.

I step back, breathless, chest rising and falling like I’ve run a sprint. I can’t read his face. I don’t want to.

Across the room, Riley raises an eyebrow so high it nearly reaches her hairline.

I mutter something about the bathroom and make a break for it.

The gala is for a noble cause, sure. But as I accept a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, the real event of the night isn’t my performance, the speeches, or the silent auction. It’s in the quiet exchanges, the invisible lines being crossed. And the unrelenting pull of a man who refuses—no matter how hard I try—to fade into the background.