Someone who was definitely getting hard.

I could feel the unmistakable press of him against my stomach. Slowly, I looked away from the collar of Gabe’s shirt and upward toward his face.

He was watching me. His gaze was intense, unwavering, and I could feel him take a breath—could feel how unsteady it was.

My heart was pounding so hard it was almost painful.

The music felt like a thick steam, surrounding us, capturing us, isolating us.

The dance floor was dark—not that dark—but dark enough. I didn’t know where Ollie was. He could have been right behind me, he could have been across the room. I couldn’t focus on anything but Gabe’s face. On his eyes, staring, fixed, unblinking.

I’d practically memorized his face on-screen. Thought I knew it. But this was something new. Something different.

He still wasn’t quite real, even though I could feel him—all of him—against me. It felt like a fantasy. A really, really great fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless.

There was a voice in the back of my head that kept trying to break through the surreal haze that had settled around me. Reminding me that I was a reporter and Gabe was my subject and there were a whole bunch of questionable power dynamics at play here.

I’d been so worried that he’d think I’d do anything to get a good story that I hadn’t stopped to consider that he might not have any reservations about doing it himself.

Then his hips pressed harder against mine. For a moment, I thought I might be falling, might be losing my balance, but then I realized he was moving in time with the music, his hips swaying forward, back, side to side.

He was a good dancer.

He wasn’t flashy or enthusiastic or even that demonstrative. He was subtle. I doubted that anyone but me could tell that he was even moving to the music. But he was. Perfectly. Seductively.

One hand moved to my hip, the other pressed in the curve of my spine, just above my ass. Keeping me close. Not that I was going anywhere. In fact, I just melted further into his arms, my own hands moving to his biceps. Shit, they were hard.

He was hard. So hard.

I didn’t want to think about all the ways this was professionally problematic. I didn’t want to think about how this might be Gabe’s way of buttering me up, making sure I’d write a good article about him. I didn’t want to think about how completely insane all of this was.

What I wanted was to be closer to him. To touch him.