“Hi,” she breathed. The man stands up in a room full of people to sing to you and the best you can do is, “Hi”? She dropped her gaze, abashed. They were so close that their toes were almost touching.

“Hi.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek.

She glanced up, meeting his gray gaze as he rubbed the smudge of paint from her skin. A wave of giddy dizziness washed over her, and she swayed.

Luke reached out to steady her, a smile as tender and sincere as his voice had been curving his mouth. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Julia lied. Cheek still tingling from his touch, she pulled herself together and realized they both were swaying now, almost dancing to the music. And then his arm was around her waist and they were dancing.

Julia relaxed against Luke, cheek pressed to his chest. After a moment, she tilted her chin to look up at him and smile.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’re so tall my ear is right over your heart.”

“Can you hear it beating?” he wondered. “Even over the music?”

“No.” She shook her head, still smiling. “But I can feel it.”

His gray eyes went dark with some strong emotion. He bent and pressed his lips to her forehead in a kiss that was somehow firm and featherlight at the same time.

Slowly, Julia recalled that even though it seemed like the world had melted away, they were not in fact alone. She stole a sideways glance and noticed that others had decided to join in the romantic moment. Several couples were swaying together, dancing between the easels.

She went up on tiptoe to whisper in Luke’s ear, “You want to get out of here?”

He stilled, heat sparking in his gaze as his grin turned playful. “Lead the way.”

They scurried out of the art studio, and Julia debated where to go. The lobby was a noisy menagerie of guests. On impulse, she headed for the bank of elevators. Before she could hit the button to head up to her floor, Luke grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, wondering if she’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t want to go up to her room with her.

He pulled her into the stairwell and pressed a finger to his lips.

A moment later, Mrs. Weatherfork and her entourage of corgis swept past, skirts swishing and fluffy butts wagging as they continued down the hall.

“That was close,” she exhaled. Hand still clasped with his, she turned and pulled him up the steps, laughing as he wheezed and demanded that she slow down. But she didn’t slow down, not until they were in her room, their backs against the door, both of them panting from the exertion.

“We’re so pathetic,” she shook her head, exhaling in mild disgust at herself. “I’m already sweating.”