“It’s not normally this close,” he says as if reading my mind. “But it’ll help you learn.”

His left thigh presses into my right leg, and I step back, trying to remember the pattern. Back, side, close. Front, side, close.

“Bea.”

My eyes snap up and meet his.

“Don’t think about it,” he says softly. “Just follow my body.”

“Right.” I grip him tight, nervously anticipating the moment I’ll misstep and stomp on his toe again. But as Jamie holds me close, sweeping me into the rhythm, I find it harder and harder to think, easier and easier to feel . . .

Jamie’s hand spread across the curve of my back.

Those long, strong legs guiding mine.

His solid arms drawing me forward, side, back.

Staring at his mouth, I feel my control slipping. I want dancing to become more. I want Jamie to want me the way I want him. But I can’t risk sabotaging everything—not just our revenge but this fragile friendship we’ve grown.

So I try to distract myself. Besides looking at Jamie, all that’s left is looking down, where I see our bodies moving in a steady, undulating rhythm. That does not help.

Jamie doesn’t help, either. He’s silent. And when I meet his gaze, it’s intense, locked on me, and so hot I nearly step on his foot. He senses it and pushes me through to the next step, eyes never leaving mine.

“Any, um . . .” I clear my throat. “Any other dance etiquette I should master?”

He tips his head so slightly, searching my face. “Well, when it’s an intimate dance like the waltz, you can hold each other’s eyes. But I know that’s not always comfortable for you. So you can look elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows.

Jamie doesn’t smile as his gaze roams my face. “Yes. So long as it’s me.”

The world glows rose-gold iridescent as those words sink in, as Jamie moves us in the steady grace of the waltz.

“I think I can do that.” My gaze settles on his mouth.

“Sometimes,” he says so quietly I can barely hear him. “Sometimes when you dance, you kiss.”

I wet my lips, my hand drifting from his hard shoulder to the base of his neck. My fingers slip along the tidy silken strands of his hair. “I think you should show me that, too.”