Page 21 of Unruly

She looks at it, then at me. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you to dance.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“It’s my birthday,” I say. “And I want to.”

Something moves across her face. She looks at my hand for one more second.

“I’m not a great dancer,” she says.

“Good thing I am.” I don’t wait for her to overthink it; I take her hand and pull her toward me. My other hand settles on her waist, fingers pressing just enough to feel possessive. “Come on, Halle. Dance with me.”

She was lying about not being a good dancer.

She moves like someone who’s done it before and just forgot she liked it. I keep it simple—nothing that would spook her. Just the back and forth while the music does the work.

After a minute, she starts to relax. The tension in her shoulders melts away by degrees, and her weight shifts slightly toward me instead of away. I have to fight the urge to pull her even closer.

God, she’s beautiful.

Pink hair catching the string lights, that soft white floral skirt brushing against my legs, the way her eyes still hold a little sadness even when she smiles. She doesn’t deserve a single negative thought floating around in her head. Whoever stopped loving her is a fucking idiot. I don’t even know the full story of their divorce yet, but I already know her ex-husband royally fucked-up. Someone like Halle shouldn’t ever be left feeling this unsure.

She’s been out of reach for months—this bright, sharp, untouchable woman who’s way too good for me. And now she’s in my arms.

It makes me nervous as hell.

“Happy birthday,” she says softly.

“Thank you. First person to say it today.”

She glances up, surprised. “Seriously?”

“I share the day with Grandpa. It’s his milestone. I don’t like the attention anyway.”

“That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told, Cash Thornwood,” she teases, but there’s a sweetness in it that hits me straight in the chest.

“You really think of me as that shallow?”

“Like a kiddie pool.”

I grin, slightly wounded but loving every second of it.

“I’m sorry. That was mean,” she adds quickly. “But you are a lot.”

“I’ve been told worse.”

Then the song kicks up, and I spin her.

My hand finds her waist, turning her out and back in. Her skirt flares and she laughs, her free hand coming to my shoulder to steady herself when she lands back against me, closer than she was before. Close enough that I can smell whatever she’s wearing and file it away in the part of my brain that is going to be absolutely insufferable about this later.

“Was that necessary?” she asks, slightly breathless.

“Completely,” I murmur. “You look too beautiful tonight to stand still.”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she looks up at me through her lashes, something soft and surprised flickering across her face.

Then, I dip her.