Page 71 of No Charm Done
Luna took his hand.
Suddenly they were moving. He pulled her close—not scandalously close, but close enough that she could smell whatever he used in his hair (something woodsy and expensive), could feel the heat of him through his waistcoat. She wondered urgently whether he could feel their history without remembering it.
“One hand here,” he murmured, guiding her hand to his shoulder. “The other stays with me. And just . . . follow.”
“Follow where?”
“Wherever I lead.” He started moving, slow and easy, giving her time to catch the rhythm. “That’s it. You’re a natural.”
“I’m stepping on your feet.”
“Nah.” His smile was soft now, almost tender.
“This is insane.”
“Completely insane,” he agreed.
“We should be planning. Strategizing. We’ve only got ten days—”
“—nine days now—”
“—nine days now, to pull off an impossible plan and—”
“And instead we’re waltzing.” Elias pulled back just enough to look at her properly, and Luna felt pinned by his gaze. “Terrible timing, isn’t it?”
“The worst.”
“Although . . .” He seemed to be thinking something through. “There’s an argument to be made that if we’re about to spend the next nine days in high-stress, potentially lethal situations, maybe we should take this moment. While we have it.” His thumb traced a small circle on the back of her hand, and she could feel it all the way to her toes. “Luna Melrose, I’ve been effectively dead for a century, trapped in the Void for most of it, and somehow the worst part wasn’t the existential horror. It was knowing I’d never meet someone like you.”
“That’s . . .” She swallowed hard. “That’s a hell of a line, Shaw.”
“It’s not a line.” His other hand had drifted to the small of her back, pressing her closer. “I mean it.”
“Sure,” she chuckled, “that’s how you ended up in the Void for eternity. Because of your great sincerity.”
“Wellll, it’s true, I’m a liar. But only professionally. I’m not lying about this.”
“Elias,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
So he did.
It wasn’t like the movies: no swelling orchestra, no perfectly choreographed dip. It was clumsy and urgent and a little desperate, his mouth hot against hers, her fingers tangling in his hair. His mouth was insistent and slightly clumsy, and there was something almost unbearably sweet about it. About learning each other in real time. They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, the piano still playing its soundtrack to their disaster.
“We don’t have time for this,” she whispered.
“No,” he agreed, and kissed her again.
She melted into the embrace, her fingers laced behind his neck as his hands slid down her back to rest at the curve of her waist. His touch sent shivers down her back, and she could feel his heart racing, mirroring her own. She could have sworn she heard the clock ticking somewhere in the back of her mind, counting down the precious minutes they had until reality caught up.
The player piano took a break, and the room itself held its breath. The air was thick with desire, hunger, and anticipation. Sweat glistened on their skin under the twinkling lights. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to.
Elias pulled away slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. There was something so raw and vulnerable in his gaze that made her heart ache. He kissed her once more, softly this time, on the forehead. He moved confidently toward one of the tables, sweeping away the gilt-inflected plates and ornate silverware. He lifted her onto the table in one smooth motion, and Luna’s breath caught as her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands were everywhere—her thighs, her hips, sliding up her ribcage—and she was making sounds she didn’t recognize, desperate little gasps that should have embarrassed her but didn’t, couldn’t, because nothing mattered except this, him, now.
“Luna,” he breathed against her neck, and the way he said her name—reverent and ruined—made something inside her crack wide open.
