Chapter Twelve

The night was passing in a blurry whirl of dances, faces, and champagne. Maricela felt numb to it, like the whole ball was very, very far away--and happening to someone else. Someone who could still smile and make small talk, even though she wanted to run away.

All her attention--her real attention--was fixed on Ivan. He somehow managed to always be within her line of sight without looking like he was lurking. He ghosted through the crowd, his former discomfort gone and his focus absolute.

It was his job to watch her, but not like this. The weight of his unceasing gaze was anything but practical. It was tangible, hot, and it had nothing to do with objectively ensuring her safety.

It had everything to do with sex.

Her dance partner, the second son of one of the lesser noble families, was saying something. She smiled and nodded, then immediately regretted it when his face lit up.

“Oh, I can’t wait to show you my workshop.” He beamed down at her. “I know it’s not how things have always been done, and my father thinks mass production is crass and cheap. But when I heard what you were doing with those shipping containers--making homes for the refugees? Well, just because they can’t afford handblown glass doesn’t mean they don’t deserve nice cups.”

“That’s so true,” she murmured. “I look forward to it.”

It was enough to launch him into an enthusiastic description of the process. It sounded like a sales pitch, though not an overly personal one. He only wanted her patronage, and she almost promised it to him on the spot. Money was simple. Easy, especially for her.

But she couldn’t choke out the words, because everyone wanted something from her. The demands were so unrelenting that she felt sincere relief when someone only asked for a bit of her time or an influx of cash for their business venture.

How fucked up was that?

The song ended and bled into another one, and her partner didn’t even notice. He was deep in a loving description of synthesizing glass when Zeke appeared and gave the man’s shoulder a firm tap. “Can I cut in?”

He blinked, but immediately stepped back and gave Maricela a little bow. “I’ll send the details to your estate.”

“I look forward to it.” Then she fought a wince, because she’d said that already, but her companion didn’t seem to notice. He was still smiling when he melted into the crowd, and she turned to Zeke. “You didn’t bring me any booze, did you?”

“No, just my sparkling personality. And how hot my ass looks in these pants.” He grasped her hand and her waist. “Plus you looked like you needed a break.”

“You have no idea. But I am glad to hear that you’ve learned to appreciate what some skilled tailoring can do for your butt.”

“I’d check out what it’s doing for yours, but I don’t want Ivan to knock out my teeth.” He grinned, flashing them at her, then whirled her around so fast that the room swam dizzily. “Hold steady, kiddo. We’ll be out of here in another few days.”

She clutched at him for support until the room righted itself. “So everyone keeps desperately reminding me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth.” They swooped again, nearly colliding with a West cousin who was dancing with his husband. Zeke’s dancing was more energetic than skilled, but he was clearly having the time of his life--until he caught sight of Reyes spinning Grace around with significantly more finesse.

His eyebrows drew together as his lips flattened into a stern line. “That is not okay.”

“What, Reyes dancing? Or with Grace?”

“That’s not dancing. That’s plotting a debauched seduction.”

Maricela let her head fall back with an inarticulate groan. “Ugh, so what? Humor me for a moment--just a moment--and answer this: what if that’s what she wants?”

“With Reyes?”

Probably not. Grace hadn’t said anything, not in so many words, but in her less guarded moments, she looked at Zeke with a bewildering, complicated mix of emotions that could only mean one thing. “You could dance with her instead.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his next dizzy spin was a bit petulant. “Not like Reyes, I can’t. It’s a miracle I haven’t broken any of your toes.”

“Okay, so you completely missed that I was talking about sex, not dancing. I see.”

This time, Zeke stopped entirely. Another couple almost crashed into them, but he barely seemed to notice. “What?”

“Never mind.” Maricela urged him into motion again with a grin. “If you want to learn, I can teach you. About dancing, not sex.”

“I should hope not sex. Your brother would murder me. Slowly and creatively.” Zeke found the beat of the music again, settling into the steps of an awkward waltz. “And I know how to dance normal, you know. But that doesn’t help with these fancy rich people gigs. Gabe tried to teach me, but he’s not very patient.”

Gabe was currently holding court on the center of the dance floor with one of Hunter’s sisters. People had actually stopped to watch them as they glided across the ballroom in a spectacle of elegance and skill.

Maricela snorted. “Gabe’s a fabulous dancer. Terrible teacher, though.”

“So why don’t you do what he couldn’t? Make me a fabulous dancer.”

“Oh my God, come on.” She dragged him through the crowd by the hand, ignoring the whispers and the curious stares.

If she wanted to leave the floor in the middle of a number, she damn well could. No matter what they thought, they didn’t own her.

The back balcony overlooking the garden was deserted, probably because the couples looking for real privacy had already disappeared into the hedge maze. Maricela propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the space. “This will work.”

“Will it?” He glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Better hurry. Ivan’s getting nervous.”

“Keep it up,” she muttered as she manually corrected his frame and posture. “I may normally be very sweet, but right now I’m tipsy. Who the hell knows what’s liable to come out of my mouth? Tease me at your own peril.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Quickly, she ran through instructions for a basic box step, then nodded to him when they could start moving in time with the music drifting through the open doorway. “Eyes up. And remember--my legs are shorter than yours.”

The reminder helped. Zeke was smart, coordinated, and trained for combat. Once he moderated his stride so he wasn’t dragging her around, the dance was far more graceful.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “You know Ivan means well, right?”

“Of course he does.”

Zeke’s face was uncharacteristically serious. “We all poke fun at him for being so serious, and having him follow you around has to be a little claustrophobic. But he’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. You’re safer with him than anyone else in the world. Even me.”

“You’re preaching to the converted, Zeke.” His intensity didn’t abate, so she sighed and tried again. “In a perfect world, I wouldn’t need a Rider as a guard. But the world isn’t perfect right now. And if I had to choose one of you, it would be Ivan.” For so many reasons. So many things.

“Good.” His fierceness eased. “I just get protective. A lot of people don’t understand Ivan.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad he has friends looking out for him.” She lifted one eyebrow. “My turn?”

“To do what?”

“To play the overprotective friend.” Maricela stopped dancing but kept hold of his hand. “Grace has been through a lot, and she deserves to have some fun. If you want to be the one having it with her, go for it. But if all you want is to stop her from having it with someone else, please don’t. Just...let her be.”

For once, Zeke didn’t have a witty retort. He studied her face as they resumed their waltz, then finally nodded. “You’re a good friend.”

“I do my best.” The curtain billowing in the doorway moved a little, and she caught sight of Ivan standing in the shadows. Watching, his expression momentarily unguarded.

Envious, like he wanted to be the one dancing with her.

Her breath caught. But before she could make her excuses to Zeke, a loud group of revelers drifted through the open door at the other end of the balcony. Even if Ivan cut in now, it wouldn’t be a private moment, with just the two of them.

So she grinned up at Zeke and tilted her head toward the ballroom. “I could use a break. Are you ready to try your skills with a new partner?”

“Damn right, I am.” He offered his elbow and escorted her through the door.

As they passed by Ivan, Maricela slowed and leaned toward him. She didn’t mean to do it, but he was like a magnet--every time she got too close, the pull overwhelmed her. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to move away, but his fingers drifted over her arm.

She shivered, caught between the chill of the evening breeze and the heat of his hand. Then her eyes flew open and the heat took over, because he was stroking down, tracing a path of goose bumps down to the sensitive skin inside her wrist.

The contact lasted only a moment, but Maricela’s entire world shifted on its axis.

Zeke didn’t even notice. He steered her back into the party and relinquished her to a request by Gabe’s father. She danced with Miguel, smiled at him, almost certainly made small talk with him, but her attention was once again centered on Ivan.

He drifted through the crowd, and even when she wasn’t looking at him, she felt his gaze. She felt it on the inside of her wrist, on the back of her neck--on every spot he’d already touched her, and the places he hadn’t yet.

Yet.