She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, the warm air skimming the inside of his wrist.
“Will you dance with me?” she asked.
“What?” He dropped his hand back to his side.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Dance with me. Please.”
Without thinking, he put his hand on the indent of her waist. Lust, real, raw, undiluted, shook him. She was soft, warm. She was alive. She took a step toward him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder now, as he’d imagined in the ballroom.
He clenched his teeth together and took her hand in his, weaving their fingers together as he lifted their arms into position. She pressed her body against his, and he could feel her heart beating hard against his chest.
Touch. Real human touch, had not been a part of his life for so very long. To have a woman active beneath his hands rather than simply passive. Conscious. It was so very different from lifting his wife so that he could change her position in her hospital bed. So different from the experience of changing Marina’s clothes for her. Every day, touching her, knowing she still breathed but wasn’t really there.
His throat constricted and he pushed the memory aside. Marina was gone now. Truly gone. Not simply in spirit, as she had been since their first day of marriage, but in body now as well.
“I’m not very good at this,” he said.
“I’m not either.”
For a moment he didn’t move. He simply let every nuance of the moment sink into him. The feel of her gown beneath his hand, the heat of her body beneath that. The subtle scent of bougainvillea in the warm evening breeze, mingling with the scent of Eva. Teasing. Tantalizing. The way her hair tumbled over her shoulders, dark, silken curls that begged for his touch.
He closed his eyes and focused on the faint strains of music coming from the ballroom. It was soft, but he could still follow along with it. He took a breath and the first step. They moved in time with the song, or perhaps they didn’t. He was too lost in the feeling of her body against his to care. He slid his hand down from her waist to the rounded curve of her hip.
Then suddenly, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. To feel her skin beneath his palm instead of the heavy silken fabric of the dress. To feel the press of her body on his without his suit between them.
Her fingertips moved over his shoulder and he pulled his head back so he could look at her face. Their lips were so close. Kissing her would be the simplest thing in the world. Much easier than keeping his eyes on what he was here to do. Much easier than continuing to cling to his control.
He released his hold on her and stepped away.
“Mak?” There was a questioning note in her voice. “The song isn’t finished yet.”
“We’re through here,” he said, his voice rough, his words forced. He turned away from her, his heart raging, his body protesting. “Come, Eva. You need to rejoin the party before your absence is noticed.”
“I … Yes. I’m sure I do.” She walked past him and headed back into the palace.
Eva sucked in a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears that were forming at bay. She’d thought about what it might be like to dance with Mak earlier. Had imagined what heat she might feel in his arms.
Her imagination had been wrong.
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, holding herself tight, trying to keep herself from melting into a puddle. Maybe wrong wasn’t the right word. Maybe she’d underestimated.
Saying that being near Mak generated heat was like comparing a hot stove to molten lava. It was right, but it was far too weak. What Mak made her feel went beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
She burned where he’d touched her, a trail of fire that was sinking through her skin and igniting a trail along her veins, rushing through her body. Leaving an emptiness behind as it faded, devastation.
She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom how a man who was as cold as stone could make her feel as if she was going to go up in flames.
But Mak wasn’t the man she was going to marry. The desire for anything else, no matter how deep, no matter how it made her breath shorten and her stomach tighten, was as impossible as it was forbidden.
Even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t want her.