“Do me the honor of a dance?”
“N—”
“Yes,” Natasha says, pushing me into his arms. “Dance.”
I don’t have a choice. The next thing I know, Callum has a grip on me and is whirling me around the dance floor.
“I’m not really much of a dancer.”
“You’re doing brilliantly,” he says and touches his cheek to my temple. Holy Moses, he’s too close. I remember every touch, every sigh from that night almost two years ago. The hand holding mine was in places no one had ventured in years—or since.
His body fit mine as if he were made just for me.
And he forgot.
I pull back and shake my head. “I’m not feeling well. I’d better go lie down.”
“There’s no reason to leave.” His eyes have lost their welcome. He’s cold now. “You’ve made yourself clear, Aspen. I won’t bother you again.”
And with that, he walks away, leaving me alone on the dance floor at a royal wedding.