She’s right. How come I never noticed that? And the thing is, the tune is so ridiculous and fun that it’s impossible to feel anything but joy as I hold her hand and put my arm around her. We practice the basic steps, making a box on the floor.
Our bodies are close, and I look into her happy eyes. I’ve held countless women in my arms—at parties or for photoshoots or acting roles. Many of them are known for beauty and charm, but they all pale compared to Yuna. None of them smell the way she does, or feel as sweet as when I hold her close. My heart pumps harder and faster, and hot chills spread over my skin, all the way to my scalp and the tips of toes.
She isn’t talking, but her lips are set in a curve and her eyes have a faraway look, like she’s lost in thought. It annoys me that she’s not focused on me like I am on her. So I give her a little tug and a “pay attention to me” stare. Her gaze sharpens as she lets out a small sound of surprise.
The sound makes me think of sex—the sound she might make.
I put more distance between us without being too obvious. Pressing her against my erect cock on the first day of work probably isn’t the wisest move, even if I want to make her want me. Unless she was thinking about sex—with me, of course—when she got that dreamy look in her dark eyes, and was getting turned on.
It’s unfair that God made it so women can hide their arousal so easily.
After a couple more tries, she lifts her arms in a hooray gesture and moves away. And I hate it that the damned music is so short. Somebody needs to compose an hour-long waltz.
“That was perfect,” she says. “Now we can add some turns and variations. Super easy, as long as you keep track of which way you’re supposed to turn. Otherwise you’re going to bump into other couples. There are other dancers in the scene, right?”
“I think so,” I say, my pulse still unsteady.
She grins.
Can a woman grin like that when she’s turned on? I find that I don’t know. I never really paid that much attention.
“So,” she says. “Let’s start.”
Chapter Sixteen
Declan
“What do you want for lunch?” I ask Yuna about half an hour before my regular lunchtime.
“Whatever you’re having,” she says.
Her cheeks are slightly flushed from the hours of waltzing we’ve put in. I’ve mastered all the ones she introduced, but I insisted on practicing, claiming to get anxious when I have to do an audition. “I might screw up if I don’t commit the entire thing to muscle memory.”
Thankfully, she bought the bullshit and I got to hold her the entire morning. Which was awesome. Nancy’s permanently fired.
“You don’t have a preference?”
She shrugs. “You’re the boss.”
“But you helped me with the waltz, and this is your first day. It’s a ‘thank you and welcome’ combo lunch. I do it for all my assistants.”
I can hear Benedict screaming, What the fuuuuuck? in my head. But he isn’t here to protest.
Her lips curve slowly into a smile. “Well… In that case…”
“Go ahead. There’s no limit or budget or anything.”
It’ll be fun to take her someplace fancy and indulge her. She’s from a rich family, so she’s probably used to wining and dining, even for lunch. Maybe that bistro at the Aylster or the restaurant at the Ritz… It’ll take the best part of an hour to drive into L.A., but it’ll be worth it. It isn’t like I have anything urgent to do this afternoon.
“Mexican,” she says.
“What?”
“I want Mexican. Homey…filling… And oh-so delicious.”
“But why?” I rack my brain for something at a top restaurant that could be labeled “homey.” “We could go to the Ritz. I really meant the no-limit thing.”
“It isn’t about the budget. I can eat at the Ritz or other fancy places anytime. I’ve actually eaten there a few times when I was in town. It’s just that there are no authentic Mexican restaurants in Seoul. The food is lacking something like limes or cilantro or some spice I can’t put my finger on. Or it’s ridiculously fancy, like gold flakes and caviar burritos.”