A “rip off the Band-Aid” sort of approach. Like, right now. And run. Run far—
He lightly touched his lips to the edge of my mouth, short-circuiting my thoughts again. And then released me.
A retort caught in my throat, the words gibberish by the time I forced them into my mouth. So I swallowed them and shook my head, trying to knock some sense back into myself.
This guy was potent.
A walking hazard who scrambled my brain cells.
A threat I needed to get far away from. Which was precisely the opposite thing that I did as he extended his elbow. My body acted of its own volition, my arm treacherously looping through his as he led me toward the platform.
What is happening to me? I wondered, feeling lighter than air on my heels. He kissed me.
What a ludicrous thought. Why should that matter? Dash had kissed me, too. Several times. But I never felt like this afterward.
And, wait, Tray really didn’t kiss me. Not passionately.
So why the heck was I floating on cloud nine over here? Because a cute guy touched me? I frowned. That cute guy also tried to drown me this week. And I wasn’t buying his protection act for a minute.
My stupid body just hadn’t received the mental memo yet.
Hence my legs moving us down the stairs into the ballroom below.
Where half my class seemed to be standing, all of their eyes round and on us. Great. Tray would be making his scene any second now.
“You’re stunning,” he whispered against my ear. “And now everyone knows it.”
I didn’t bother replying to that. Impressing me would take a whole hell of a lot more than a few measly compliments. And this dress. And the limo. And everything else he’d done tonight.
Shaking myself once more, I refocused on our surroundings. Ryan stood beside a scowling Dash, her expression souring as she took in my blue gown. Carmen appeared behind her with an equally irritated look. Very different from my last dance, where they’d positively beamed at my entrance.
So what was different about tonight?
Tray steered me away from them and toward the center of the room, his lips falling to my ear again. “Dance with me.”
“Why?” I asked, shivering from his nearness and the multitude of eyes on me. I thought I could do this, face all my classmates and essentially tell them to go screw themselves. But Tray had unnerved me, his touch confusing my sensibilities.
“Because everyone is staring at us and I want to give them something to really look at,” he replied, swinging me into his arms in an expert move that my feet automatically followed.
Ballroom dancing was an elective course at the academy. But that wasn’t how I knew how to respond. My mother had taught me the formal movements at a very young age. She’d also enrolled me in ballet—my favorite activity until my step-monster took it from me. Chores are more important than gallivanting around in slippers, she’d said.
My heart ached at the thought. But my pulse quickly escalated as Tray nudged my hips in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
I followed as he led, my legs and torso moving as if under a spell of my past life. Memories of my mother whirled through my mind, just as they had outside of La Scala. Only, it wasn’t pain I felt this time, but freedom.
I’m dancing, I marveled, temporarily suspended in a frame of mind I hadn’t felt in so, so long. How Tray maneuvered me into this position, I couldn’t say. But now that I was here, I didn’t want to leave.
I felt alive.
Like a bird soaring through the sky.
Flying.
Free.
He picked up our pace, matching the rhythm of the song beautifully and turning me at all the right moments. His hands expertly led mine, his footing a master of perfection, and I lost myself to the music. Gave in to Tray and his expert skill. Allowing myself to forget the cruel world around us, to pretend we thrived in another world entirely.
His palms were a brand against my waist, then my hips, and on my lower back. I felt possessed by him, owned utterly by the fluttering of sound guiding our steps. He dipped me to the ground and back up, my chest heaving against his own, as the sound of applause pierced my ears.