Mick formed an image in his mind of the infected puncture leg wound he’d treated two days ago in the emergency department.
It didn’t help.
Nothing could change the fact they were but a few song lyrics away from the rest of the bridal party joining Owen and Bria on the floor. A few more moments before he and Zeta would be chest to chest, his hand on the small of her back as they moved together and Nick sang the most romantic fucking song ever written.
Zeta stood beside him, her stare locked on Owen and Bria. Was she cursing the fact they had to dance together? Or was she thinking about the moment they’d shared just before the bridal dance started?
Theyhadshared a moment. He was sure of it. For a heavy, tight moment, their eyes had connected. Held. And he’d had to fight like fucking hell not to reach up and brush his fingertips along the line of her jaw and lower his head to—
“And now the rest of the bridal party will do their thing,” Lawson proclaimed, and for a split second Mick wanted to kill the IT security expert he’d known since they were all teenagers.
Lawson Mauboy stood microphone in hand and pointed at Mick. “C’mon, doc. You’re not getting out of it this time.”
On the dance floor, Owen laughed. Angus, walking towards the dance floor holding Elisa’s hand, did the same.
“This time?” Zeta echoed.
He flicked her a look. “You don’t want to know.”
Her lips twitched. “Oh, I do. I very much do.”
He snagged her hand in his. “Too bad. It’s dancing time.”
He pulled her onto the dance floor, spun her around, and smoothed his hand to the small of her back as they joined Owen and Bria, and Angus and Elisa dancing.
Infected puncture wound, Mick. Infected puncture wound.
No, no good. All he could think about was how his palm rested just above the curve of her butt, how amazing she smelled—coconut and vanilla and…and…jasmine?—and how close their bodies were.
“Are you okay?”
He blinked at Zeta’s low whisper, jerking his stare from the empty air above her head down to her upturned face. A frown pulled at her eyebrows, but not the contemptuous one she normally directed his way. Confusion swam in her eyes. God, how had he never noticed how pretty her eyes were before?
‘Cause you’re an idiot?
“Yeah.” He frowned back. “Why?”
“You’re as stiff as a tree trunk.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. Did he have a— No, no he didn’t. Well, not exactly, although it was bordering on one.
“Loosen up, doc,” she whispered. “I’m not that horrible to dance with.”
He bit back a groan. She wasn’t. That was part of the problem. The curves of her body seemed to align with his perfectly. Clearing his throat, he tried to create a little more space between their hips without her noticing. Just in case. Her frown indicated he’d failed.
“What?” he grumbled.
Her lips twitched. “Honestly, I was a little worried you’d show me up out here, but—”
He dipped her. Effortlessly and gracefully. Before she could finish.
A shocked laugh burst from her as he yanked her upright again. Her palm splayed against his chest, and her hips pressed to his. His breath caught in his throat as their gazes locked. Shit, he hadn’t thought that through.
For a second, for barely a heartbeat, they were utterly motionless, as if frozen, and then he sent her twirling away from him, as far as their arms would allow. A part of his brain registered people were cheering and laughing. Another part recognized it was more than just the bridal party on the dance floor now. The rest of his brain was locked on the fact that all he wanted to do was kiss Zeta De Luca.
That one split second of stillness with their bodies pressed together, her palm over his heart, his on the small of her back, had rocked him to his fucking core.
There’d been a…a…wantin her eyes. And a question.