A Dance

Quinn

I held Lachlan's gaze as my fork paused midway to my mouth, waiting for him to continue. The intensity in his eyes made my heart race.

"The world thinks me a self-made man, an orphan who clawed his way to the top through sheer determination and cunning. But that's not the whole truth," Lachlan said, his voice low and captivating.

My eyes widened slightly. This was it - the story I'd been chasing for so long. I hung on his every word, afraid to even breathe lest I break the spell.

As Lachlan spoke of his father and his upbringing, I found myself drawn deeper into his world. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips, I couldn't help but follow the movement, a shiver running down my spine.

"But you said you came from humble beginnings," I whispered, forcing my gaze back to his eyes. There was a challenge there, unspoken but unmistakable.

"Humble compared to where I stand now, perhaps," he allowed. "But my upbringing was far from typical. My father...he expected excellence. And he had a very particular vision for my future."

Lachlan leaned back in his chair continuing his story. "He'd wanted me to take the reins from him, to become the figurehead of the empire. I was groomed, schooled, and socialized to become the very picture of a young gentleman - poised, polished, and utterly obedient."

The candlelight reflected in his eyes like amber as they drilled into mine. I wanted to appear unaffected, but I was drawn to his every word, unable to look away.

Leaning back in, he lowered his voice to a velvety murmur that poured over me like warm water. "But I chafed at the constraints of the life laid out for me. I craved something more...something that was mine, earned through my own efforts, not handed to me on a silver platter."

I found myself leaning in, too, our faces close enough that I could detect the sweet scent of wine on his breath, a hint of a heady, masculine fragrance he wore.

"So, I made a deal with him," he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'd fulfill my societal duties, marry the woman he'd chosen, and take my place in the family business - but only after I'd built my own empire."

Biting my lip, I had to admit I was hooked, his words painting a picture of a ruthless, driven heir rebelling against his inheritance, his birthright. The story was writing itself in my head.

"It was a risky gamble," he confessed, chuckling. "I remember the sheer terror that gripped me in the stomach as I signed the papers, severing all ties with my father's wealth. But I was young, ambitious, and desperate to prove myself. So, I left, with nothing but two suitcases with clothes and a small bank account of money I had saved over the years from various jobs I'd taken."

Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I shook her head slowly. "Interesting. So, the rumors of your rags-to-riches story were half-true."

Lachlan shrugged. "A little creative spin. Americans love an underdog. And, after all, I did succeed without my father's money."

He continued his tale, painting a picture of a ruthless, driven heir rebelling against his father--fighting to make his own way in the world. I was captivated by the story and the man telling it. I knew I was losing my objectivity, but there was something magnetic about the man in front of me and I seemed to be helpless before it--a piece of iron to a lodestone.

"Your father sounds like a formidable man," I said, sympathy coloring my tone. Something in Lachlan's expression looked pained, and I felt a strange urge to comfort him.

"He was," Lachlan replied, the past tense catching my attention. Before I could probe further, Claude appeared again, two plates with perfect slices of something chocolate garnished with raspberries.

Lachlan returned the chef's wide smile as he placed the plates before us. "Ah, my favorite!"

"Yes, sir. Flourless chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, raspberry filling and Kahlua whipped cream."

"You spoil me, Claude."

Claude gave a little bow to me with his hand over his heart. "I hope you enjoy as well, Miss Pearce."

Licking my lips, I smiled back at the charming chef. "I'm sure I will, Claude. You're going to have to find a wheelbarrow and push me to the plane if you keep feeding me like this."

As the man left the room again, I found Lachlan's whisky eyes watching me intently. I picked up my fork and squirmed in my chair under the scrutiny.

"I can't wait to see what you think of it, Quinn. I must confess, chocolate is one of my weaknesses."

"Mmmm...good to know. I'll be sure to slip that in the article somewhere," I joked, trying to lighten the sudden weight I felt under his stare.

The soft clink of silver against china was the only sound for long moments as we savored our desserts. As I was taking another bite and trying very hard not to moan at the rich, sweet decadence of the cake, violins began to play.

"Do you dance, Quinn?" Lachlan asked me as he stood and offered me his hand.

I hesitated, trying to swallow and come up with a reason not to get even closer to this man. I knew it was a really bad idea as I was already in much deeper than I wanted to be. I was here to do a job, not date a billionaire. "I don't think so."

Lachlan's full lips quirked up in a half smile. "Come on, Miss Pierce. Humor me. What else is there to do with this storm raging outside. I don't know if you noticed, but there are no televisions in this house. There is the theatre, but it is doubtful we could pick anything up in this downpour and I so rarely have a chance to practice my dancing skills."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I searched for an excuse but when I looked up into his face, all my justifications crumbled.

Without speaking, I placed my hand in Lachlan's, the warmth shocking enveloping mine. I silently said a prayer that my hands didn't sweat. As he led me to the makeshift dance floor, I felt a thrill run through me feeling his muscular arms pull me close. Our bodies began moving in perfect sync--like we'd been dancing together for years. The warmth of his hand on my back, the strength in his arms - it was intoxicating.

His breath was hot against my ear as he murmured, "You're a formidable opponent, Quinn. But I think we'd do better coming together rather continuing to spar."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he silenced me with a finger on my lips. The gesture sent a jolt of electricity through me.

"Hush now," he whispered. "Just enjoy the dance."