Page 83 of A Perfect Fit

“What’s funny?” she prods.

“You’re cute when you get flustered.”

We reach the first chorus of the song, and I give Isabelle a twirl. The skirt of her dress is a fluttering blur of lilac as she spins around, and I’m mesmerized, wonderstruck by her every movement.

Isabelle bites her lip. “Have you done this a lot?”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I can’t remember the last time I danced with a woman like this before.

“You’re good at it,” she mutters.

I stare into her eyes. “It’s easy when it’s with the right person.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it when her gaze darts somewhere to her left. I follow her direction, noticing she’s staring at Hilary, who’s watching us with a forlorn smile on her face.

Isabelle’s brows are pressed tight, and she looks like she’s conflicted by something.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I say.

Hesitation settles on her face before she speaks. “Did you call me your girlfriend in front of Hilary because you wanted to throw her off? Is that why you needed a fake date for tonight?”

My brows furrow. “I did tell her I was bringing a date when she asked me, but tonight isn’t about her. I asked you because I thought maybe if it were a two-way deal, you’d be willing to accept my fake-boyfriend offer. And because …” Fuck it. “I wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen at my last sentence. “Really?”

I pull her closer toward me, inhaling her floral and fruity scent—that damn intoxicating mix of oranges and jasmine. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She shakes her head. “I mean, no, but I …”

My gaze searches hers desperately. “I wish you could see how incredible you are, Bella.”

Her breath hitches, but before she can respond, I give her another twirl, dipping her slightly and pulling her back up, my hands gripping tighter around her waist. A tiny gasp bubbles from her mouth as our eyes lock.

Our faces are now only inches apart, and the temptation to kiss that pink lipstick away and do a lot more than that grips at me like nothing before.

Isabelle glances at my lips, as if she can read my thoughts.

If I kiss her now, though, I won’t be able to stop, which isn’t ideal in a room full of people.

“That dress has been killing me all night,” I say instead, my voice strained.

She slides her hand lower so that it’s brushing against my chest, my nerve endings stirring and tingling beneath her touch.

“So has that suit,” she mutters.

“I can take it off if it’s bothering you.”

Her cheeks flush again. “Smooth.”

We dance in silence until the song ends, and when the music stops, my hand’s still around Isabelle’s waist, and she hasn’t let go of her hand on my chest either.

Finally, I take her hand and kiss the back of it. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

Isabelle’s face softens. “Of course.”