Page 42 of To Love a Beast

Callista swallowed, or would have if her mouth hadn't gone dry in that moment. Heavens, but her insides melted when he spoke in that intimate tone.

"What do I do?"

He positioned her left hand to rest on his shoulder then took her right hand in his left before splaying his right hand on her upper back. His touch was firm yet gentle, and when he closed the distance between them, her breathing took on an erratic rhythm that failed to match the swinging meter of the music box waltz.

Everett leaned close and murmured in her ear. "Imagine a square etched into the floor."

That liquid voice of his had her imagining plenty, but nothing relating to squares on the floor.

Focus, Callie. You don't want to look the fool.

"I'll step forward with my left foot at the same time that you'll step back with your right." He moved his foot, and she hurried to move hers out of his way. "Then we'll both step to the side, and finally, bring our feet back together at the opposite corner of our pretend box." He guided her through the motions, and she followed without too much difficulty. "Now it's your turn to step forward with your left while I step back with my right. Then to the side, and close. Excellent."

She looked up from staring at her feet and smiled, ridiculously proud of her feeble accomplishment.

His eye twinkled. "Now we'll try it in time with the music."

He led her through several squares, patient with her missteps as she learned the pattern.

"You're getting the hang of it," he praised. "Now look at me instead of your feet, and let your body rise and fall with the music."

"I don't know if I—"

"You can." His thumb stroked a line along her back, sending an array of delightful shivers coursing over her skin. "Look at me, Callista. Please."

Drawn to the insecurity hiding behind his seductive tone, she lifted her chin and looked him full in the face. This dance was as much for him as it was for her. He needed her gaze as much as he needed her trust, and she'd not withhold either.

"Do you promise to catch me if I fall?" she murmured.

"Always."

The music box played its song again, and together they stepped into the dance. They held to their small box for the first few bars but then Everett led her into a widening pattern that twirled her around the entire perimeter of the room. She stepped wrong several times, but he covered each error with his own mastery, tugging her slightly closer to him each time until mere inches separated them.

Worry slowly gave way to wonder as Callista ceased counting in her head and allowed the music and her partner to move her where they willed. Everett pulled other metal discs from the cabinet when he grew weary of hearing the same tune, and each song felt more magical than the last.

She lost track of how much time passed, but who cared for time when dancing in the arms of a dashing prince?

Finally, the music box wound down and Everett brought their dance to a halt. His hand slid up to capture hers where it rested on his shoulder. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss upon her knuckles. Her breath caught at the feel of his warm breath through her gloves, and the soft touch of his lips weakened her knees. Slowly, he lowered her hand to rest against his chest and held it directly over his heart. A heart she could feel beating with the same ferocity as her own.

"Callista . . . I . . . I've come to . . . care for you a great deal over the last several weeks."

His hesitant words tenderized her heart more than any polished charm could accomplish. "I feel the same." She dipped her chin, as shyness swept over her.

Goodness. What was she doing? He was her employer and far above her station. Admitting feelings for him was far from proper.

"All of you here at the manor have become the dearest friends to me."

He frowned slightly. "I'd like to be more than a friend to you, Callista. I'd like to court you and eventually make you my wife."

His wife? Oh, how could a dream coming true hurt so deeply?

"But, Everett . . . we are so different. You're from the cream of New York society, and I'm a poor bookbinder who didn't even know how to dance before tonight."

"Do you think I care about any of that?" His voice rose a notch. "I haven't lived in New York in more than five years, and I have no intention of returning. If the difference in our circumstances doesn't matter to me, why should it matter to you?"

"It matters because I don't want to be another barrier to you reconciling with your family. Family is important, Everett. And yours would never approve of me. And mine? Well, Papa needs me. I can't abandon the Rosenfeld Bindery."

"So you'd abandon me instead." His frown brought his scars into sharp relief.