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Silas’s hand pressed, pushing me closer to him, the pressure leaving room for me to pull back or stop him.

But there wasn’t an ounce of restraint in me right then.

I was starting to suspect the spelled drink simply suggested I do what felt good instead of overthinking it like usual.

I was okay with that as Silas’s chest pressed to mine. Just a brush, but my nerve endings fired off, making me achingly aware of the sensation.

Our held hands lifted.

Then we were moving.

I wasn’t aware of knowing the steps. I guess I didn’t need to with how confidently Silas led.

Little by little, everything fell away: the dancers, the people at the tables, the staff, the decor. All there was in the world was the dance floor, the music, and Silas.

My hand moved of its own volition, slipping up his chest, over his shoulder, then resting at the lowest part of his neck.

Everything in that moment felt weighted—the pressure of his hand on my back, my arm around his shoulder, the air swirling around us.

My mind was struggling hard to reconcile the different versions I had of him: the jerk I met the first day, the cold and callous love-hater, the philosopher, the gentleman, and the man who was holding me the way a romantic lead in all my books and movies might.

Everything suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Because beyond the fact that we worked together, there was a lie sitting between us, delicate as glass.

I was not supposed to be thinking about him the way I was starting to. The way that had my heartbeat tripping, that had my belly wobbling.

But no amount of logic could shake the sense that something between us was already in motion. That there was a very good chance it was going to carry us both away.

Still, I somehow didn’t want the song to end.

Silas’s hand shifted slightly, guiding me into a turn. I couldn’t tell if it was the spin, the drink, or the unexpected swirl of desire coursing through me, but I felt lightheaded and floating.

Almost as if sensing the sensation, Silas pulled me closer and held me tighter.

There was a slow unfurling low in my stomach that had my gaze lifting, seeking his, and finding him already watching me, something dark in his eyes.

For just a moment, there was the intoxicating thrill of wanting, of maybe, possibly being wanted in return.

But then a massive body crashed into me, sending me falling into Silas, who quickly turned me away from the perceived threat and stepped fully in front of me.

This was a bar, though, and this was no threat—just a drunk gargoyle who, well, weighed about a thousand pounds, thanks to the limestone he was made from.

The pain of the impact was like a blow with a bat, both sharp and throbbing at the same time, enough to make my breath catch.

“Whoa, man. Just stumbled. Didn’t mean any harm,” he said, holding up his hands.

“That does not sound like an apology to me,” Silas said. “You could have injured the lady.”

“I’m okay!” I said, moving out from behind Silas. In reality, my back felt like it got, you know, rammed with solid rock (because it had). But I didn’t want there to be any issues.

Silas’s gaze was hard on the gargoyle, though, making the man turn to look at me.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

With that, he gave Silas a nod, then moved around him, making a wide berth in case the vampire changed his mind about letting it go with a simple apology.