It started when she asked him to dance. Traditional dress ruched across her thighs, she was divine. He’d been watching her all night, high heels turning on the parquet floor like they were princess slippers made of glass that he could snatch up and claim her with. Her lips were painted red, rose red, sex scent red, crimson like her dress. He imagined the blush of her cheek under his finger and looked down again to her feet before saying yes.
When he took her proffered hand, it was like accepting a challenge. Her glance slapped him across the eyes with both feet perfectly planted. He guided her to the dancefloor, hips shifting to the music. The band was playing old blues tunes with a sad salsa twist. He was going to win this war. They stepped in time, in then out, a little turn to the left and here was a dip. She twisted like a flower following sunlight, she moved like beaded water rippling over rocks. She leaned in close and he caught his breath. In her eyes was flame, a promise of sweat in darkness.
The music shifted to something less demanding, more intriguing, more sensual. Her body pressed against his, his world narrowing to the sensation burning his skin. Hands met and twined, breath slowing deeper. A lower key on the piano and she slid across him with quiet desire, a flourish of finespun subtle touch. She regarded him under lowered lashes and he wondered what it was that was so illusive while lost in the slow shift of weight from foot to foot, her heavy limbed grace like she danced underwater. There was a mystery to her, like she glowed with some insinuating glamour.
The music was drawing to a close. They never said a word, but fell into a final set of steps and stopped, panting, frozen together on the last note in a complex arch of grace. The next song carried on but flowed around them. He felt alone with her, felt as if they stood in profound silence. There was nothing in the world but her breath.
He left a tip at the door when he collected their coats.