Maddison's POV
Grant's hot, rough words were an honest confession that made her shiver. The final wail of waltz music was fading in the vast, suddenly silent ballroom, and they were alone on the floor, the only center of a hundred staring eyes.
The heat of his body, the soft pressure of his hand on the curve of her back, the hardness of his eyes; it was too much. Her work face of cool distance had been step by step taken apart in the space of a single dance. She was open, stunned, and scarily alive.
She eased back, her elbows still on him, needing to have the narrow bit of room to breathe. Her face was on fire, her heart a bird caged beating against the bars of her chest.
Shaking, she gasped out, "I... I need some air," the words tiny, an flimsy excuse for the tidal wave building to
