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***

"Caleb."

The music is slow and smooth, jazzy and full. Somehow our formal ballroom dance technique has fallen into a state of neglect. Now his hands hold me by the waist, my arms loose around his neck. Our feet move slowly, our chests just brushing, and his face is close, smooth and sharp and very handsome, a short distance from mine.

His fingers tease my hips, the fabric of my dress not thin enough. I let my eyes meet his bright, sparkling blue, our breaths warm and heavy between us.

"You know it's rude to leave your date for so long like this, right?" My voice is quiet and soft and playful.

"Mm?" He lets out a deep hum, and the sound is low and makes me shiver, ever so slightly. "Izzy doesn't mind."

I chuckle. "Aren't you lucky, then."

His gaze holds a small, secret challenge as it focusses on my face. "Very."

It's amazing how calm everything feels, how easy and normal and pleasant. I feel warm and cheerful, my mind wide awake, waiting.

"Rosalyn." He tilts his head, raising a golden brow. "This is only like, the third time we've met, you know."

My fingers brush against the fabric of his suit, my thumbs a light whisper against the skin of his neck. "And?"

His mouth widens into a small, wry grin. "And it would be totally wrong if I kissed you right now."

I watch, my lips parted slightly, as his eyes float downwards to my mouth, his gaze resting there for a lingering second. Both of us lean in, our noses almost brushing.

When I speak, my voice is a low flutter. "So what?"

And when our lips meet, it's soft and slow and so incredibly sweet, and the world goes quiet, just for a small while.

•§•

later I leave Caleb to clear my head, wandering out of the hot, dimly-lit banquet room into the foyer. It's a little brighter and a little emptier, and I know most people have either left for the night or continue to dance, or mingle at the edges of the hall, watching.

My lips are pink in the bathroom mirror, and I give my face a splash, suppressing a small, satisfied smile. My stomach flutters.

My mind is kind of hazy, but the water helps. Digging through my clutch, I'm not surprised to see a string of messages from Shauna, teasing and excited. I know she's drunk. The last time I saw her was an hour ago, in the arms of some dark young lawyer.

Omg ros

Lol get a room

Someones getting lcky tnight

U go gurl ;)

ROOOSSSALYYNNNNNNN

Im getting a ride babe dont wait for meee

Tell me how it goes with blondeee tmrow i need deets

<3 xoxo

I laugh, tucking my cell away. Still deciding whether or not I'll let Caleb take me home, I touch up my lipstick, wandering out of the bathroom to the front doors, where it's cool and there aren't many people around.

The music from the hall is audible but lower, and I lean slightly against a wall, still flushed.

Caleb.

Mm. I can't even remember the last time I kissed a boy. Okay, maybe I can, but it's been a while. I try to come up with reasons why I shouldn't sleep with him: he's my brother's friend, he works with my dad, I've just met him. None of these seem to do it, though, and I can feel the ghost of his fingers on my hips, pulling me towards him as we danced.

My thoughts are interrupted by a pair of loud voices a couple meters away, and my ears prick at the sound. They speak Italian, a male and a female, and they are clearly arguing, frustrated.

I turn my head to see what the fuss is and freeze in my tracks, instantly filling with dread.

There, back towards me, is a familiar set of broad, lean shoulders, clad in a perfectly fitting suit. Nero. The thought of him here makes me shiver, a gazillion scenarios playing through my mind.

He shifts slightly, and my blood goes cold in my veins when I see the gorgeous, dark-haired woman he talks to. Natalia doesn't notice me, her face flushed and clearly displeased. She waves her hands emphatically, and it sounds like she's trying to convince Nero of something. His voice is low and his words are slow and menacing, his tone leaving little room for compromise.

Natalia lets out a large huff of defeat, her arms collapsing with irritation. A couple seconds later, our eyes meet, and she stops, her expression surprised and guarded. Turning quickly, she mutters one last thing to Nero and stalks away, back to the dance.

I remain where I am, processing it. I watch Nero, as he runs a hand through his hair, rubbing a tired palm across his face.

All the alarm bells in my head go off as he turns around, and before I can hurry away he spots me, his gaze dark and questioning, full of warning just like always. He raises an eyebrow and in a couple long strides he has me by the arm, tugging me around the corner before I can call out in surprise.

This tiny corridor is narrow and dark and quiet, a few small, infinitely long feet away from civilized society. I am acutely aware of how alone we are, and the sudden silence is deafening.

I let out a small yelp as he presses me by the hips against the cool wall, his hands rough against my waist.

My breaths are heavy, and I look up at his chiseled, clearly annoyed face, my protests dying in my mouth at the mere sight of him. His skin is as flawless as always, dark stubble a dust across his cheeks and his thick hair styled to perfection. I can barely look at him, he's so incredibly gorgeous.

The lighting is so dim that I can barely make out anything around us, but in the darkness I can see his eyes, black and glimmering and wholly intimidating, burning into mine.

"Rosalina." The nickname is spoken with a huff, full of irritation.

I look silently back at him, unable to form words.

"What are you doing here, Nero?" I'm surprised by the steady defiance in my voice.

He chuckles, leaning in so his nose is a couple inches from mine. I feel like this is the only way we interact—pressed against each other, our faces close and our breaths mixing, hot, between us. "I was about to ask you the same thing, dolcezza."

His voice is as low and rough and full as I remember it, and it sends sparks down my spine, fearful and something else.

"Daniel invited me." There's a challenge at the edge of my voice. I wait for his explanation, but he offers me nothing.

He angles his head, mouth pursed. I see his gaze, dark and heavy, float down my face to my lips and to my tight black dress, then back to my eyes. "You look nice, carina."

His compliment takes me aback. I have no response, so I just continue to watch him, wondering.

Finally, one of my many unanswered questions finds its way to my tongue. "What were you doing with Daniel's girlfriend?" The accusation is clear, and he studies me, surprised.

He arches a dark brow. "You mean Natalia?"

I wait for him to respond with some kind of excuse, some explanation.

Instead of just answering me, he laughs again, as if my questions are somehow amusing. "Rosalina." He brings a finger up to my face, brushing my cheek ever so slightly. "You and your family need to stop getting involved with things that are none of your business."

His comment angers me, and it shows. I bring my hands forcefully against his chest, pushing him away, but he just grabs my wrists, pressing me back against the wall. Even closer than before.

I inhale, my eyes floating down to his mouth, set in a thin, displeased line.

"You think I want to be involved in your mess?" I'm surprised by the sharpness in my own voice, the way the words are an annoyed, frustrated hiss. "Every time I turn around, there you are, reminding me just how wrong everything is!"

He narrows his eyes, the tip of his nose just touching the tip of mine. Both of our chests rise and fall at a pace faster than normal, and there is something dark, unreadable, in his expression.

"If you were really trying to stay out of it, dolcezza, you could." He lets out a mirthless chuckle, tilting his head to the side, his eyes cold. "I didn't force you to be friendly to me, or make you sleep with the other lawyer on the case, or ask you to keep living next door."

His words leave me flustered and angry. What right does he have, accusing me of being the problem? And of sleeping with Caleb? He thinks he knows me. My voice is so full of frustration that I'm nearly shaking as I speak. "My life is none of your business, Nero." My gaze is hot and I shoot daggers at him with my eyes. "You have no right to judge what I do or who I do it with, and you need to stop thinking that I give a damn about you or the case or the crime or anything else about you." I end in a huff of breath, flushed and flustered, strangely relieved that I have finally said some of the things that have been weighing me down. "You are the one ruining my life, not the other way around."

I watch to make sure he got the message, and he looks so surprised. He takes a step back, letting me go completely, and suddenly I feel cold without him so close, without his grip on my hips or his fresh breath against my face.

He lets out a deep sigh, studying me, and I can practically see the thoughts running through his head. We look at each other for what seems like forever, everything and nothing passing between us.

His voice is icy and quiet, barely audible and full of frustration. "Dolcezza."

My arms crossed and my face a mask of stone, my reply is short, irritated. "What?"

And faster than should've be possible, he's on me, pushing my hips against the wall again and claiming my mouth with his, rough and demanding and yet so indescribably soft.

My hands betray my startled mind, weaving themselves into his thick hair, and there is no space between us, no room for talking or thinking or breathing, no rest from the hot, desperate frenzy of our battling lips or from the warm twist of our tongues, the tireless heat of us against each other, frustrated and insatiable.

My knees get weaker by the second until his body pressed against mine is the only reason I'm still standing. His teeth tug gently at my lips, nipping and sucking, his mouth gentle, reverent, slow. Burning.

I'm vaguely aware of the small moans and wanting breaths that escape me, but I don't care. The way he kisses me, hard and sweet and full of want, takes away all thoughts or worries. For those moments, I am incapable of thinking of anything, anyone else.

When he pulls away it's barely an inch, our breathing heavy and labored, our skin hot and flushed, noses brushing. I let my hands fall to his waist, and he brings one of his up to hold my face, soft and tender. My eyes flutter shut as his thumb traces a path under my lashes and down to my lips. They part slightly at his touch.

When I open my eyes again, they meet his, and there is a kind of stunning clarity between us, though I have never been so confused.

He lets out a deep breath and buries his warm face in the crook of my neck, and the roughness of his skin is intoxicating. I want him, and it isn't just me.

My eyes close again, and then suddenly all I feel is a loss, as every part of him leaves every part of me, cold and senseless and hopelessly bare. I snap my eyes open just in time to watch his quick, long steps away, leaving me completely alone.

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