Dances And Dangerous Looks

Chapter 6: Dances and Dangerous Looks

The company gala was held at The Belvedere, a luxury hotel with crystal chandeliers, velvet-draped walls, and enough champagne to drown a city. Alina stood near the entrance, wrapped in a floor-length navy gown that hugged her gently, like the night sky had melted around her. The dress wasn’t hers—it was a last-minute gift from one of the interns, along with a tube of red lipstick that made her feel more like a siren than a secretary.

But no amount of makeup could hide the fluttering in her chest. She’d never been to an event like this. The last party she remembered was a noisy backyard barbecue her father crashed in a drunken rage. This… this was different. Polished. Gilded. Judging.

The first person she locked eyes with was Damien Vale.

He stood across the ballroom, dressed in a custom black tuxedo that looked criminal on his tall frame. His tie was perfectly straight. His jaw looked like it could crack diamonds. And for a moment—a single, piercing moment—he stared at her like she wasn’t real.

Alina’s breath hitched. She quickly looked away and stepped toward the refreshment table, pretending to be fascinated by shrimp canapé́s.

“Careful,” a voice murmured beside her. “They look fancy, but they taste like fish-flavored regret.”

She turned to see one of the junior executives, grinning. She smiled politely, making small talk, eyes flickering nervously toward the crowd. Damien was nowhere in sight.

Until he was.

One moment, she was chatting. The next, a shadow fell across her shoulder, and the executive stammered an awkward goodbye. Damien had that effect on people.

“You clean up well, Miss Rivera,” he said, voice low enough to ripple through her bones.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she replied, heart racing.

His lips curved—just slightly. "Dance with me."

Alina blinked. "Won't people talk?"

"Let them."

He extended a hand. She took it.

The music was a slow jazz tune, silky and seductive. Damien guided her to the floor with practiced ease, one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand with firm delicacy.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured.

“You’re perceptive.”

His hand tightened ever so slightly. “Don’t be. You belong here more than half of these people.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a fact.”

They danced in silence for a moment, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses fading into the background. Alina felt every movement—his steady steps, his controlled breathing, the gentle pressure of his hand against her back. It was intoxicating.

“Why me?” she whispered. “Why are you even talking to me like this?”

His gaze lowered to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Because you’re the only person in this room who doesn’t want anything from me. And that… that’s dangerous.”

She swallowed hard. “You like dangerous?”

His smirk deepened. “I think I’m addicted to it.”

The song ended, but neither of them moved.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said softly.

He leaned down, lips close to her ear. “That was only the beginning.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving her breathless in the center of the dance floor, heart pounding, lips tingling with promises yet to come.

---

The Next Day:

The day had started normally enough. Damien barked at interns, Alina sorted through files, and the air conditioning made the office feel more like a tundra than a skyscraper in the city. But by late afternoon, dark clouds had rolled in, soaking the city in a moody kind of gray that mirrored the growing tension between them.

Alina stayed late, still catching up on the transition into her new role as Damien’s assistant. He hadn’t said much all day—not unusual for him—but she felt his gaze too many times to pretend it was nothing. Like he was trying not to say something. Or trying not to want something.

At 7:15 PM, the thunder cracked.

She jumped in her seat, glancing out the tall windows as the rain began its dramatic descent over the glass. It was pouring—biblical, unforgiving, almost cinematic. She sighed and stood, stretching sore shoulders, deciding she might as well pack up.

The elevator was out.

Of course it was.

She stared at the blinking “Out of Service” sign and muttered a string of curses under her breath. She turned back toward the office, only to nearly collide with Damien.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, suit still immaculate.

“Stuck?” he asked.

She nodded. “Elevator’s dead. I guess I’ll wait it out.”

He hesitated for half a second, then said, “My office is warm. There’s coffee. If you’d prefer not to wait by the vending machine.”

Her heart thumped. “Sure.”

Inside his office, it was quiet. Safe. The storm made the windows shiver. Damien poured her a cup and handed it over in silence. She took it, fingers brushing.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “Are you afraid of storms?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

She looked down at her coffee, voice softer now. “Because they pass. The people who cause them... don’t.”

Damien was still for a moment. Then he said, “You’ve been through a lot.”

She looked up. “And you haven’t?”

He laughed—short, dry. “Touché.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the rain speak.

“I should stay away from you,” he said suddenly.

Her pulse fluttered. “Why?”

“Because you make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. You... distract me.”

She set her cup down. Took a step closer. “Then stop pretending you don’t want to be distracted.”

His jaw clenched. “Alina—”

She was in front of him now. Inches away.

“If you don’t want this... tell me now.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he kissed her.

It was hot, desperate, completely unplanned. His hands tangled in her hair, her fingers curled into his shirt, the thunder crashing like applause outside. When they finally broke apart, breathless, he whispered against her lips—

“You terrify me.”

Alina smiled. “Good. Now you know how I felt every day until I met you.”

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