Dancing on thin ice.
669 Words
The gala was held at the Grand Solaris, a marble-drenched hotel that glittered like a jewel box against the night sky. Every year, Moretti Shipping hosted the elite of international trade: CEOs, politicians, legacy families, and the vultures who clung to them.
But this year, all eyes were on Elias Moretti.
And the woman on his arm—well, she wasn’t supposed to be there at all.
Leona stood at the far end of the ballroom, a glass of champagne in one hand, the weight of the room pressing down on her shoulders like silk and steel.
She hadn't wanted to come.
But Elias had sent the dress.
And the driver.
And a handwritten note with just five words:
You owe me a dance.
She should’ve ignored him. She didn’t.
Across the room, Elias was watching her again.
She wore midnight blue—the kind of gown that didn’t shout for attention but demanded it anyway. The neckline was modest, but the curve of her back, exposed just slightly, made something primal stir in his blood.
He had danced with heiresses, politicians’ daughters, actresses.
But none of them ever made his chest tighten like this.
He approached slowly, his steps quiet and deliberate.
Leona saw him coming and turned slightly, her smile soft but unreadable.
“I see you’re abusing your CEO privileges,” she said, sipping her drink.
“You’re the one who walked in looking like that,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically trailing the line of her collarbone. “Don’t act surprised.”
She rolled her eyes. “You were always too smooth for your own good.”
He leaned in, voice lower. “And you were always too afraid to see how much of it was real.”
Before she could respond, the music shifted—low, slow, elegant.
He held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
She hesitated. There were too many eyes, too many risks, too many whispers just waiting to erupt.
But when her fingers touched his, every reason to walk away slipped through the cracks of logic.
The dance floor wrapped around them like a secret.
He pulled her in, just close enough. His hand rested on her waist, warm through the fabric. Her palm pressed gently against his chest.
They moved like magnets—smooth, slow, intoxicating.
“You're not afraid of scandals, are you?” she asked, voice low.
“I survived my father. I can survive gossip.”
“You’re risking your reputation dancing with me.”
“Maybe I want people to look.”
Her breath hitched.
“Why?” she asked, almost whispering.
Elias leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear.
“Because I want them to know I see you. All of you. Not as my father’s secretary. Not as some older woman I’m not supposed to want. But as the one thing I can’t unfeel.”
Leona's body went still in his arms.
She looked up at him—really looked. Her eyes were glassy, but her voice remained even. “Elias, this can’t happen.”
“It’s already happening,” he said simply.
Their faces were close now. Too close.
The music swelled. Time melted. Her resolve cracked just a little more.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she leaned in the final inch, her lips brushing his in the softest, most dangerous kind of kiss.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was a promise. And a mistake. And a line they could never uncross.
The kiss deepened just slightly before she pulled back, breathing unsteady.
“We’re not doing this here,” she said, her voice ragged.
“Then tell me where.”
She shook her head and stepped away, melting into the crowd before he could follow.
Elias stood alone on the dance floor, pulse thundering.
That kiss wasn’t just the beginning.
It was the ignition.
And he wasn’t going to stop until Leona James was completely undone.
- Writer
