Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(69)

“You okay?” Quinn said, sensing the shift in my mood. I nodded, hoping the gesture would help clear my head. “Dance?” he asked. I nodded again.

The band was playing jaunty dance songs, like you hear at wedding receptions, mixed in with a bit of swing music. Incredibly appropriate for the Glenn Miller Ballroom. As we stepped toward the dance floor, they swung into a snazzy rendition of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Quinn held out his hand, and I let him pull me toward his chest.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d danced with a partner, if you didn’t count my cousin’s kids standing on my toes as I shuffled them around. My parents had paid for dance lessons when I was a kid, mostly because Sam liked them. I was the athlete, but she thought tutus were the coolest, so we’d kept up with the lessons for nearly six years. I could tell that Quinn’s movements were technically perfect, but he was keeping his body just the tiniest bit rigid, like he was afraid to relax. I bit down a smile.

“What?” he asked, with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “Did I step on your toes?”

“No, no,” I reassured him. “You’re good. Very . . . proficient.” I hesitated for a second, then added, “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to me.”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine for something. Then we resumed dancing, but Quinn seemed preoccupied. “What is it?” I asked, as the band began the first chorus of Billie Holiday’s “Solitude.” We had automatically slowed down for the song, and my cheek brushed his as I craned my head back to see his face.

Quinn gave me a little shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t be doing this with you.”

I stopped dancing. “Then go,” I said in a whisper. “My dad already saw us together. Go if you need to.”

Quinn stared at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that took me aback. I lifted my chin and looked right back at him. Heat sparked between us, and Quinn broke first, looking away. His arm around my waist tightened as he drew me back in. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.

We danced through the song, not speaking. The tension grew unbearable, so I started babbling. “When I was a teenager, Sam and I watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” I said. “You ever see that movie?”

Looking surprised, he nodded. “It was Sam’s favorite,” I continued. “There’s this line, when Ferris is talking about his friend—he says he’s wound so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you’d have a diamond.”

Quinn’s lips quirked up. “You’re saying I’m like Cameron?”

“Maybe a little . . . Were you like this as a human?”

He led me through a careful spin. Very controlled. “No,” he said, leaving it at that.

I thought about his voice from the night before. Are we friends? I still had friends from the army. None of them were geographically close, but we communicated now and then, because we could only talk to each other about certain things. The ones who had spouses often said they were afraid to go near them. To get close again.

Quinn had hurt his wife.

The melancholy song ended, and without really discussing it we both turned and headed toward the side of the room, moving off the dance floor. It wasn’t until we reached the refreshment table at the far end of the room that I realized I’d been holding Quinn’s hand the whole way. We let go and I grabbed a bottle of water, gulping down half of it. Then I leaned against the wall, a little tired from the dancing.

Quinn watched me, obviously waiting to speak until I was finished. “Lex,” he began, “this isn’t a good idea.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Us being friends?”

He nodded. “Or anything along those lines.”

I put the cap back on the bottle, twisted it tight, and set it down on the table, considering my words. “I’m not afraid of you, Quinn,” I finally said.

“You should be.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why, exactly? Because you can press me? Nope, wait, you can’t. Can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. Because you’re physically stronger than me?” I shrugged. “I spent a decade serving with guys who were bigger and stronger than me, and I managed to survive.”

“Presumably, they weren’t trying to drink your blood,” Quinn said, his voice strained.

I felt my expression harden. “No, but some of them wanted other things from me, and I held my own. Always.” Quinn shook his head a little, unconvinced. “Is this because of what happened in the parking lot?” I asked, a little more gently. “Because you liked how my blood smelled?”

He nodded. The song ended, and the band moved seamlessly into “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl.” Great song.

“You had the chance to attack me when I was bleeding,” I reminded Quinn, keeping my voice low. “You didn’t.”

“But I wanted to,” he said, his voice husky. “I haven’t wanted anything that much since I turned.”

I reached up, putting one hand on his cheek. I moved just a little bit closer, putting my mouth right next to his ear to make sure no one overheard me. “I will not ever let you hurt me,” I whispered to him. “Don’t worry so much.” I leaned back so I could see his face. “Do you understand?”