Page 28 of Steel Beauty

He’s dressed in a black button-down, the fabric snug against his broad chest and tucked into black pants that fit him perfectly, accentuating his frame in all the right ways. He’s close, his dark eyes catching the dim light, and whether it’s the music or just him, my pulse refuses to calm.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I thought you’d already gone. I was running late and figured you wouldn’t wait.”

He shakes his head, a faint grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “I knew you’d come. There’s no way I’d leave and miss seeing you.”

“Apologies for my tardiness. Dinner ran late, and then I had to wait on my coworkers to settle in for the night.”

He leans in, close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne—something dark, woodsy, and dangerously intoxicating. “I’m glad you made it.”

He takes my hand, his grip warm and steady. “Come on. Let’s dance,” he says, gently tugging me toward the dance floor.

The familiar beat of “Misled” by Kool & the Gang pulses through the room, funky and infectious. A grin tugs at my lips because I know this song well. My musical taste is all over the map, but I know this one to be a gem.

I slip out of his grasp, walking ahead before turning to face him, stepping backward in rhythm with the beat. With a playful lift of my finger, I give him a slow “come hither” gesture. His eyes narrow with a hint of amusement as he follows, matching my pace without a second’s hesitation.

As the rhythm intensifies, I let myself go, moving with energy, every lyric slipping effortlessly from my lips. My gaze stays locked on him as I circle him slowly, my finger trailing lightly across his chest with each step.

Caesar’s dark eyes follow my every move, his head turning as I glide past him during the song’s slower beat, the tension between us humming like a live wire.

As the tempo shifts back to its upbeat groove, I give in completely, my body moving instinctively to the beat. There’s something liberating about dancing to music from another era, like stepping into another time for a moment.

“You obviously know this song.” A grin spreads across his face as he watches me.

“Of course I do.” I catch my breath between steps. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Never heard it before.”

The music pulses through me, thrumming beneath my skin, my heart racing with the beat. I feel alive—more than I have in a long time. The seductive rhythm pulls us closer, and as the song slows to a sultry tempo, I turn and lean back against him. His arm slips easily around my waist, drawing me in.

His breath is warm against my ear, and for a moment, I forget everything—my job, Cleopatra, the consequences. It’s just me, him, and the music.

I know I shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t be dancing with him like this. But for tonight, I want to let go. One night of fun before I walk away for good.

The next song flows from the speakers, the overlapping notes softening before transitioning into something tender and familiar. “Suddenly” by Olivia Newton-John and Cliff Richard drifts through the air. The tempo shift is immediate, slower, intimate, and I smile as the first notes settle around us like a warm embrace, wrapping us in the song’s gentle rhythm.

“Ah, it’s the original Aussie queen herself, Olivia Newton-John.”

Caesar raises a brow, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Had no idea.”

I glance up at him, still swaying to the slow beat. “Never heard this one either?”

He shakes his head. “Not once, at least that I’m aware of.”

Typical. Guys my age never know songs like these. I’m used to it, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing, just once, to find someone who can keep up with my taste in music. Someone who doesn’t flinch when I slide from ’60s classics to ’70s funk, belt out an ’80s power ballad, or dive into ’90s grunge and indie tracks that most people our age probably couldn’t name.

One of these days I’ll find that guy.

I reach up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. It’s a stretch— Caesar is tall, and even with these platform heels, I barely reach him. But I don’t care. There’s something about the way I feel in his arms—small, delicate, and feminine in a way I haven’t felt before.

I lean in closer, and he pulls me tighter, his arm firm around my waist as we sway together. The world blurs and fades away until it’s only us, the music, and this perfect moment.

“You’re a good dancer.” My cheek grazes his arm as the rhythm guides us closer together.

Most guys aren’t into dancing—it’s usually a grumbled excuse. They act like it’s a chore, like they’re too cool to let loose or step into the rhythm. It’s rare to find someone who enjoys it, someone who moves like they actually feel the music.

He lets out a quiet laugh, his breath warm against my hair. “I don’t look like someone who’d be so light on his feet, do I?”

---