Page 92 of Hard to Resist

My chest pangs. It’s like someone put two hands around my sternum and twisted, fracturing the bone.

This is what I want. Right? For him to leave me alone. I want our lives to be separate, to go back to a time when the connection we shared never existed, when I was free from the guilt of falling for a man who could upend everything I’ve worked for.

So, why does it feel so wrong? Why do I want to shout his name and call him back to me? Why am I so hungry for his attention?

An alert, like bells, chimes throughout the speakers, signaling the ballet is about to commence. The noise is enough to unfreeze me, and I absently amble in the direction of my section. I try to shake off the uneasy weight that has settled on my shoulders. I came here tonight to enjoy myself; that was the entire purpose of this me date. I’ll be damned if I let this issue sour something I’ve been genuinely excited about.

I have to walk almost the entire length of the narrow hall before getting to the area where my seat is located. The floor here is a rich red carpet that adds to the luxe ambiance created by the gold pattern painted on the walls and the dimly lit sconces.

After showing my ticket and getting access to the balcony box where my seat is located, thoughts of Cullen quickly dissipate, replaced by awe. The view from up here is insane.

My feet carry me forward to the very edge of the balcony, where I can look out over the large audience and stage below. This place is ginormous and even more opulent than I’d imagined. The chandelier in the foyer doesn’t even begin to compare to the one here. It truly feels like I’ve stepped into the Regency era.

I sink onto the velvet seat, crossing my legs as my eyes continue to bounce around. I take my first sip of champagne andrevel in the way the bubbles dance on my tongue, mimicking the anticipation popping in my veins.

The box is surprisingly empty, the other three seats unoccupied. I’d somewhat assumed they’d be filled since Hannah said her boss had only one ticket to give away.

The lights begin to dim, and the sounds of tuning from the orchestra stop. I lean forward instinctively, attention centered on the stage, which has been designed to look like a dark forest.

The first song starts up, the sounds of violins weaving through the air as Katya takes her initial steps onto the stage. The flowing white dress shifts around her body as she twirls. I am entranced watching the prologue play out, a human Odette being captured by the monstrous Rothbart and cursed into her swan form. Her dress transforms into the signature swan princess tutu, and it’s every bit what I’d dreamed. Katya rises en pointe in fifth position, seamlessly moving her feet in tiny movements as she twinkles across the stage, arms in a port de bras, moving up and down like rippling wings.

The curtains close momentarily before swinging back open to commence act one, the stage now altered into that of a village square. I’m so enraptured watching the ensemble dance, losing myself to the up-tempo score of the orchestra, that I don’t even register someone sitting beside me.

Their scent, however, I recognize instantly. The musky cologne is one I have ingrained in my mind, and it triggers a hitch in my breath, disconnecting me from the performance at hand. I tilt my head to observe my new seatmate, but somewhere deep in my soul, I already know who it is.

Cullen leans forward in his seat, elbows perched on his knees. His gaze doesn’t stray from the stage even though I know he can see me staring at him.

Why? Why is he here again?

Why is he in this box?

“You’re going to miss the show.”

His deep timbre echoes under the orchestra’s crescendo, and I take a shaky breath before turning back to the pas de trois on stage. I keep myself focused on the danseur noble playing the part of Prince Siegfried, watching as he seamlessly lifts one of the ballerinas into the air.

Cullen’s aura doesn’t disappear.

I can feel him next to me, hovering over my skin, causing my flesh to prickle. There’s this deep pull in my core, a yearning for him to reach out and touch me. We’ve been sitting next to one another on the subway for two weeks, but it’s never been anything like this.

Somehow, having Cullen beside me in this dark theatre, ensconced by the classical music and tragic love story before us, my every emotion is heightened.

The minutes tick on, act one fading into act two. I watch the iconic scene of Odette dancing with her swans, each of the women perfectly in sync. Elegance and poise drips from their fingertips, and I’m momentarily transfixed by the hypnotizing display of unbridled technique before me as they match one another without missing even a fraction of a beat.

It’s only when the act ends, the crowd applauding as the curtains close for intermission, that Cullen’s presence resurges with a vengeance. His slow but purposeful claps reverberate through my body.

I don’t move.

I’m torn. I want to speak to him, but I’m worried about opening the floodgates and drowning before I’m able to close them again.

“Verity.”

My own name is my weakness. I can hear the curling affection in the seduction of his tone.

I push up from my seat, a sense of desperation sliding over me.

This is too much. We’re too close, and the air around him is making me dizzy. I’m losing my mental battle. I need space.

I twist to escape but only make it a few steps before his strong fingers grip my wrist.

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