Page 22 of Grumpy Alien Bodyguard

"Yes, you did," I agree, but without the ice in my tone from before. "But Kallus would have found another way. He's determined to control these negotiations."

"Or derail them entirely," Serenity adds.

I nod slowly, watching Kallus across the room as he charms a group of officials from the Mining Regulatory Commission. "Either way, we need to be smarter. All of us." I glance meaningfully at Varnok.

He meets my gaze, and for once, there's no swagger in his expression—just determination and something else I can't quite identify.

"Agreed," he says simply.

I shoot Varnok a frustrated glance as we step away from Serenity and Dowron. The reception continues around us, but there's a subtle shift in the atmosphere—like everyone's watching us without actually looking our way.

"What were you thinking?" I hiss under my breath. "You practically handed Kallus exactly what he wanted."

Varnok's jaw clenches, but then his expression changes. The anger in his eyes softens into something else entirely, and he extends his hand toward me.

"Perhaps Kallus has outplayed us tonight," he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "But we can still show him up."

I stare at his outstretched hand, baffled. "How is that?"

"By teaching Kallus what dancing is all about," Varnok says, his lips curling into a smile that's both challenging and inviting.

I hesitate, my diplomatic instincts screaming this is a terrible idea. But there's something in his expression—a sincerity I haven't seen before—that makes me place my hand in his.

Varnok escorts me back to the dance floor as the string quartet finishes their current piece. The musicians look up nervously as the enormous vakutan approaches.

"Do you knowSunrise on the Third Moon?" Varnok asks, his tone making it more command than question.

The musicians exchange glances, then nod fearfully.

Varnok waits a beat, then makes an impatient gesture with his massive hand. "Well, play it, then!"

"Varnok," I say with a patient sigh, "you really don't have to?—"

The first notes cut through my protest—rich, sensual, unmistakable. A tango. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Before I can process this unexpected choice, Varnok's hand finds the small of my back, pulling me tight against him. The sudden contact sends a jolt through my body—his scales radiating heat through the thin fabric of my dress.

Then we're moving, and I nearly gasp aloud.

Varnok isn't just competent—he's magnificent. His massive frame moves with a grace that defies logic, each step precise and powerful. He leads with absolute confidence, his body communicating his intentions so clearly I can follow without thought.

I'm no stranger to formal dancing—it's practically a requirement for diplomatic functions—but this is something else entirely. This isn't the clinical, proper waltz Kallus led me through. This is raw, primal communication between bodies.

I give myself over to his lead, matching his intensity. My diplomatic mask slips away as we move across the floor in perfect synchronicity. His hand at my back guides me through each turn, each step, each pause with exquisite control.

The room blurs around us. I'm vaguely aware that people have stopped their conversations to watch, but I can't bring myself to care. For these few minutes, there is no negotiation, no Kallus, no interstellar incident—just the music and the dance and Varnok.

He spins me away from him, then pulls me back with such perfect timing that I feel weightless. When he suddenly lifts me, his hands spanning my waist completely, I don't hesitate. My body arches instinctively, trusting him completely as he sets me down in perfect time with the music.

The tango grows more intense. Varnok executes a complex sequence of steps, and I match him beat for beat. When he suddenly hooks my leg up and places it on his shoulder, I maintain perfect balance, our faces inches apart, his breath warm against my skin.

The music builds toward its climax, and Varnok's eyes never leave mine. There's something almost predatory in his gaze now, but not threatening—possessive, intense, consuming. I should be terrified by the raw emotion I see there, but instead, I feel more alive than I have in years.

As the final notes approach, he spins me one last time, then pulls me against him and dips me so low my hair nearly brushes the floor. His powerful arm supports me effortlessly, our bodies pressed together from chest to hip. My back arches over his arm, my throat exposed, completely vulnerable in his embrace.

The music stops, and for one breathless moment, we remain frozen in that position, gazes locked. His pupils are dilated, his breathing as rapid as my own. The silence stretches between us, charged with something I'm afraid to name.

Then the room erupts in spontaneous applause, breaking the spell. Varnok slowly raises me back to standing, but doesn't immediately release me. His hand lingers at my waist as we acknowledge the applause with slight nods.

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