Page 117 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire
“Then perhaps you’d allow me to keep you company while you wait?”
Before I could respond, a warm hand settled on my lower back.
“She’s with me.”
Nicolo.
His presence alone was a dead giveaway, but with him speaking just those three words, I imagined what the other man was feeling was likely the same thing that vampires felt onThat Day,when Domenico Moretti, with his single unifying act of courage, led the charge for all preter races to defeat the blood-drinking minions of Hell.
“My apologies.” The other man didn’t even look at me as he backed away like his life depended on it, and honestly, with how Nicolo was presently bristling? It probably did. Even throughthe scent dampeners, there was no mistaking the presence of an alpha who could bring lesser predators to their knees with nothing more than a look.
Nicolo’s hand slid from my back to my waist, pulling me closer to his side with casual possessiveness.
Our gazes met, and it was my turn to feel like I was about to die...of,I don’t know.A mixture of giddiness, desire, and infatuation perhaps?
I cleared my throat. “This place is beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
Don’t react, don’t react, don’t—
As Nicolo guided me to the dance floor, he glanced down at me, his gaze gleaming in amusement. “Did I embarrass you?”
Absolutely!
But since I would rather die than admit to that—
“So, um...”
It was time to change the subject, and I desperately looked around in search for something—anything!—else to talk about.
“Any dos and don’ts I should know about? Any, um, tips for first-timers like me?”
“The flowering ceremony is always a favorite,” Nicolo murmured. “The passion vines respond to emotional resonance. The stronger the connection between partners, the more vibrantly they bloom.”
“That sounds like a very public compatibility test.”
“It is.”
The orchestra began a new song, something slow and haunting that seemed to make the flowers around us sway in response. Nicolo led me onto the dance floor with the kind of confidence that suggested he’d been doing this his entire life.
Which he probably had.
His hand was warm and sure at my waist, his other hand holding mine with just enough pressure to guide me through the steps. He was an excellent dancer, moving with the same fluid grace he brought to everything else, and I found myself relaxing into the rhythm despite my nerves.
“You’re tense,” he observed.
“I wonder why.”
“Relax, Maryah. This is supposed to be enjoyable.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one wearing”
I stopped, realizing I was about to discuss very private equipment in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
His lips curved in a small smile. “Wearing what?”
“You know what.”
