She didn't expect to see this either, when she lifted her eyes to his. Her breath catches. Maybe not long enough to signify fear. Probably because she's not afraid. Mostly, if anything, she's mindful they're on the middle of a dance floor. A dark dance floor with too many moving bodies and who don't have enough concern for what's going on beside them. Or she should. Have that. Concern.
She should, and maybe she could say that's why her fingers brush the veins below his eyes, curl slightly against his skin, her lips parted on a stopping exhale. It just seems the only option she's going to entertain, stepping in close, too close, her arm hooking around his shoulder and leaning him towards her, her hips nestling to his as they sway. It could be to limit anyone else's sight of this. (It's not.) Her gaze is locked with blinking surprise, morbid interest and desire on his mouth. (And that steals her breath one more time.
Part of the reason why she moves her gaze up to his, but not entirely.)
There's concern (want) in her eyes, and it's real, when she lifts them again. ] Are you okay?