Re: Near the Entrance
Before she could make a comment about how there was probably something very Freudian about how he wanted her to call him what his mother did, he'd picked up her dainty little gauntlet and had taken her by the wrist out to the dance floor, which had her laughing and holding onto her drink for dear life. She liked this much better than him pushing her buttons -- he was definitely smarter than she'd originally assumed at their first meeting, but it turned out he could be as easy to provoke as she apparently could be.
She liked it.
Though she wouldn't admit it to him, she also liked his hand on the small of her back, skating that dangerous little line toward her backside, but not crossing it. She liked the feel of him against her, even if it sent a frisson of heat through her as it evoked the memory of that brilliantly vivid fever dream. Feeling game, she put her arm over his shoulder, giving him a grin as he fumbled those first few steps - but as he found his groove, she was suitably impressed. Her body moved easily with his; Lia had danced for as long as she could remember, and rarely had trouble with a partner. Even so, there was something else to this; they moved in an intensely complementary way. She enjoyed winding her body a hair's breadth from him, and she accepted the unspoken challenge of his closeness, slyly maintaining just enough distance to keep things respectable (and to keep him from having everything he might have wanted), and close enough to keep a delicious tension tightly wound between them.
She leaned up to his ear to say as softly as she could and still be heard, "Not bad, Sam. Not bad at all."