Her smile widens, her confidence shining through. “Exactly. Just us.”
“If that’s what the lady wants, who am I to say no?” I raise my glass, the corner of my mouth tugging upward. “To the mystery of life.”
We tap glasses, and she sips her drink, her expression turning thoughtful. “We agreed on no details, but do I hear a slight accent?”
“Yeah, guilty as charged.” I chuckle. “I grew up in Sweden but moved to the States for college. Been here ever since.”
“Interesting,” she muses. “So, do you live somewhere close?”
“Nope. Twin Cities area. I’m here for work.”
Her eyes light up, her excitement palpable. “Oh, so you’re about to get snow soon. Lucky you. I freaking love winter and everything to do with it.”
“I have to warn you, winter in Minnesota is not as romantic as it sounds. You’ll be shoveling snow before you know it,” I tell her, my tone teasing. “If you love snow, you’d have loved my college winters in Upstate New York.”
“I know. It’s not the same here in the City,” Poppy says wistfully. “Here winter feels different. It's less magical, more slush. Unless it’s the holiday season. Then it’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
“Minneapolis is an extreme level of cold, though. Not everyone enjoys it. We have snow and ice in layers, subzero temperatures, and wind that cuts through you as sharply as a hockey blade.”
Her laugh is melodic. “Sounds perfect for me.”
“Be careful what you wish for. Minnesota winters aren’t for the faint of heart.”
“I’m sure I’d be okay. No biggie.”
“You might rethink that after a week. But if you still feel the same, we’ll talk.”
Her light green eyes glint with amusement. She takes another sip of the champagne, her gaze steady on mine. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s magnetic with the promise of what might come later tonight.
“You’re different,” she says softly, almost to herself.
I tilt my head. “Different how?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “But you’re not putting on a show the way most guys do. You’re present. It’s kind of addictive.”
That hits somewhere deep. A place I don’t let people see often. I fight the urge to ask for her real name right then.
“You’re not what I expected either.”
“Good unexpected?”
“The best kind.”
Setting my glass on the table, I stand and offer her a hand. “Dance with me?”
Her smile deepens as she slides her hand into mine, her touch already familiar against my palm. “Lead the way.”
I draw her to me once we get to the dance floor. She rests her hands lightly on my shoulders, her fingertips grazing the fabric of my suit jacket. It’s the softest of touches, yet it tightens every nerve in my body.
Our bodies fall into rhythm with ease, familiar and effortless, as though we’ve done this a hundred times before. My hands settle on her waist, and she doesn’t hesitate to move her curves pressing flush against me. Her scent—something floral with a hint of vanilla—wraps around me, and I can’t get enough.
The rest of the world fades away as we keep dancing. It’s just her and me now, our bodies moving in perfect sync. Her breath teases my neck, her thigh brushing against mine, and the way her hips move with mine should be illegal.
Every inch of her is a temptation, and I’m powerless against the magnetic pull she has on me. It’s fucking torture, but in the best way possible. I have to keep reminding myself we’ve only just met. This is all too intense for something so new.
The DJ shifts into a slower, more seductive track after a string of dance hits. Poppy’s fingers curl into my chest, and she looks up at me with those wide, uncertain yet lustful eyes that make my heart beat harder.
I know what she’s feeling. It’s the same pull that’s been building between us since the moment we locked eyes. But there's hesitation there too. Whether it’s doubt or something else, I can’t tell.
