“Is that what you want?” I ask, looking up at him, his face like marble in the moonlight. He flinches and I see it—the crack in his armor. And the real person beneath. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t want that either,” I say, slipping my hand into his. “I want to dance with you tonight.” “Good,” Dean breathes. “Because the way you look in that dress—I couldn’t stand to see you dance with anyone else.”
