The humid air of the jazz club clung to Amelia's skin, making her clothes feel almost too tight. She ran a hand through her hair, the movement jerky, and her eyes kept drifting back to Liam across the small, candlelit table. He was telling a story about the time they'd accidentally set off the fire alarm at summer camp, and she could feel a tingling sensation spread from her chest downwards. This feeling, this flush, made it hard to concentrate on his words.
His version of events was, as always, wildly embellished. She remembered it differently. She remembered the sheer terror, the shouts of the counselors, the feeling of being completely and utterly exposed. Liam, however, was painting himself as a charmingly inept pyromaniac.
"And then," he grinned, leaning forward, his voice a low rumble, "I saw the look on your face. You were utterly captivated." He winked, and Amelia’s breath hitched. She felt her face go warm.
She knew she hadn’t been captivated, not then. But looking at him now, the way the dim light danced in his eyes, she couldn't deny the effect he was having on her. The memory of the event shifted in her mind, taking on a new, exhilarating dimension, tinged with a longing she hadn’t felt before.