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He let the silence stretch, a tightrope of tension that pulled them closer in the Mississippi dark. "Your music," he murmured, every syllable a polished gem of admiration, "it's like nothing I've ever known." His words fell between them like a silver thread, binding them with a shared recognition of something rare and potent. "I could feel it from across the room, pulling me in, leaving me no choice but to follow." He edged nearer, his presence as subtle and consuming as moonlight.
Sammy felt her defenses waver under the weight of his praise, her heart a wild cadence against the night. She had never imagined being seen so completely, heard so deeply, by anyone—let alone by a man so mysterious, so unsettlingly magnetic. "It's what I do," she replied, a thread of defiance lacing through her voice as she tried to mask the tumult of emotions with an unsteady smile. "Some people don't like being followed."
Remmick's smile broadened, hovering like a question mark on the edge of danger and charm. "But you do," he retorted softly, his words a velvet cloak that settled around her shoulders, inescapable and warm. "You want me to."