Your eyes dance with hers, a soft rhumba with poise & grace-- never darting nor flinching the eyes remain trained on one another gliding to a soft rhythm heard in the Wurlitzers of your respective imaginations. The room disappears around you as you orbit her-- walking in a smooth steady elipse. She doesn't falter. The gravity of your gaze pulls her in slow revolutions-- two celestial bodies oblivious to the rest of the stars in the night sky-- oblivious to the murmurings and whispered gossip of friends and strangers alike. So lost in the moment are you that the loud roar of the party, the constant hum of conversations, the clinks of fine crystal, and the soft music ubiquitous at these occassions remain white noise to you.
She signals to you with a smile as you gradually shrink your orbit, allowing it to collapse in on her. The dance of souls grows more intimate, the smiles more frequent. You see a fire burning in her-- an intensity to match your own. An intensity with an inescapable magnetic pull. But take away the fancy words and what's left? A bonfire between her legs and an intensity between your own which is somewhat noticeable to both the object of your desires and passions and the other party guests which had become so easy to ignore once your gaze had been trapped in the soft curve of her back, Carribean blues of her eyes, and the soft shimmering brown tresses she had pulled up-- exposing her graceful and regal neckline.
Her poise and unwavering glances had kidnapped the words from your throat, forcing you to a state of impulse. On auto-pilot without a word said you slowly lift her hand to your lips and purse them in a prayer to her soft skin followed by a suave graceful bow-- equal parts Sean Connery and Cary Grant. Moves that, if pulled off, work like a charm. And if not, come across as tired and cliche. Whether it's the sparkle between her eyes or the pure desire behind yours-- you not only pull it off-- you lay down a royal flush in the game of seduction.