This is . . . new.
And I know he’s just having fun, but a small part of me can’t help but get lost in this moment, in his touch, in him.
Feeling awkward, I ask, “What song is this again?”
“‘Body,’” he answers, splaying his hand across my stomach.
Good.
Lord.
His palm is huge against my stomach and sends a bolt of electricity to my very core as his fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt, lifting the hem to just above my waistline.
Something inside of me stirs awake . . . a strange sense of hope. Hope for something I’m not sure I ever truly allowed myself to want until this very moment, as Reid presses up against me, his strong chest, his lips so close to my skin that goose bumps spread down my arm.
As we dance together, our hips synchronized, everything fades away: Marv, hunched over the bar; Barb, who’s returned from the restroom and is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at us; and the few visitors who peek their heads into the room. None of that matters because right now, I’m in Reid’s arms.
I spin, loop my arms around his neck, and take a chance, looking up at him—and that’s when I see it, his signature cocky smile.
Slowly his hands move from my upper back down my spine to just above my backside. He keeps them there for a few seconds before sliding one large palm down to my ass. He cups it, pulling me even closer, so I can feel every inch of him.
And I mean . . . every . . . inch.
I gasp and glance up at him, at his completely unapologetic face.
He’s hard.
Hard as a rock.
And huge.
“What’s happening right now?” I say, confused and turned on all at the same time.
Tilting his head forward, he brings his lips right up against my ear. “We’re dancing.”
That’s obvious, but what’s happening between us? This is the most intimate I’ve ever been with this man. We’ve hugged here and there, but our bodies have never been pressed together like this, nor have we ever put our hands on intimate parts—a.k.a. we’ve never grabbed each other’s asses before.
But maybe this is a new level of friendship, one I could get on board with right about now.
Since he’s changing the “rules,” I’ll go right along with it.
My hand moves up to the nape of his neck, my fingers playing with the short strands of his hair as he finds the hem of my shirt and slips his hand underneath. A thumb passes over my skin, back and forth, back and forth. A blaze of heat speeds up my back straight to my neck. I can’t ever remember feeling this good with the opposite sex.
Swaying, he brings his nose to my ear, and he runs it down my jaw and then back up, his lips barely brushing against my earlobe. My stomach somersaults, rolling with nerves over what’s happening and anticipation of what might happen next.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he says, almost so softly that I can’t hear him. I’m killing him? Uh, how about the other way around? My heart and my brain are colliding, creating a confused and very turned-on cacophony.
When I pull away to look up at him, he lightly licks his lips and stares down at my mouth. Intent written all over his face.
Oh Jesus.
Does he want to kiss me?
Right here?
With Barb and Marv a few feet away, in this cheesy disco light? Is that what’s really happening? Are we really going to cross that line?
I don’t think I could allow myself to get kissed like this, not when it could be written in the gossip newspaper for the whole town to read tomorrow morning.
But to feel those lips on mine, to know what it’s like to be held completely by Reid Knightly, to feel him lose control? That’s something I want.
Desperately.
I glance past his shoulder to the window behind him, to the mounting snow, and consider my options. I could continue to dance with this man, driving myself crazy until I’m about to combust, or I could call it a night and invite him back to my place.
The first option is appealing until I make out with him in front of Barb.
The second option makes me break out in a sweat, but it’s the most exciting as well.
What if he says no, though? What if I’m reading him completely wrong, and this is just another one of his jokes? What if the subtle touches, the small grunts, the thickness of his crotch—what if it’s all just a ruse?
What if he really doesn’t want anything more than to be friends?
Then my invite is dangling out there between us, hanging around with a rejection that I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
Indecision racing through my mind, I try to figure out where to take this night as his hand travels from my back down to the waistband of my jeans, and in one deliciously smooth motion, he slips his fingers past the fabric and under my thong to my bare ass.
Well.
Ahem.
Okay . . . I think I might have my answer.
Taking a deep breath, I bring his head down to mine. “It’s getting pretty bad outside,” I whisper into his ear. “Want to just head back to my place?”
He pulls away, and the surprise I see on his face makes my entire stomach drop.
He wasn’t expecting me to say that at all. Not even in the slightest.
And when he removes his hand from my backside, I realize he wasn’t expecting me to take our little dancing moment in that direction.
I’m such an idiot.
What a huge mistake.
CHAPTER FIVE
REID
Remove your hand from her pants.
Remove it right this fucking minute.
What the hell are you thinking?
Your hand is in your best friend’s sister’s pants.
Remove.
It.
Clearly I’m not thinking about consequences today, and I’ve lost my mind completely. From the moment I saw her walk into the Inn, some primal part of me took over my entire body and decided to make one bad decision after the other.
Bad decision number one: shots.
Then dancing.
Then grinding.
Then letting her see how fucking turned on I am.
Then sticking my hand up her shirt.
And the worst decision of them all: sliding my hand down her pants and over her bare ass.
Jesus Christ, I’m as good as begging to be featured in the town newspaper. Front page: Reid Knightly Stupidly Feels Up Friend’s Sister.
Subtitle: He’s Crushed on Her for Years.
Second subtitle, if that’s even a thing: Obsessed with Her Ass.
Sponsored by Marv the Drunk and Barb the Voyeur.
Still pressed tightly against me with my cock like Italian marble trying to poke through my pants and jab her in the stomach, she lowers my head and whispers, “It’s getting pretty bad outside. Want to just head back to my place?”
I pause because I swear on Marv’s hairy back that my dick just tore a hole through my pants and is joining this two-person party on the dance floor.
Back to her place?
Like . . . get naked back to her place? Continue dancing back to her place? Crash on the couch with a boner while she sleeps in her room back to her place?
Even though option three is the most sensible, my heart and my body are aching for option number one.
Fuck, to be with Eve—it would be every childhood and adulthood fantasy come true. This woman has had a hold on my balls for over a decade now, and no woman I’ve been with has ever compared to her, not even close.