My dancing partner shook his head and scowled, but he didn’t leave. I prayed he didn’t become a problem.
Not that I couldn't handle a problem, but problems were messy. I executed another quick turn and was disappointed to find my man in the booth still gone. I couldn't explain the sinking feeling I had in my stomach, the wash of disappointment and the prickle of sadness that he wasn't there. I told myself it was just disappointment because it had felt nice. I’d liked the way he looked at me. Finally, blond bloke sulked off. Good riddance. But Tabs had dragged his mate to our booth, so I couldn’t go back there.
"You handled him easily enough."
I startled and turned slowly because I knew without a doubt who was behind me. When I glanced up at him, he quirked his lips in a smile. "I saw you watching me."
I lifted my brow. "You were watching me first."
"Are you sure? Or did I merely return your very direct stare."
I laughed. "Are you shitting me? You were giving off serious creeper vibes. I almost walked over to give you a pair of binoculars."
"My eyesight is excellent. Luckily, I did not need them. It was easy enough to spot the most striking woman in the room.”
I rolled my eyes. "Is there a reason you're staring at me?"
He gave me a broader smile then, and my stomach flipped, and the awareness changed into something else. A crackling electric tension. He was even more beautiful up close. His eyes were a startling, silvery, gray with thick, sooty lashes. His jawline and cheekbones screamed for their own magazine cover. And his lips... Well, they had a slightly swollen quality that suggested they might have recently been kissed.
He was the kind of handsome you see in magazines and movies, not the kind of handsome you see walking around romancing all the people.
He was also tall. Enormous actually. I was five foot eight, and he towered over me, so much so that I had to tilt my chin very deliberately to meet that silvery gaze. His eyes were so vibrant. To top off the Greek god façade, he had a cleft in his chin. It really wasn't fair. Under normal circumstances, I would not have stood a chance.
But tequila was bringing out my sass. "You do think highly of yourself, don't you?"
The grin was back, and I saw another flash of dimple. Oh, hell. This bloke was the kind of beautiful you only dream about.
He shook his head. "Everyone should know what they’re working with, as I'm sure you do."
I laughed. "Oh, flattery. You know, under normal circumstances, it would get you somewhere."
He cocked his head. "Flattery is not going to get me anywhere?"
"No. It's not. Good try though."
He lifted a brow. "So what do you say? Are you going to actually let me dance with you, or will I be relegated to your last dance partner’s status of dancing near you while trying not to look creepy as I try to inch closer and possibly rub up against you?"
I threw my head back and laughed. "Oh my God, you saw that?"
"It was hard to watch. That man did not know how to treat a woman. I'm going to save myself the scarring pain of it all and just simply ask you if you're going to let me dance with you."
I assessed him. My belly was doing that flip-flop thing, but my belly was a liar. How many times had I had this feeling? That pleasant, amazing feeling of that first attraction when you feel all tingly, and your skin hums, and your lady parts warm, and you are thinking all systems are a go. Only to be insanely disappointed later when go time becomes show time and you are like, 'Oh God, please, God, no.' Still though, I liked the buzz. I liked the feeling of it. The way his lopsided smile made my skin tingle.
I liked the way he was looking at me because I wasn't normally the woman men looked at like that.
Under normal circumstances, I was surrounded by men twenty-four seven. And if even one of them looked at me like that, my brother would shut that shit down quick and send him on a mission he would never return from. But this bloke, he was someone I did not know. He knew nothing about me and just wanted to dance. And dance, I could do. Because dancing was the promise. Even if the execution was always weak, I loved the promise. The promise of fun and excitement and orgasms and laughter. I liked the promise above all. "Can you even dance?"
He grinned. "Well, you know, there's only one way to find out. And hey, I'll even do you a solid. I won't actually touch you. You can touch me anywhere you want though."
I laughed, albeit uneasily. How had he already seen all of that? "What do you mean?"
"You seem like the kind of girl who deserves for me to earn the right to touch you. So why don't we dance for a bit? You can touch me all you want."
His observance was doing things to my equilibrium and that weren't fair because he looked like the kind of person who would be amazing for something fun and easy and uncomplicated.
But my life would always be complicated.
Looking up at his easy smile, I felt myself nodding. I didn't even know why. I knew that this would only lead to disappointment, but it was my birthday and I wanted twenty-two to feel normal. I wanted twenty-two to feel like I could pretend for a moment that I was like everyone else. I could lean into the promise even if I wasn't going to deliver on it.
I glanced up at him. "All right. Just why do you think I'm going to touch you?"
His tongue peeked out to moisten his lower lip, and I couldn’t help but stare because... Jesus. He stepped toward me. Close, but not too close. I had room to maneuver. Room to run.
True to his word, he did not put his hands on me. But his eyes never left mine. And as I placed my hands on the firm, packed muscle of his chest I could have sworn I heard the intake of his breath. Sharp. Subtle.
And then we moved together.
When he spoke, his breath tickled my neck. “I knew you would be mine.”
Chapter Four
Saffron
Those two inches between us were equal parts a chasm and a magnet we fought against. Or at least I fought against it. He kept his word and let me touch him without touching me.
Nervous, I forced my hand to stay on the center of his chest, but then his voice washed over me. That low mellow tone felt like Spanish coffee on a cold day and was hard to ignore as he whispered, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”
I was lost. Honest to God. He might as well have taken what was left of my panties and shredded them because, dear God, I was desperate for him to touch me.
His gaze searched mine. And then he gave me that lopsided smile again. "If you want me to touch you, you're going to have to ask."
I blinked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"You keep looking at me like you're waiting for me to do something, but I’m not that arsehole you were dancing with earlier. So if you want me to touch you, you are going to have to ask me to."
His voice was a low rumble, and I could feel every word, every syllable, every fragment, deep down under my skin, breaking down on a molecular level to fuse with my cells.
God, that was a good voice.
It was a wake-up-in-the-morning-having-a-gorgeous-man-in-your-bed kind of voice, and he was talking to me like that in the middle of a crowded club where I had to lean in even closer just to hear him.