God, his face was so wounded and his eyes so deeply blue, cerulean like the ocean…lust crept up her body from her toes to her legs and higher… She needed to be away from him. “You’re an idiot.” She needed something, anything, to distract her. She fiddled with the dials on the stereo system.
“I’m an idiot?” He placed a hand on her arm. She tried to ignore the sudden jolt of electricity that shot straight through her body, tried not to fall over at the intensity. “What did you see in that guy? He never cared about you. His dancing is rote, and he—he has stupid hair.”
“No!” She removed his hands from her body, ignoring the chill as skin left skin. “How dare you question my life, my choices? It’s not like you’ve been here, Patrick. When you left last year, I was on my own. I built this business back after you left. I was the one setting up for the parties, hiring teachers. You didn’t want any part of it when you switched careers.” Her breath caught in her chest, broke like a sob. “But I knew you needed to go. I knew you needed something more. So I let you go. And maybe Mikhail was never that great at actually helping, but he was here.” Not what she needed, never what she really wanted, but there.
Despair. That’s what it was. That was the feeling of him being so close to her, yet so far away, the distance too vast to cross.
“And then you show up, with your cheesesteaks and your Pollyanna attitude, and you ruin my routines and disagree with my choreography, and you make me want things I can’t have.” She clenched her fists at her sides. She could not look at him, but then could not look away. “After this, Patrick, you will go back to your life. You will go back to being an influencer, to your popularity. You will follow your dreams. And I will still be here.” Doing tax forms. Cleaning. Making it work. Her voice broke. “So don’t question my choices, who I dance with, how I run my studio. I am not your problem.”
The air thickened between them. Anita bit her lip and unsuccessfully fought back tears. This was it. She had ruined their friendship, all by telling someone else that there was nothing beyond friendship. With lies. She was a damned liar and—
“Are you finished?”
Patrick’s face was still, set in stone, inscrutable and so undeniably appealing and charming and—oh my God, this was the last time she would ever see it.
A sob caught in her throat. She had to let him go. It was only fair. He needed, no, he deserved more.
“Are you finished?” he whispered again, and she nodded.
Then, instead of him leaving, he was there, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face against her hair. Everywhere he touched, her body thrilled and warmed, like a marshmallow over a flame. “I’m so sorry, Anita. You’re absolutely right. I’m a huge idiot.”
Relief flooded through her, and she tightened her arms around him. “Me too,” she replied, her voice soft, just a breath.
But the air shifted.
He was so close to her, his scent intoxicating. Her body tensed and curled where he touched her. His fingers brushed herhair back along the curve of her ear and rested just below her jaw.
Lust pooled and tensed deep in her belly like a vortex.
How had she ignored this for so long? Without meaning to, she arched her back, tilted her face toward him. She was close enough to lap at that sexy little dimple, draw it between her lips, impress her mark upon him.
He was staring at her, a curious expression on his face. Had the moment passed? Like so many other fleeting moments. Possibilities and timing.
But she did not want it to pass. Not this time. Every nerve ending in her body wanted this, wanted him.
“Pat?” she pleaded, not sure if she was begging for him to kiss her or to stop this, stop her from stepping over—
But then he pressed his lips to hers, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
Her body roared and bucked at the overwhelming sensations before melting farther into his. The taste of mint toothpaste and smoky whiskey intoxicated her, thrilled her.More.She wanted more. She wanted everything.
She slid her tongue between his parted lips to taste, to savor. He made a small sound at the back of his throat that sent chills and heat flashing through her. He tightened his grip on her, deepening the kiss, stretching her into a deep backbend, but she followed. She would follow him anywhere. Her whole body smoldered, the burning deep within her yearning for more, more of this, more of him.
She nipped at the tantalizing dimple, teased it with her tongue.
“Anita,” he moaned into the base of her throat, his breath warm and inviting. She sucked in her breath as he nipped and licked at her collarbone.
A distant part of her brain tried to regain control, but she flicked it away, cupped Patrick’s stubbled jaw in her palms and took more of what she wanted.
Her Patrick, wonderful Patrick. Shockingly good kisser Patrick.
She buried her hands into his dark-brown curls, moaning, begging. But she could not break the kiss. There was urgency in it now. Something tender and swollen teased to a breaking point.
More.
He grabbed her hips, lifted her off the ground, pressed her up against the mirror. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the folds of her skirt sliding sensuously against her legs. He ran one hand along her naked skin from her ankle to her thigh, his fingers sparking electricity. Unconsciously, she leaned into the sensation, arching into his hands, into his body, feeling the hard length of him against her.Yes.
He panted her name and traced his tongue along her collarbone, teasing, licking, nipping her shoulder underneath the strap of her dress. The hand on her thigh, the pressure of his body between her legs was too much and never enough.
