This woman.
"Right back at you, Cecily." I can't bring myself to retaliate with the same sentiment. Nor can I ask why she hates me. Why she ghosted me. I almost don't want to know. By not knowing, I can keep up this game. If I know, I'll have to face it. And then we'll be in a much worse state, an alternative I cannot live with: apathy. Hate is an extreme emotion, and I'm stupid enough to want an extreme emotion from this woman. I've never beenmuch of a masochist before now, but here I am. Welcoming the torment she deals.
Cecily drinks. I drink. We both drain our glasses.
"Do you dance, Dominic?" Cecily arches one eyebrow.
"I'm not half-bad."
"Well, then." Cecily slides her empty drink onto the table. "It's your lucky day, because I love to dance, and you're the only man in this place I'd let that close to me."
I point back at myself. "Me? Are you sure?"
She nods. "Dance with the devil you know, as they say."
"I'm the devil?"
At this point I no longer want to know her reason for leaving me high and dry on our date. I don't even care that she hates me. This woman spars with me on a level no one ever has. And I like it.
Her head tips sideways, considering me. "No. You're only smart enough to be Satan's errand boy."
Ouch.
Fuck, but I like it.
Without a word I stand, taking her hand and roughly hauling her up with me. She tumbles into my chest, catching herself against me. She looks up, quickly replacing that look of thrill with irritation. But I saw it.
Cecily might hate me, but she loves the way we tangle.
I spin without saying a word, winding us through the writhing bodies, finding a square of space. Turning to face her, I put a hand on the side of her head and bring my lips close to her ear. "Should I worry you'll produce a shiv from under that dress?"
I feel her head shake. "Now, Dom, where would I hide a shiv when I'm not wearing underwear?"
Blunt, unapologetic, and setting loose a torrent of vivid pictures in my imagination. How am I supposed to respond tothat? How am I supposed to breathe normally after hearing her smart mouth say such a thing? The air between is hotter, heavier.
"Fair point," I croak, stepping back and trying but failing to look everywhere but at the borderline evil temptress beside me.
Cecily watches me with that half-daring, half-amused look that would, if the way I'm feeling now is any indication, drive me wild if we were together. Is she testing me, or just enjoying herself?
She shakes her head and laughs. She turns around, curves her body into mine, throws an arm in the air and palms the back of my neck. Her ass presses against me, hips gyrating, body undulating.
This woman will be the death of me.
CHAPTER 7
Cecily
Pounding head.
Dry mouth.
Stomach one moment away from heaving.
I've never been so hungover.
Light presses into the slits of my eyes. Fogginess hangs heavy in my thoughts, making them difficult to form.
Slowly I turn my head left to right, my head thumping with the movement. I don't know where I am, but I know I am in a bed. It's soft beneath me, plush. I must have made it back to my hotel room.
