“Do you want to dance?” I ask nervously.
He turns to me. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I blurt. I was so lost in him, the words slipped out, but I take them back. He stares at me for a moment before he leans in, the world disappearing around us.
“Dance with me?” he murmurs softly.
“I don’t know how,” I admit hesitantly.
“You can dance around a ring, so you can dance here.” He stands and offers me his hand, letting me choose, but I’d follow him anywhere. I lay mine in his, and he yanks me up and toward an open space where he turns to me, laying my hands on his hips as he starts to sway to the beat. “Just follow me. Move your body in time with mine, and don’t pay attention to anyone else.”
I move slowly at first, but he grips my hips, slows me down, and fixes me until we sway together. It’s not the intricate dancing everyone else is doing, but he doesn’t seem to care.
We sway along to the music, totally out of sync with everyone else, but we’re lost in our own world. Even the hooting of my father and friends fades as I stare into his charming eyes. Zia always looks like he’s on edge, working on his next ten moves, but I’m learning there are only three places where he isn’t—when he’s under me, when he’s asleep, and when he’s dancing with me.
It’s addictive, knowing that the only place Zia can let go and relax is with me, but I try not to read too much into it. He’s determined to keep me at arm’s length so he doesn’t get hurt again—as if I would ever hurt him. Hurting him would be like carving out my own heart. It would kill me as much as it would him.
He constantly surprises me, though, coming tonight when I asked and sitting here with men who use their fists the way he uses words.Everything about him amazes and terrifies me. I’ve never felt like this before.
Every time his eyes meet mine, my heart does this weird clenching thing that isn’t totally pleasant and my stomach seems to roll, my head turning fizzy like when I’ve been punched too hard in the ring.
He disorients me in a way no other fighter ever has, all with that charming fucking smile.
“I know it probably isn’t your usual scene,” I say with a wince.
Grinning, he reaches up and drapes his arms around my neck. “Nikko, don’t ever be embarrassed about your friends, family, and life.”
“I’m not. I’m just worried?—”
“Don’t be,” he interrupts. “I love your dad and friends, and this place is amazing. I might have more money than sense, but I grew up around criminals, so a few rowdy boxers and street kids aren’t going to scandalize me.” Leaning up, he brushes his mouth over my ear, and I shiver. “Besides, I like seeing you like this—all nervous and worried for me. It’s hot, almost as hot as when you got jealous and possessive over the man who was staring at me earlier.”
My hands fist at his hips, dragging him closer. “I don’t share,” I mutter.
“Neither do I,” he replies as he nips at my earlobe before leaning back. “You’re not the only one who can fight, Nikko. If anyone tries to touch you, they are dead. Remember that. You are willing to fight for me, but I’m willing to kill to keep what’s mine.”
Desire slams through me, and I tug him closer and press my forehead to his, blocking everyone else from our world. Actions, not words, are important to Zia. I think his ex lied to him enough that he no longer believes in them, so I vow to show him as well as tell him so he never doubts what I’m saying.
His eyes flare as he feels my hardness, a devious smile curling his lips, and it only makes me want him more. Zia is a wild thing, not to be tamed, but damn if I don’t have fun trying. “Your dad is sitting right there,” he teases.
“Don’t remind me,” I grumble. “That’s the only thing stopping me.”
“I think he’d probably cheer you on. He loves me.” He laughs, and I absorb the warmth of it.
“You joke, but he does.”
“Should we test it?” He kisses me softly before slipping from my arms. They feel empty, and I awkwardly head back to the table and sit, trying to cover my very obvious erection. Zia stops in front of my father and holds out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
My dad blinks and looks back at me. “I don’t really dance.”
“Like father, like son.” Not taking no for an answer, he hauls my father up, which shocks him, and drags him out with the others. He keeps both hands in his as he dances and moves, forcing my father to copy. The fact that my dad tries and doesn’t just punch Zia and sit down makes me grin.
“I have a feeling Zia is going to be the only person who will ever get your father to do anything,” Charlie scoffs at my side. “If I suggested dancing, I would have ended up knocked out on the floor.”
“He’s hard to say no to,” I agree, unable to help my wide grin as my father barks out a laugh at Zia’s funky dance moves, ones that are ugly and awkward to make my dad feel comfortable.
“I can see that.” Charlie slings his arm around my shoulders. “He’s good for you, good for us. I haven’t seen either of you this happy in a long time. He fits right in. Have you noticed that?”
“I have.” I glance at Charlie. “What if he doesn’t stay? What if he walks away from me?”
