"You seem like the type who'd walk around barefoot if it weren't socially taboo."
"You know me too well."
We both laughed.
He turned on the music, and all of a sudden, the mood in the room changed. It was the same type of song we had danced to in the studio, but this time was different. We weren't surrounded by other students and didn't have Carmen's watchful eyes on us or the bright lights shining down from the ceiling. Instead, we were alone in his condo with only the muted glow of two lamps in the room.
Jamison extended a hand. "Ready?"
I stepped closer, my bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor. The second we touched, I experienced the same electric awareness that had been building between us during every dance lesson and each time our gazes held for a beat too long.
His firm hand settled against my back, the warmth of his palm seeping into my skin through the soft fabric of my dress. I placed my hand on his strong shoulder and met his eyes, my back automatically straightening into the precise posture Carmen had drilled into me, though I longed to lean closer.
We began to move. "One, two, three," Jamison murmured.
Our bodies found the rhythm, and we danced with the ease earned from doing the same steps repeatedly. Jamison led withconfidence, no longer tentative or uncomfortable, and I followed instinctively and without hesitation.
He spun me out and then pulled me in closer than necessary before we separated again, gliding through the movements we had rehearsed dozens of times. Each spin out and reel in brought us closer, and when his hand slid lower on my back, my breath caught. He held me against him, our faces mere inches apart. Then his gaze dropped to my lips.
"Tallulah." My name was a rough sound in his throat.
The music continued, but we had stopped moving. We stood still, both of us breathing hard, as if we'd just finished running the Ellington Memorial Day Marathon. His hands cupped my face, one thumb tracing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
He looked down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "When I said your husband was a fool, I wasn't just talking. I meant it."
He dipped his head, and I held my breath. He paused, his eyes searching mine.
"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered.
I gave my answer when I lifted onto my toes.
The kiss started softly, tentatively, as if we were asking a question. His lips brushed mine once, twice, testing my response. I answered by threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.
My actions unleashed something in him, and the kiss deepened, turned hungry. His arm clamped around my waist, and he lifted me to the tips of my toes, crushing my body into his as he angled his mouth over mine. I tasted the tang of beer on his lips and pulled him closer, pushing my tongue into his mouth to explore more deeply.
I touched him everywhere I could—sliding my hands from his hair to his shoulders, down his torso and up his back—taking my pleasure in learning the solid warmth of his body. He made asound low in his throat—half groan, half surrender—and walked me backward until I hit the wall. He cradled the back of my head, kissing me with more demand, with more passion.
The classical music continued to play, background noise completely ignored as his mouth trailed a fiery path from my lips to my jaw and down the column of my neck. Tilting back my head, I gave him full access and felt him smile against my skin before he kissed the sensitive spot behind my ear.
"Should we talk about this?" he asked huskily, gripping my ass with both hands.
"Later," I panted, pulling his mouth back to mine.
"Much later," he whispered against my lips.
He kissed me again, thoroughly and hard, as if he'd been waiting weeks to do so.
Maybe he had—just like I had been.
Chapter 20
Tallulah
Jamison pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine. "Bedroom?"
The gutturally spoken word carried the weight of every single thought we hadn't spoken out loud.
I nodded, not trusting my ability to speak.
