She’s a tall woman—at least five-foot-seven—and levers up on her toes so her lips are close to my ear. “Not until you get through one dance without steppin’ on anyone else’s toes.”
I groan. “We’re going to be here all night.”
“You want to get out of here?” she purrs and presses a kiss to my neck. “Pay attention.”
The DJ announces the next song, but I can’t focus on the name with the way she’s holding me. My jeans are strangling my dick. If I make it through the night without doing permanent damage, it’ll be a miracle.
“We’ll start slow. Right foot.” She nudges my knee with hers, and we step forward together at an angle. “Left behind the right, then repeat.”
With her guiding me, we manage two out of every four moves. Enough to dial my arousal up to eleven and leave us horribly out of sync with the rest of the dancers. Raelynn laughs whenever I miss a step—and finds some new way to touch me. But despite how close we are, every time I try to reach for her, she stops me.
By the last song of the night, I’m ready to beg. And sit my tired ass down. But I manage to get through the whole dance without my size thirteens crushing Raelynn’s toes, and when the DJ thanks everyone for coming, she drapes her arms around my neck. “You did good, city boy.”
“How good?” My hands mold to her waist, and for once, she doesn’t pull away. “Good enough you’d consider coming back to my place? Or…take me to yours?”
She smiles at me, and it doesn’t falter—not even when I slide my hands down to cup her ass. “Oh, you’re comin’ home with me, Nash. And we’ll see what other moves you have to show off.”
Chapter Ten
Raelynn
“So, did I do well enough for a second date?” Nash asks when I start the car.
I pull away from the curb, then flick my gaze to his for a split second. “Before you step out on the dance floor again, darlin’, I’m givin’ you private lessons.”
“Private…lessons?” His voice is half an octave higher than normal, and he shifts his hips like his jeans are suddenly very tight.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be dancin’ in your sleep.”
I don’t know what came over me this afternoon. The Little Red Hen is one of the few places I feel like me. Line dancing is in my blood. I tried five different bars when I moved to Seattle, but the Little Red Hen is my favorite.
Only one member of Hidden Agenda knows what I do every other Saturday night. The first time I saw Graham behind the bar, I almost walked right out the door. But the guy’s perceptive well beyond his years and he’s never said a damn thing to anyone.
I pull into the driveway, suddenly so nervous, my hands shake as I pocket my keys.
Nash rests his hand on the small of my back as he walks me up to the house. It makes me feel…wanted. I can’t remember the last time I felt wanted. Or felt much of anything, really.
“That’s new,” he says, nodding at the open cat carrier on the porch, with a sleeping Kiki still inside.
A flush creeps up my cheeks. “Quiet. If you wake him up, he’ll be through the door in two shakes, and his litter box ain’t comin’ until tomorrow.”
To his credit, he doesn’t say a word. Not “I told you so” or “finally” or “about damn time.” He just smiles at Kiki while I open the door.
We make it inside without the cat noticing, and as soon as I flip the locks, Nash slides his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. “What are we doing here, Raelynn?” His lips travel from the curve of my neck up to my ear, sending a shiver through me.
Tipping my head back, I stare into his deep blue eyes. “Havin’ a little fun.”
That must be enough for him, because he backs me against the door. Rough fingers skim over my throat, setting my core on fire.
“Nash…” It’s been so long since anyone touched me—since I wanted anyone to touch me—I don’t know how to ask for what I need. “Upstairs…”
He pins me with his bulk, one hand cupping my neck, the other tangling in my hair. “I need a taste first.”
His lips feather over mine, gently to start, then with so much raw passion, my entire body comes alive. I grab his hips, tugging him closer. I need to feel him. All of him. Not just the hard bulge in his jeans against my stomach. Not just his fingers on my neck. Not just his stubble against my jaw. I want every part of him.
Nash groans when I deepen the kiss, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth and swiveling my hips as best as I can with his weight holding me still.
“Hang on to me,” he grits out, then lifts me enough for me to wrap my legs around his waist. I lock my arms behind his neck, a thrill racing through me when he manages to carry me up the stairs without breaking a sweat.
