I push my way off the dance floor to join Colton like it’s a compulsion. As I approach, she excuses herself with one last flirty glance in Colt’s direction. He hands me a rum and coke without a word, and I take a couple long gulps to calm myself.
“When are you getting out there?” I ask with a little shimmy.
“Never, and you know it.”
I face him fully, studying him over the lip of my glass as I take another sip. “I figured someone would have taught you to love dancing by now.”
“If you couldn’t get me on the dance floor, there’s no one in the world who could.” He holds my gaze and my heart jumps in my chest. Is he saying… “I mean, the badgering. It was constant.”
He laughs at his own joke, and I force one myself as I push him. Of course, that’s what he means. And what Iwanthim to mean. God, I’m acting like a lunatic tonight.
“Not even the bombshell?” I ask, wagging my eyebrows to cover my scowl. “She’s been looking at you like you’re a nice plate oftartufo.”
“Who?”
I clench my jaw. “You’re full of shit. The tall, skinny brunette with the great boobs who’s been hanging all over you since we walked in.”
He shrugs, and my blood boils. “Not my type.”
I don’t believe him for a second. She’s everyone’s type. “Great boobs aren’t your type?”
His eyes flick down to my cleavage and the heat in my veins shifts to something else. I remind my overeager libido that he isn’t expressing interest. He’s a heterosexual male. I say boobs; he looks at boobs. That’s it.
He chuckles. “Never said that. I saidshewasn’t my type.”
I shift uncomfortably. “So, you’re going to stand by the bar all night?”
“That’s the plan.” He salutes with his drink.
“You’re the one who suggested we go dancing!”
He tilts his head to the side. “I suggested we go out soyoucould go dancing to cheer you up, so go. Dance. Cheer up.”
“Fine. Be boring. If you need me, I’ll be out there having a good time.”
I stomp off, simultaneously frustrated as hell and confused by that frustration. Colt refusing to join the dance floor is nothing new. He hates dancing. It was a constant all four years at school. I’d pester him to come out on the floor. He’d say no. I’d tell him he was no fun and happily head off. But now his rejection twists around my ribs, constricting like a snake.
What the hell is happening to me?
I just keep thinking about Coltonscratching the itchwith the beautiful woman hanging all over him. Or theperfectwoman Tomasso introduced him to and all the other women who touched him when I was across an ocean, only getting glimpses of him through the phone. And I hate that no matter how much thinking about those things pissed me off, I can’t act on it.
Less than a song later, warm hands slip around my waist. I tense for a heartbeat, and then the scent hits me—cedar and old parchment—and my heart leaps into my throat. Colton pulls me back against him, and now my heart is beating so hard I can hardly hear the music. He starts swaying, not even close to being on beat. But he’s out on the dance floor with me for the first time.
Colton’s breath gusts against my ear. “Why are you mad at me, Chaos?”
“I’m not mad,” I call back over the music.
With the way our bodies are plastered together, I can feel him shake his head. “Liar.”
But he doesn’t push, doesn’t question it or demand an answer. He sucks in a breath when I run my hands down his cordedforearms, linking our fingers together and tugging his arms so they’re wrapped fully around me.
When the song ends, he starts to pull away, and my grip tightens on his arm. “Please?”
His shuddering breath blows against my neck, and I have to fight to hold in a moan. “One more.”
His hands slide across my stomach, stopping to grip my hips as we settle into a rhythm. My eyes drop close as I let myself fall back into him, the bass pounding in my ears and pressure at my back sending me into full sensory overload. His fingers stretch over the fabric of my tight dress, sliding and flexing like he can’t keep them still.
I’ve danced with better dancers—people with perfect rhythm and years of experience under their belts—but I’ve never wanted a dance to go on forever like this one, and I think I may go into full-blown mourning when it ends.
