“What do you—”
He held his index finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Ceci froze. Her eyes ballooned.
Where is Sir Stick Up His Ass? And what have you done with him?
He drew her attention to a small stage. On it were musicians who began to play. And then the dancers came out—flamenco dancers.
It was exciting and exhilarating to watch.
All that hot, sweaty, and violent passion. The women hiking up their skirts and swiveling their hips while casting seductive looks with those catlike dark espresso-colored eyes. And the men with their thick and powerful thighs. She expected their pants to split with every thrust of the pelvis and each earthshaking stomp. She felt her heart begin to echo the tapping of their feet.
More than once, she snuck a look at Clarke. She couldn’t make him out. She thought about him bringing Holly to Montana, the Pawsome race, the Krispy Kreme burgers and deep-fried s’mores. Riding that bull. Even eating those ribs—what he did eat of them. Coming to her father’s and kissing her in front of him, and driving over an hour just to take her karting. But then that led her to thinking of him and Tilney so caught up in their alpha bullshit, they’d left no room for her, and she wanted to be up on that stage with those dancers, stomping her own feet.
Once the show was over, Ceci and Clarke got up from their table and the other people did the same. But none of them were leaving. They had either gone to one side of the courtyard or to a small bar that was tucked into one corner.
Heading toward the alleyway, Ceci was about to ask Clarke why they were just standing around, when he slipped his hand around her arm and pulled her to the side to stand alongside some of the others.
Suddenly the waiters began removing chairs and tables.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’re going to dance.”
“But I don’t know how to dance flamenco.”
He chuckled. “No, a new group of musicians is taking the stage. They’re going to play the Argentine tango.”
When Ceci looked back at the courtyard it was empty.
Crossing her arms, she stared back at Clarke with a stubborn look in her eye. “I’m not going to dance. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re just being difficult.”
“Do you ever listen to yourself? You sound like an adult reprimanding a child.”
He shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you think I deserve a spanking.”
A sudden glint in his eyes made her blink. His lip curled. “I’ll admit it’s tempting.”
She almost gasped, but she quickly shut her mouth and clenched her jaw to stop it. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Not unless you wanted me to.” He leaned forward. She could smell anisette on his breath. “Do you?” He leaned further and she smelled cinnamon. “Want me to?”
Now it was her pussy that clenched as she felt a sudden surge of heat rage through her body.
She tossed her head, determined to douse that fire. “Don’t be absurd,” she said, cursing her jagged, halting breath.
“You’re the one who brought it up. I wonder why that is. Do you feel like you’ve done something bad you need to be punished for?”
His eyes looked almost black as they drifted lazily over her body. When they landedthere, she seriously wondered if he could see and hear that humming between her thighs.
She did her best to adopt a cool tone. “I suppose you think if I’ve been a bad girl, it’s up to the ever-perfect Sir Galahad to set things right and make me a good girl.”
He leaned in so close, his breath laced with brandy scorched her cheeks. “Are you asking me to make you a good girl?”
