Page 10 of Daring to Love

4

Finlay

Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.

Does she even know whose arms she has been clinging to for the past ten minutes?

Cursing inwardly, I sigh, thinking like mad how to get myself out of this situation.

I now know what Erik meant when he told me she is one hell of a dancer, because it feels as if my brain has been under a spell ever since I came tonight. My head feels muddled and sore as if she cast some sort of spell on me, but now that the music has been shut off and she’s here, wrapped up snug and tight against me, the mist clears.

Her soft but toned body shivers and instinctively, I tighten my arms, wondering if she’s cold.

“Let me go.”

I frown and pull away, loosening my hold on her small frame, but I can’t let her go completely.

“It’s dark,” I murmur softly, trying to explain why I’m keeping one arm around her back. I have to suppress a low hiss of desire as she half-turns, pushing her small breasts flush against my chest. We might as well both be naked for all it seems, what with her in her dancing gear – some sort of black leotard – and me in my shirt.

I can feel her curves moulding to me every-fucking-where.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Jensen?”

I can’t suppress the grin stretching my mouth. She sounds equally annoyed and embarrassed, and despite the desired effect she no doubt wants it to have, warmth settles in my groin. Fuck. The last thing I need is for her to feel what she’s doing to me. I need to remember that this isn’t some random girl I can take out on a date – she’s a job, nothing more and nothing less. She’s supposed to be my salvation. Not tempting me to succumb to an early grave.

“Watching you, of course.”

Bloody hell, I wish I could see her eyes right now.

“Of course. That’s not creepy at all.”

I love the sarcasm rolling off her lips.

“Okay, let’s at least get out of this wretched darkness before you shut me down again?”

I count the seconds as she mulls it over, almost holding my breath. Why am I so nervous? It isn’t like me at all.

When I feel her light shrug, I breathe a little easier.

“Fine. But,” she warns, “only because you were nice to me.”

“I can be nice,” I hurry to assure her.

“Of course.”

“Great.”

But I don’t want to move. If I do, it means I’ll have to face reality, and somehow, it doesn’t sit well with me knowing that in just a few minutes, I’ll have to do what I came here to do.

Strangely enough, I want to forget I’m on a mission to get back into the good graces of my editor and take this woman out on a real date.

A proper date. What a novelty.

“It would help if you removed your arms around me and let me move.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, drawing back. The tips of my fingers run the length of her arms, brushing down gently. As reluctant as I am to give her space, I do as she asks and take a step back.

“It must’ve been your dancing.”