Page 12 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

They were making a connection.

One she'd never felt before.

You better hope he's an awful dancer because once he wraps those strong looking arms around you, you'll be wrestling with other adjectives, like powerless and lustful.

Two songs in, he asked her to dance. He pulled off his remaining shoe. She ditched her boots. On the dance floor, he drew her close—close enough to scorch her thoughts. The feel of his protective arms and hard chest made the whole room disappear.

One dance turned to two, and then a third. The dance floor filled like a mall parking lot on Black Friday. Every few steps, Mr. Crown increased his grip, twirling her this way and that to avoid collision. He never missed a beat, even as he whispered naughty little quips to her.

A guy one hundred percent focused on keeping me safe? What a concept! Roman would have run roughshod over every single couple out here, like the asshole he is.

Mr. Crown has shown more genuine care in a few hours than Roman did in two years.

When the set finally ended, their bodies remained fused together for a beat before Natalie stepped back, fanning her neck. “I haven’t danced like that in … well, maybe never.”

“You’re a natural.”

“Hardly. Years of tap and jazz and I was still one of the worst dancers in the class. You, on the other hand, are incredibly smooth.”

“I’ve spent a little time on honky-tonk dance floors,” he said. “How about another drink, to cool you off?"

“I’d love some water.”

He tipped an imaginary hat. “One water, coming right up. I’ll meet you back at our table.”

Natalie laughed to herself, watching all six-foot-two of him saunter toward the bar in socks.

By the time he returned, Natalie had polished off her Coke and chomped every ice cube. Parched, she grabbed the water bottle and chugged it down in a few hasty gulps. When she met his gaze, he smiled widely—almost to the point of laughing.

"Sorry. That wasn’t very lady-like, was it?"

"You forgot to give it the Cowboy Treatment," he said.

"The what?"

"You know, throw it back like an outlaw, slam your empty glass down, and then wipe your mouth with your sleeve."

"You mean … like this?"

She grabbed his glass of amber liquid—Scotch, maybe?—and downed it. Heat exploded through her as she wiped her mouth like a Wild West gunslinger. She leaned back with a smug grin.

His eyes were all over her, taking in her face as though seeing her for the first time. "Pardon my French, but that was bloody brilliant.”

"I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

"I wasn't aware I'd issued one."

"A challenge, a suggestion, makes no difference. I can play with the big boys.” She nudged his shoulder.

He caught her hand before she could pull it away. He brought it to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. Then he pushed her shirtsleeve up, trailing kisses along her forearm.

Actually, sir … that is bloody brilliant.

When he reached her elbow, he paused. "Think your feet could handle one more dance?”

Was he serious? Not only could her feet be persuaded, her entire body was his for the taking.

“Lead the way,” she said for the second time that night.