Page 43

“No way,” I said, still shaking my head.

But Shane didn’t let that deter him. He held me by the hips with both hands and pulled me along with him.

“Come on,” he replied, and we staggered onto the dance floor.

Once again, I shook my head—at myself. Being close to Shane made my brain melt. “You’re drunk, Shane.”

“Absolutely. And I want to dance with you.”

And I was more than willing to grant that wish.

We had reached the edge of the dance floor when Shane pulled me close and held me tightly. He stroked my back, and I closed my eyes. Shane’s hand on the back of my neck pressed me even closer to him. My skin tingled, and I buried my fingers in his shirt.

Shane did what he did best. He enveloped me completely with his shoulders, arms, his entire upper body. His scent, his whole being covered me, and the memory of the hours in Shane’s trailer overwhelmed me.

That—

That’s what I had missed like hell.

“I missed you terribly,” Shane murmured against my ear. Could he read my mind?

“I missed you too,” I replied.

Shane slid one hand under my T-shirt. “This feels good. It’s pure torture to have you near me and never be able to touch you.”

I decided not to respond and ran my fingers through his hair, which was as soft as it had been in the summer. Between the lump in my throat, the nervous fluttering in my stomach, and the excitement between my legs, I couldn’t get a word out.

The desire for Shane overwhelmed me, while the worry about what would happen next fought with the crazy joy of finally being in his arms again. I could hardly think, let alone talk.

“You feel incredibly good. Ever since I saw you again on my first day here, I’ve wanted to do this.” He ran his hand under my shirt, over my stomach, through my chest hair, almost to my collarbones.

I gasped for air and pressed my face against his neck. Me too, I wanted to scream, but it was drowned out by the croaking in my throat. My shirt kept rising, and at that moment, I almost didn’t care if Shane had stripped me completely.

Almost. In the end, I was glad when he lowered his hand and ran it over my lower back again.

He kissed my shoulder. The spot where my shoulder met my neck. Which was barely covered by fabric. Not a millimeter of his lips touched the skin on my throat. Like a torturer, he only kissed along the seam of my clothes instead of giving in to my whimpering.

He pushed one leg between my knees and rubbed his erection against my thigh through his pants.

Someone whistled next to us. That brought me back. Damn.

“Shane, this isn’t the right place for . . . ” Whatever we were doing here.

He lifted his head and looked at me with glassy eyes. I clung to him desperately and searched his face. Was this derailed expression due to the alcohol? His lust? My mere presence? Okay, that thought proved I was freaking out a teeny tiny bit.

We were jostled, which snapped Shane out of his trance. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around my hips again.

He held me much more modestly, but no less intensely.

“How long have you been here?” I definitely should find out how drunk he was. Even in my infatuation, I couldn’t convince myself that his actions were purely voluntary. Not infatuation. Crush, maybe? No. snorted inwardly. We had long since left the stage of a harmless crush. The anchor had been raised, the sails hoisted, and Crush Harbor was in our rearview mirror. Did ships have rearview mirrors? Something was wrong with my analogy.

“All afternoon.”

To understand him better, I pressed myself against Shane. There was no other reason.

“I met Thierry at noon. He works here. With a few others.”

Damn. Shane was much more drunk than I thought.