by Penny Wylder
He doesn't give up though, and I see him reaching for me. Even though I don't want to dance, the dance floor is right here and it's an easy escape. I push myself into the dancers, and am immediately overwhelmed by bodies. This was a terrible idea. There's a hand on my waist, and I know it's dancing guy. I feel sick to my stomach, but I can't let this happen. I turn to push him away again when a large hand slips into mine.
I look up to find Eric standing next to me, completely still in the middle of the sea of dancers, and relief pours over me like a wave. But he's frowning. Then I realize that he's not frowning at me. He's frowning at the man who's still trying to dance with me. Eric pulls me behind him, still holding my hand. The man stumbles because he was leaning into me, and he immediately realizes that Eric Marshall is not a person it's good to stumble into.
"The next time someone tells you they don't want to dance, leave them the fuck alone." Eric's voice isn't loud, but it cuts through the noise, and the man turns and slips away before Eric has the chance to say—or do—anything else. He turns to me. "Are you all right?"
I nod. I don't think I could yell over the noise of the music. He leads me across the dance floor, and it feels easier with him. The crowd parts for us, and it's not overwhelming anymore. Soon we're back by the entrance and he's guiding me up another staircase that I didn't see before. One that's labelled 'VIP.'
As soon as we pass the attendant, the noise fades a bit, and I can think again. Eric still has my hand in his and that hits me with sudden clarity as he leads me to an alcove with a low table and a cushioned, circular seat. "I'm sorry," I say to him. "I didn't realize until I was inside that we hadn't specified where to meet."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says. God, I forgot how sexy his voice is. "I've met people—clients—here in the past, and I always make a note to tell them to come to the VIP section. Alyssa should know better, and I'll be speaking with her."
"Oh," I say, blushing. "Maybe I just missed it. I don't want to get anyone in trouble."
"You're not," he says, pinning me with his gaze as he sits close to me. "I'll still be speaking to her though. You're sure you're all right?"
"Yes," I say, nodding again. "It was a little overwhelming for a minute. I'm not usually a club person, but that's probably obvious."
Eric's mouth tips up into a grin. "From how amazing you look, I would say that you inhabit the nightlife regularly."
My cheeks are now a fiery red that I can feel and I'm grateful for the dim lighting because it might be harder to see it. The purple lights casting down from the ceiling cast part of his face in shadow and bring out the highlights. They make him sharper and more mysterious and I want to press myself closer to find out more. "No," I say. "My best friend, Iris, is a stylist. She helped me. Even though I know I should say I did all this myself."
He smiles again. "Nothing wrong with giving credit where it's due. I have a man who's made my suits for years, and I'll admit that I'd be lost without him."
And he looks damn good in the suit, too. He opened the button of his jacket when he sat down, and I can see the way his shirt is clinging to his stomach. Every part of it is fitted to him perfectly. I could lean back, take a picture, and it would be fine to put on the cover of a magazine. Like I thought earlier, this man is a fantasy. What the hell am I doing here with him?
I don't realize that I've said that out loud until he starts to laugh. "Oh my God," I say. "I'm sorry, I just didn't see my day heading here when I got up this morning."
"Life is kind of that way," he says, still chuckling. "I suppose I can give you a little background. My mother is hosting a Valentine’s Day party. I think I mentioned that it was last minute?" I shake my head as a waiter in black appears. "Do you have a drink of choice?"
"Anything that tastes good," I say.
He nods, and orders some drinks. The waiter disappears, and Eric sighs, looking down for a moment. "The planning of the party wasn't last minute, but the fact that my mother told me about it was."
I frown. "Why's that?"
Our drinks appear a second later and he takes a tumbler of something dark and deep, and the waiter hands me a glass of something bright red. It doesn't have any frills except for the ice and the bright color, but when I taste it, oh my God, it's delicious. Apple and sweet honey and something else.
"She knew that I wouldn't want to come," he says, taking a sip. "So she told me at the last minute so that I wouldn't be able to make other plans. Especially this time of year. You can imagine how busy the greeting card business is around now."
I smirk at him. "Does Edward still have his head?"
"He does," Eric says, smirking back.
"Good. Why didn't you want to go to the party?"
"Because I hate Valentine’s Day." He says it smoothly and evenly with no hesitation. So I know that he's not joking.
"You do?"
He nods. "With a passion."
"Am I allowed to ask why?"
I think I see a small movement in the muscle of his jaw, but it's dark enough in here that I might have missed it. "It's a long story," he says. "I'd rather not go into it."
"Okay," I say. "It just seems...a little ironic."
He looks confused. "Why?"
"Because one of the reasons I agreed to Bianca's request is that I'm always single on Valentine’s Day. I've never had a date before, and I thought it would be fun to not be alone."
Eric leans a little closer. "If you're always alone and you don't like it, I'm surprised you don't hate it as much as I do."
"I don't hate it," I say, mimicking his movement. "And it doesn't make me sad necessarily, just a little...melancholy? I think there's something really nice about a holiday that celebrates that people have found someone. Even if it doesn't always last. I don't think the fact that people put themselves out there and try is celebrated enough."
He chuckles. "I'll try to remember that."
"But yeah, the fact that you hate Valentine’s Day doesn't faze me. It's pretty par for the course. It almost seems fitting for my first Valentine's Date."
"I'm honestly a little sorry that my sister roped you into this. The party is probably going to be incredibly boring."
I give him a small smile. "I'm not sorry."
"Oh?"
"This turned out pretty good for me, I think. Though if you hadn't spotted me in that crowd of dancers it could have been a lot worse."
I feel his eyes on me then in a way I haven't before, falling down my body and taking in the lacy bodice of my dress and the flow of my skirt down my crossed legs, the fabric pulled up a little and exposing some skin. "I think I'd be able to spot you anywhere," he says softly. And when I look up at him there's no lie in his eyes. My breath seems to have evaporated in my chest and I may imagine the fact that he looks at my lips. Then there's a smile, as if he realized what he said. "You're a terrible dancer. I could have seen you a mile away."
"Oh, thanks," I say, laughing. "I'm sure the great Eric Marshall has much better moves than I do."
"I never said that. I'd probably cast a neon spotlight from here to Paris if I started to dance."
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, it is.” A pause. "I wasn't expecting someone like you," Eric says suddenly.
I take a sip from my glass, and it's empty and I place it down. Within a minute it's seamlessly replaced with another one and I barely notice them appear. But that drink is too good not to have more. "I'm not sure what that means.”
He laughs. “My sister has tried to set me up before. Usually with one of her friends. I’ve gone along with it, and let’s just say that it hasn’t worked out. We don’t usually have the same priorities.”
“So how do you know I’m different?”
“For starters,” he says, smiling into his glass, “you didn’t ask to be set up with me.”
“True. I only nearly killed your sister.”
Now he laughs again, a real laugh this time. “I still can’t believe th
at happened.”
“Neither can I. Not my finest moment. But I’m still not sure that’s a positive point in how I’m different from your sister’s friends.”
Eric reaches across the space between us and takes my hand gently. “You just told me you said yes because you wanted to have a date on Valentine’s Day. You didn’t know who I was, you just wanted some genuine human connection. In general, I’ve found that Bianca’s friends don’t always see me as a human connection. They see me as dollar signs.”
“Oh.” I blush, because it’s true. I had no idea who he was.
I’m very aware of his skin on mine. “Happy to be of service.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” his fingers brush against my skin. “All I expected it to be was a service. But then you seemed different. I wasn’t planning on taking this mysterious girl out. But I couldn’t stop myself.”
Oh my God. Iris was right. I don’t know what to say. I think my mouth is open. Shut your mouth. Say something. Anything. “That’s flattering.” Eric laughs and I quickly take another drink. “I’m bad at this, as you can see, which is why I’m always single on Valentine’s Day.”
“I don’t think you’re nearly as bad as you think you are,” he says. “I’m enjoying myself.”
I look away from his gaze because it feels more intimate than I’m ready for. But oh, I want to be ready for it. "Well, at least I'll be in good company with my bad dancing," I say, drinking deeply from my glass. "Who knows, you probably saved that creep a horrible fate by not letting me step on his feet."
"He would have had it coming," Eric says seriously. "But I'll take my chances."
"With what?"
Standing, he reaches out a hand. "Of dying from bloody toes."
"You want to dance with me?"
There's fire in his eyes. "I do."
I know that we were kidding, but actually I am a terrible dancer and there is a small chance that I could kill him. "I really am terrible."
His mouth tips up into that little half-smile again. "I'm not."
What the hell. This can be one of the details that I give Iris tomorrow, because I might not have a chance to dance with Eric Marshall again, and I'd be an idiot to pass this up. I finish the rest of my drink in one sip, placing it on the table before I take his hand. He weaves his fingers with mine and guides me back to the dance floor. The music is pulsing, and I realize that we're not going to be doing a whole lot of talking. And I also realize by looking around, that we're not going to be doing the kind of dancing that I imagined either. People are pressed up against one another, moving in sync, hips locked together in a way that only suggests one thing, and suddenly my body is on fire.
He pulls me into the dancers with him, and this time it doesn't feel as overwhelming, and yet it does. Because now we're here to dance. This song has a medium beat and a thrumming bass, and for a second, I can almost pretend that I have rhythm. But Eric didn't lie, because as he pulls me against him, he seems to move effortlessly with the music. He spins me under his arm and my skirt whirls out around me before he pulls me back to him.
I'm so small compared to him, I have to look up to see his face, and when I do, the raw need there makes me shudder. His hands are on my waist, and I can feel the heat of his hands through my thin dress. I'm suddenly very aware that I'm not wearing any underwear. No bra because it would show and no panties because Iris convinced me they would be seen and ruin the line of the dress.
I feel naked.
Eric spins me again, this time pulling me in so that my back is against his chest, and I’m cradled against him. This feels all-encompassing and safe and sexy and I can’t breathe. The way we’re pressed against each other, my brain is dizzy with it, and I’m just letting him guide me because I can’t think about anything else.
I don’t think that I’ve ever had such a sudden and deep attraction to anyone. And certainly not on a sexual level. I’m inexperienced, so I like to get my bearings and make sure that everything’s okay before I go for it. But right now, I think that I’d let Eric strip off my clothes in the middle of the dance floor and I’d give it my best shot. My whole body wants him.
The two drinks I had are suddenly swimming in my head and I feel good. Not gone, but in that perfect place where I’m tipsy enough not to care that I’m a bad dancer and to let go. That place where I can press myself back into Eric and try to be sexy without worrying if I’m embarrassing myself. I want him, and I want to see if he wants me.
I twirl around with my hands in the air, and Eric catches me around the waist and pulls me back to him, locks our hips together as we move to the music. The song changes to something deeper and sultry, and I relax into it with him.
He’s hard against me. I can feel it, and it makes me smile. Makes me wet. Makes me need more than I can put voice to. Eric’s hands are on my body, stroking from my shoulders and down my arms to my waist where he pulls my back against his chest again, lips falling to the skin where my shoulder meets my neck. I’m glad the sound of the club and the music masks my moan to everyone else.
It doesn’t to him.
I turn and look him in the eyes, dark and deep and reflecting my own desire back at me. And I let him kiss me. It takes my breath away. Every sensation increases and brightens and deepens and I am swept on the current of its power.
This is not my first kiss, but it might as well be. Nothing I've ever felt has been like this, and I don't know if it's the drinks or the lights or the music or if it's just him and me, but I want more of it.
Eric's tongue brushes mine, and I think I can feel it everywhere, heat and something deeper rippling out and down, and I'm so aware of everywhere he's touching me and how it doesn't feel like it's enough. How I'd gladly let this feeling consume me entirely. He pulls back for a second, and I'm gasping for breath. We've stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor, staring at each other. There's no mistaking that that kiss hit him just as hard as it hit me. The moment hangs in the air, like time has stopped.
And then I see him smile, and we start to dance again. If this can be called dancing. There's not a time when we're not touching. Not a time when some part of him isn’t entwined with some part of me. We kiss again and spin apart, moving with the music and on this new instinct that seems to be floating between us. Somehow our mouths always seem to find their ways back to each other. Every time increasing the heat in my body, that longing that I don't know how to put into words.
I'm not sure how long we dance. It feels like forever and not long enough. Then Eric's mouth falls on mine again, more insistent, almost desperate, and he pulls me off the dance floor. We're in a dark hallway, and I see an exit to the back of the club seconds before Eric has me up against the wall and is kissing me again. There's a low sound in his throat, and I shudder, kissing him back.
His hands are on my hips, the heat of his fingers sinking through my dress. I can feel his erection, the way he's pulling us together is not accidental. God, he feels big. What if I can’t take him? Are we going to do that now? I don't know.
I shut the thoughts off in my brain as he moves his lips to my jaw and kisses along my neck. I don't need to have my brain ruining one of the best moments of my life right now, thank you very much. The feeling of his lips on my skin is driving me crazy, and I lean into it, because no guy I've ever been with has made me feel like this. And I can't miss it. I can't ruin another chance by scaring him away.
Eric pulls my skirt up, bunching the fabric in his hands so he can touch my legs, and I move them apart. My body is clearly on board with this, moving with an instinct that hasn't caught up with my mind yet, and I can't breathe. His fingers drift across my thighs, and suddenly he's there, touching me. And he freezes. "Fuck, Sally." His voice is hot and dark in my ear. "If I'd known you were bare under here I might have left the dance floor sooner."
"I'm not wearing a bra either."
He pulls back far enough to look at me, and look significantly down at my breasts. "God that's sexy."
Why am I embarrassed? I shouldn't be. This is something that feels good, and God, the way he's touching me feels fucking amazing. But I'm still overwhelmed with the sensation and it freezes in my chest and I seize up. And then he slips a finger inside me. So strange and different than when you do it to yourself. This has intent. You're sexy, fuckable, and I'm so wet that the pleasure of it ricochets through my body, making my back arch and my head tip back to the wall with a moan. But I can't do this.
I grab his arms, his shoulders, and take a breath. "Eric, wait."
His hands freeze on me and he immediately looks at me. "Is this all right?"
I clench down on his finger instinctually, and prep for the knife he's about to plunge into my chest. "Yes," I say, "but I need to tell you that I'm a virgin."
Eric doesn't move, doesn't breathe. It's like he's completely turned to stone. There's a slight hardening in his features and I think that I've fucked up. I didn't expect him to be angry—didn't think about the fact that maybe he thinks I tricked him.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I should have said something. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to walk away right now. It's something that it's not easy to be honest about because it tends to make people run. And that's okay. I know that's not what were you looking for. You just wanted a date for the party." I realize that I'm just talking, babbling to fill his stunned silence and I think that he's going to move now. That he's going to disappear into the crowd of dancers and disappear. But then I look up at him, and I see in the dimness that same hunger from the dance floor. A deep and nameless need, and he kisses me.
I'm not ready for it, the overwhelming power of that kiss. There's hunger and passion and this doesn't feel like goodbye. This feels like building and growing and pleasure. "I can't imagine anyone running away from someone like you," he says.