He smiled. "So do we dance?"
She felt herself nod.
He held out both hands and she took them. Quickly, he led her into the swing, matching the tempo of the music.
"You dance!" she said, surprise in her voice.
"You think I'd ask you to the prom if I couldn't dance?"
He swung around, always holding both of her hands, except when he led her through a twirl.
"Who taught you?"
"I was the only male. With two big sisters and no father, guess who was forced to dance?"
She laughed.
"Mom's bossy. She made me dance with those two, even when they were taller."
"I can't imagine you shorter than Kay and Amanda."
Still dancing, caught in the rhythm of the song, he swung her close, then out again.
"Oh, fancy moves, huh?" she laughed.
"You haven't seen my fancy moves yet," he replied
The music stopped, so they paused, holding hands. Looking up at Matt, Janey wondered if he'd literally meant dance moves or—
Then the music started again. Something slow. It took Janey a second to recognize the tune. "Unchained Melody." She drummed up her flagging courage and stepped closer. This called for a slow dance.
It felt comfortable, being like this with him. It felt charged, like she'd missed a lot.
"I wish I could have gone to prom with you," he said.
"Me, too," she replied and let Matt tuck her hand under his chin.
But her eighteen-year-old self wouldn't have known what to do with Matt Kincaid.
Did she now? Could she do this, be with him, for a day, two at the most?
She didn't know, but she did know one thing.
She would not live with the regret of missing that day or two, so she pulled her hand from his and twined both arms around his neck.
They swayed to the music, the borrowed red dress swishing around their legs, their toes bumping. It was such an intimate touch that she gave in to something she'd wanted to do again for so long. She rose on tiptoes to brush her lips along his throat, tasting, just above the white tux shirt collar. Matt stood still for a single moment, a moment that made her think she'd pushed too far. Then felt his hands, low on her back as he pulled her tighter against him.
He was aroused. The knowledge was heady. Plain Jane, the girl who almost didn't go to senior prom, for heaven's sake, could do this to a man like Matt Kincaid. She smiled to herself, even as she placed another light kiss on his neck.
"Slow down, Janey," he said in a rumble. "We have all night, and I want prom with you. Before anything else."
***
Before… He said that? To Janey?
Yeah, he did. Because she was the woman he burned for. Because she was strong and soft and… The One.
Had always been.
Hell.
This changed things. Way changed things.
This made it matter more than anything else. He wanted to know her, know more. "I never asked you if you still play the piano."
"You remember that?"
"I remember wishing I could sit down with you and Amanda and play chop sticks." Holy crap, admit something else stupid. She'll run away so fast your head'll spin.
"I would have taught you."
"I wouldn't have accepted the offer."
"Why not, if you wished you could?"
"I was a boy." He shrugged. "Because it was one other thing I had to do a girl. You have no idea what it's like to have only sisters."
"I'm lucky, I know. But when I was ten and JP was nine, he was a nightmare. Cassie was still a baby, so at that early age, it was the same for me."
He had to get her mind off her brother. "What's Cassie up to now?"
"She's at UF. She thinks she wants to go to pharmacy school."
"That's a tough school. That's what Amanda did. She claims all she did was study, but I don't think she minded."
"Matt?"
"Hmm?" The sound rumbled from his chest.
"Why are we talking about our siblings?"
He stopped dancing for a moment, and then resumed. "Because if we don't talk about something, I'm going to kiss you."
"That would be bad because?"
"Because I probably—no, that's not right. I know I won't stop with a kiss. You know what my life's like, are you sure you want that?"
"What day is it for you, Matt?"
He stopped and looked down at her face, shadowed by the dim light. "What do you mean?"
"You just came from another time zone. What day does your body say it is?"
He didn't understand, but answered, "Tomorrow."
"Then today isn't happening for you, is it?" Her voice sounded husky as she whispered against his lips. "Today's for me. Please give me today."
Chapter Six
Matt's breath caught at her request. She still remembered what he'd said the day he'd left her lying on a blanket on the beach. He'd wanted her then, like the young idiot he'd been. Now, well, now he craved her. And he'd give her a hell of lot more than today.
He looked at her up-tilted face. She was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous with her golden brown eyes and perfect lips. He reached down and wove his fingers into the thickness of her hair.
"My hair's wild—"
"It has life. It's beautiful." He ran his hands through it, cupped the back of her head, and whispered against her lips. "As beautiful as you." Then he kissed her. Long and slow, like he'd wanted to since that first kiss a few hours ago.
Hunger bubbled to surface, but he fought it back. This was Janey. He would make it slow and gentle and sweet for her.
Her hands clutched at his jacket, at his waist, and he realized she was straining upward on tiptoes.
Tearing himself away from the heat of her, he said, "Wait here."
"What are you doing?" she asked. "Where are you going?"
"You'll see," he replied. He practically ran into the kitchen, grabbed the short joke of a footstool his mother kept to help her reach into the upper cabinets, and came back. Setting it before her, he said. "Climb on."
She looked down, then up and at him, her brows in a frown. "I'm that short?"
"God, no. No. You're not. You're perfect. Just right." For him. "But I don't want you to get tired stretching to reach me. It's only a couple of inches off the floor. It'll make it easier for you."
When she took his hand, stepped up and hugged him, he realized it would be easier for him, too. Their bodies fit perfectly.
Made for each other.
Damn.
With a stool. Yeah, adjustments had to be made. He could do that, right?
She moved against him.
Hell, yeah, he could make adjustments.
She kissed his ear, then lightly kissed her way to his brow. Then down his cheek, her tongue touching the stubble. He should have shaved, he thought, but then she moved down to his mouth.
Where he took over. They were even in height now, he didn't have to bend, he could simply luxuriate in the taste of her, in her explorations of his mouth.
Damn Ty and the chance he'd gotten. Damn the son of a bitch who'd left her, damn every son of a bitch who'd had her even for one moment.
She was his. The thought roared through his soul, and he pulled her tighter against him, breaking the kiss, tracing the same kisses on her as she'd traced on him. From her ear, to her brow, to her cheek. To her neck and her shoulder, where the strap of the red dress had slipped off leaving him with so much skin to kiss. He bent slightly and nibbled, open mouthed, along her collarbone, then back to her neck.
And felt her shiver.
"Cold?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm...glorious."
He smiled against her throat. "You are," he agreed.
"That's not what I meant," she said in a husky voice.
He raised his head and looked straight at her. "It is what I meant." He brushed his index finger across her lower lip, traced the dampness of their kiss, watched her eyes close. "It's what you are."<
br />
She opened her eyes. "Don't stop this time, Matt. Promise me, okay?"
He smiled. "Nothing's stopping us, honey." He kissed her once, hard. "Nothing," he added against her already open mouth.
Heat. Silk. Fire. He drowned in it, let her rob him of breath until he had to taste more…until he pulled back enough to see her breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in choppy exhalations. He watched her eyes, her position on the stool perfect, and ran his finger along the plump upper slopes of breasts, pushed up by the too tight dress. Her nipples puckered under the satin and she sighed, her head drooping forward. Displaying what he thought was great finesse, he pulled at the side of the red dress and watched, fascinated, as her left breast, with its just right fullness, and the aureole of her nipple, appeared. Heard her quick intake of breath. He left the dress right there. Smiling, he kissed that one place, sucked just enough to cause her breath to hitch again, then pulled the restrictive dress down enough so he could take her nipple into his mouth.
She groaned. He thumbed the other nipple through the satin, wanting to swallow her whole. Wanting, wanting.
He released her nipple, kissed his way across her cleavage to her still-covered breast and pulled the fabric down with his teeth.
"Mm, please," she said.
He looked at her face, eyes still closed, at her breasts, bared for him. One nipple, shiny and wet from his mouth, the other awaiting his touch.
"Look, Janey. Watch me," he whispered.
She opened languorous eyes and he licked her nipple. She sighed.
"Keep watching," he said between licks. He lifted the breast up, plumping it. "Feel this," he said just as he took her nipple in his mouth.
Janey gasped. She was going to go up in flames. She tilted her hips forward, but with constraints of the evening gown, the movement didn't satisfy. She needed more.
Matt was doing wonderful things to her. A little dazed, she watched him. She'd dreamed about Matt, about what it would be like, about what prom would have been like.
But prom would not have been X-rated.
This would be.
Tentative, afraid he'd stop what he was doing, she touched his hair. He did stop, but only to move his beautiful mouth to her other breast. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers gently through the soft waves, the dark brown glistening black in the dim light. Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing.
"You taste like heaven," he muttered, his lips moving against her oversensitive flesh.
She clutched at his head, craving the return of his lips.
They did return, but to her mouth. Open, hot, the kiss overpowered. He held her so tightly she could feel his erection even through the voluminous folds of the gown. And she thrilled that she'd aroused him, that he was as excited as she.
That he would finally be hers, even if only for one day. One night.
And she kissed him back, loving the feel of his mouth, of his tongue. The deep, satisfied sounds coming from his chest.
His hands scooted from her waist to her bottom, cupping her, raising her against the ridge of his erection, constrained by his slacks. She moved against him, her hands trailing down from his hair to his neck, to his shoulders. She needed his warmth and somehow managed to get her hands inside his tux jacket.
He radiated heat, but the smooth cotton of the shirt kept her from touching skin.
He moved from her mouth to her neck again, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses even as she grappled with the top button of his shirt. She paused between buttons to enjoy the feel of his mouth when he moved from one breast to the other, licking and nibbling.
A frenzied pull on her nipple made her gasp and work harder on the buttons. Suddenly he was helping her, ripping at his buttons while she pushed the tux jacket off his shoulders. As soon as it hit the floor, she stepped off the stool and kissed a line from his throat, down the perfect sprinkling of chest hair, to his right nipple. It beaded under her tongue and she bit lightly, then licked away the non-existent hurt.
"Christ, what you do to me," he said, tunneling his hands through her hair.
She shoved the stool aside with her foot, and then kissed her way to his other nipple. His heart beat a staccato rhythm that matched that of hers. Steadying herself by holding on to his behind, she kissed her way down to his slacks button. Straightening, she undid the single button and reached inside.
He hissed. Beneath the soft cotton of his boxers, he was hot and hard. She looked up and saw him close his eyes to the pleasure of her exploration, and when he opened them, his pupils dilated with passion. He was so beautiful like this, not hiding behind what he thought best for her, but allowing himself pleasure. Pleasure she could give him even if he didn't need her heart.
He watched her for an endless moment, and then ran a finger along her lower lip. She licked his finger…and felt him thrust against her hand.
Watching him, judging his reactions, she reached inside his boxers. He sucked in a breath when she closed her fist around thick smooth flesh. She kept her eyes on his, watching his face, as he absorbed her ministrations.
"Maybe," he breathed, "you should stop."
She did, and he bowed his head, his forehead on hers.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Don't apologize. It's just that…well, let's say there's no point in priming a fuse that's about to blow."
She laughed.
"What could possibly be funny right now?" he asked, his breathing ragged.
"Only you would think of describing sex like an explosion."
"A minute more of that and you would have felt it."
He must have seen her expression because he quickly said, "Uh, uh. Not this time, no. This first time, we do it right."
"There's a wrong way?"
"There's a too fast way for a first time."
"Why are we talking?" She breathed against his mouth.
"Because I want to slow down and if I talk, I will."
"I don't want to slow down."
Her words sliced through Matt. She was looking up at him with her big brown eyes, one of her hands was inside his pants, the other looped around his neck. This was so much more than pleasure, so much more than the now. But now was what they had and he wanted to savor her, to make this last, but she was tempting him and he was just a man.
"Janey, you really should, so please tell me if I go too fast, okay?"
"What's with all the caution?"
"I want this to be perfect."
"It's going to be perfect."
"You've got too much faith in me."
"No, I don't. I have just the right amount of faith. But if you don't quit talking, I'll start to wonder."
He kissed her. Hard, deep, then pulled away. "You're fantastic, Janey. Now get your hand off me so I can carry you without getting hurt."
"I can walk," she replied.
Of course she could. She was self-sufficient, his Janey. She didn't need him to carry her, to save her from a flood. But he could give her passion.
She kissed him, gave him one slow squeezing stroke, and asked, "The guest room, or yours?"
"If you're not careful," he said through clenched teeth, "you'll be standing on the stool."
"Really?" She looked interested. "We have little stools in the library," she said, smiling.
"Is that fantasy of yours, Janey? To make love among the books?"
She went from looking a little scandalized to a smile that made him laugh.
"Next time you can stand on a stool." He moved her hand away. "But not in the library."
He grabbed his pants to keep them from dropping and tripping him and led her down the hall to the room he used when he visited. When he opened the door and saw the bed, he wished they were in his apartment in D.C., with its king bed.
But, hell, she'd see that he had no furniture except for the bed and one chair. At least here the room looked like a room, not a cell. He'd have to do something about that. If Janey saw his apartment, she'd think he used it only as a place to
crash between assignments. Which he did.
He flipped the switch on the battery-operated lantern he'd left on the nightstand to low, and turned. Janey stood right behind him. She'd pulled the red dress up so her breasts were no longer exposed, but she looked well kissed.
She distracted him by running her hand up his chest, then down again.
Thoughts of apartments and lifestyle instantly left his thoughts.
He let her have her way for long moments when he thought he might just stop breathing. "Okay," he said finally, stilling her hands as she got particularly inventive.
He stepped out of the tux slacks, and said. "Turn around."
She presented her back to him. He kissed her shoulder and shoved the strap down so he could trace her flesh unimpeded. The zipper he'd closed with such difficulty unzipped so quickly the dress fell in a swoosh onto the floor. Damn, but those old boxers looked good on her. Watching over her shoulder, he saw her cover her breasts with her hands.
He laid his hands over hers and squeezed lightly. "What do you feel?" he asked.
"Your hands."
"Beneath your hands," he insisted.
She hesitated. "Me."
"Spread your fingers for me, Janey," he whispered in her ear.
He felt her comply, and watching carefully, used his fingers to rub, then gently pluck at her exposed nipples. She bit her lower lip.
Keeping his left hand on her left breast, he raised his right hand to his lips, licked his thumb and index finger, and returned them to her nipple even as he scooted closer to her back.
She hummed as he rubbed her now slick nipple.
He raised his right hand to her lips, inviting her to lick his fingers. When she did, he used them to wet her right nipple.
She scooted back against him, letting her head fall back against his shoulder, her bottom against his groin. He thrust his hips against her, trying to find some relief for his aching erection. The damn boxers she wore were in the way so he jerked them off to pool at her feel. She stepped clear, and he pulled her against him again. She reached behind herself, wedged her hand between them to pull his boxers down. His cock leaped out against her. He bent his knees enough to position himself just right to give them both a taste of pleasure.
But it wasn't enough. She seemed to agree because she spun in his arms, grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down so he could step out of them.
Dancing in the Dark: A Novella Page 4