I didn’t want the evening to be over. “We can’t leave yet.” I got up from table and took Becca’s hand. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
“Completing your Disney moment.”
I led her to the dance floor, sure every male eye in the room was flowing over every sway of her hips and the teasing bit of cleavage her gown revealed. I felt like the luckiest guy in the room.
I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to feel the heat of her body, but I kept a very small distance between us, as the dance required. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” I said, mentally thanking my parents for all the years of forcing me to attend ballroom dance lessons.
“I really can’t dance. Not this fancy stuff, anyway,” she said, biting her lip. “Electric slide, boot-scoot boogie, no problem. But this polka or whatever it is, no.”
“It’s a waltz,” I said, taking her hand. “You’ve got a good sense of rhythm. Just be quiet and follow my lead. Ready?”
I hadn’t waltzed since the Thomas’s fiftieth wedding anniversary at the Sugar Loaf Country Club when I was a sophomore in college. I knew the steps, but I’d never had a partner who made it so difficult to concentrate. Becca had a little crease of concentration between her eyebrows that I wanted to lean in and kiss. But of course I didn’t.
Before long, Becca picked up on the rhythm and simple gliding steps of the dance. I loved having the excuse to hold her this close and feel her small hand clutching mine.
“Feel like a princess yet?” I asked.
“Yeah. Totally. Guess this is what the prom is like?”
“Nope. More grinding, less dancing. And bad punch.”
I tried to keep it light, to not stare at her so much. But she was so beautiful, my eyes and my thoughts kept going to her full lips and what they would feel like under mine.
The song ended much too soon and I brought us to a graceful stop with the last beat. Everyone clapped and the orchestra switched to a more contemporary Lawrence-Welkish kind of song.
“Now, this is make-out music,” I said, making Becca laugh. I pulled her against my body so that we were thigh to thigh, hip to hip, breast to breast, and wrapped both arms around her waist to keep her there.
She didn’t hesitate, looping her arms around my neck and pressing against me. Lust surged through me and I knew I was in trouble. Becca knew her way around a guy and it wouldn’t be long before she realized just how un-platonic I was feeling at that moment. Her dress was soft under my palms, her waist tiny. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the velvet and her perfume tickled my senses. The sway of her body as she moved with me had me instantly flashing back to middle school hell marked by tuna surprise and spontaneous erections.
“If a date as cool as you had asked me to the prom, I just might have gone,” she said, smiling up at me.
“I thought I was boring.”
“Sometimes you surprise me.”
“Good to know.” She looked up at me, the lights catching her dark eyes and setting them aglow.
By the time the song ended, Becca was stifling a yawn.
“See, I’m boring you after all.”
“I’m just tired. Too much champagne and not enough sleep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Really. You’ve been a great prom date.” She smiled up at me with that certain ornery glint she had and I couldn’t resist testing the waters just a bit.
“If this was prom and you were my date and wearing that dress, we wouldn’t still be on the dance floor.”
“Oh, yeah? And just where would we be?”
“With any luck, upstairs in one of the hotel suites and wearing a lot less clothing.”
“Dillon!”
“You asked. It’s asking way too much of a seventeen-year-old guy to try to resist such a sexy, beautiful girl who lights up the whole ballroom.”
I caught my breath waiting for her response.
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes a little, studying my face. I knew she was going to see right through me.
“Well, if I was seventeen again,” she said finally, “I’d totally be swept off my feet.”
“Um. Good thing we’re not seventeen anymore.”
“Yeah. I might get the wrong idea,” she said. “And let all that sweet talk go to my head, thinking you really meant it.”
“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” I let the moment go, choosing our friendship over confession. I dipped her suddenly, making her gasp with laughter.
“Come on, Princess, let’s get home to the castle. My horse is in the shop, but I’ve got a Chevy out back.”
“It’ll do.”
She let me take her hand and I led her out of the ballroom, leaving all the magic behind us. I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed in returning to the real world. A world where I was the friend and there was a definite line Becca and I did not cross.
But I’d screw it up. I’d tip my hand and reveal my growing feelings for her and, out of her comfort zone, Becca would pull back. I knew her well enough to see she was scared to death of letting herself care for a guy. I’d just have to be patient and hope that by some miracle she’d see the light and find the same feelings for me I was beginning to realize for her.
It would all come to a head sooner or later and it would be the beginning of a whole new kind of relationship or the ending of a friendship I genuinely treasured. Equal parts anticipation and fear made me squeeze her hand a little tighter and bring it to my lips to press a soft kiss to her knuckles.
As Becca collected her purse, Mrs. Millbury winked at me. She’d seen right though me. I wondered how long it would take Becca to do the same.
Chapter Six
When I realized I was wearing a big puffy gown and a diamond tiara, I knew I was dreaming. But then Dillon rode in on his white horse wearing tights and a green velvet doublet with his cloak billowing out behind him in slow motion, and I didn’t care.
Dillon climbed off his horse with that look in his eye. The one that said I was the only girl in the universe and that he was going to have his way with me. And I was going to let him.
I had tiny white flowers laced through my hair, rosy cheeks, and pink lips. My heart fluttered in my chest as I watched his slow, confident approach. His sword hung at his side, his cloak slung over his shoulders in Prince Charming fashion.
Around us, the forest was bright with morning sunlight, green and lush and popping with wildflowers in pinks and reds and yellows. Butterflies fluttered on the breeze just out of reach and birds tweeted their mating calls from low-slung branches at the edge of the clearing.
I had been sitting on the edge of gilded bench that someone had just happened to place there in the wilderness and when Dillon neared, I rose to my slippered feet to meet him.
He took my delicate hand in his gloved one and without a word led me to a little cottage I hadn’t noticed before. It had a thatched roof, an arched wooden door and flowerboxes bursting with pink tulips.
He pushed the door open and led me inside. I had expected a warm fire, rustic furnishings, and maybe a low bed strewn with rose petals. Instead, when we crossed the threshold, the room transformed into a luxury hotel suite.
I looked down and found myself no longer a princess, but wearing a pink prom dress with layers of ruffles and tulle. Dillon wore a tux with a matching pink cummerbund and bowtie. He had a white carnation pinned to the lapel and looked like something out of a bad ’80s movie, but he still wore the intense stare that said having me was his only objective.
In a flash we were naked. His body was so masculine and perfect that I simply stared for a moment, taking it all in. He moved first, tugging me close. His fingers slid into the hair at the nape of my neck and he tipped my lips up to accept his kiss.
Waltz music swelled as his mouth moved confidently over mine, tasting, sucking, teasing, setting my senses on fire.
I was consumed by his touch, his taste, and the need blossoming inside me. W
armth spread though my limbs, my chest and low in my belly. Blood rushed through my veins, setting my skin to tingling anywhere it met Dillon’s.
At last he lifted his head and seemed to be trying to tell me something, but for some reason he didn’t speak. Instead, he led me to an enormous bed, at least ten times the size of a normal bed. I have no idea how it fit in the hotel room, but as soon as my bare flesh touched satin, it didn’t matter.
He lay beside me in the middle of our soft, cloudlike nest, cradled my face in his big, warm hands and kissed me until I squirmed beneath him. One thigh slipped between mine, giving me the pressure I needed and I arched against him, needing even more.
His hands left my face to trace the line of my jaw, then down the column of my throat. His mouth followed, pressing soft, wet kisses against my burning skin.
I shoved my fingers into his soft hair and threw my head back to allow him full access. He nipped and kissed his way to my collarbone and used his tongue to trace the line to my shoulder, where he bit me lightly, playfully.
My nipples were hard pebbles pushing up in anticipation of his touch. He cupped the underside of my breast and used his tongue to trace the peak of first one, then the other. Goose flesh erupted over my skin and I gripped his hair tighter between my fingers.
When he took the over-sensitized nipple into his warm mouth to suckle lightly, then nip before laving again with his soft tongue, I know I called out his name. I wanted to beg him for more, but before Dream Becca could form the words, Dillon was moving further south, licking a line down my belly. He shifted to kneel between my thighs and when he lowered his head to taste me, my senses exploded in heat and need.
The light scruff of his jaw tickled the sensitive skin of my inner thighs while he caressed my opening with his tongue and lips. He touched me with his fingers, too, spreading my wetness all the way up to my swollen clit. He pressed me gently, sending ribbons of fire spiraling upward through my body. Then I felt his finger slip inside me as he brought his mouth to my aching center and sucked gently.
I floated on a sea of sensation, his hot fingers pleasuring me inside while his mouth did amazing things to me outside.
I felt the pressure gathering sweetly, centering on my sex, and I wordlessly urged Dillon to hurry.
He slid up my body, putting pressure on all the points of my anatomy that cried out for it most. At last I cradled his slim hips between my thighs and he was kissing me again. My own musky scent on his lips and tongue was an aphrodisiac that sent my hips trusting upwards, begging him for satisfaction.
When he slid inside me, hard and scorching hot, he didn’t disappoint. I groaned his name and wrapped my legs around his waist to bring him all the way home.
He moved slowly at first, looking into my eyes as he circled his hips, driving me wild. I stroked his biceps where he strained over me, loving the play of moving steel under satin as he flexed with each thrust.
I cried out, clenching, needing more, and he answered by moving faster. Slick friction built between us, touching every nerve ending, singeing them. I arched up, so hot, so tense, I didn’t think I could take any more.
Dillon ground harder, driving into me in smooth long strokes that took my breath away with their intensity. At last the tension built to a frenzied peak. My muscles tightened, trembling at the effort. Pressure increased from the inside out and with one big wave released in hot liquid pleasure that turned all those muscles into mush. I was lightheaded, laughing and crying at the intense pleasure that wracked my body. Above me, Dillon stiffened, too, and felt his hot release deep inside me.
I panted—breathless, sweaty, and totally sated. Dillon stretched over me, exhausted and damp with perspiration. And still hard. He tossed me a wicked grin and began to move all over again.
This time he spoke.
“Becca? Becca? Are you alright?”
He shook me gently, them more firmly.
“Becca, wake up.”
I opened my eyes to Dillon standing over my bed. Light from the hallway spilled into my dark bedroom. I blinked, confused for a moment.
“Dillon?” I sat up, pulling the covers up to my chin.
He was dressed in a pair of sweats and a Nashville Predators T-shirt. His hair was sticking up at an odd angle and he was frowning down at me with concern.
“Are you okay? I heard you calling for me and thought you were hurt or something. Were you having a nightmare?”
Flashes of my dream played though my head and I smiled weakly. “Yeah. Bad dream. Uh, thanks for checking on me. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” He absently scratched his chest and I remembered how his skin had tasted in the dream. I wet my lips.
He lingered for a moment longer, looking down at me with a gaze very similar to the one he’d worn in the forest glen: hot, possessive, and determined. I felt my nipples harden into peaks beneath my white cami and stifled a groan.
“Night, Dillon,” I said and rolled over, away from him.
“Goodnight, Becca,” he said softly, padding towards the door. “Sleep tight.”
He paused in the doorway, though, and looked back over his shoulder at me. “I’m cooking tomorrow night. Dinner’s at seven. I have something I want to tell you.”
“Okay.” I would have agreed to anything to get him out of my bedroom at that moment so I could have my nervous breakdown in private.
“Good. See you then.” Dillon closed the door behind him and I lay in bed listening to him walk to his own room and shut his door.
I groaned and shoved he covers off my burning skin. I’d had hot dreams before but nothing to match the intensity and realism of this one.
I lay looking at the ceiling for a long time, wondering what to do. Obviously, seeing Dillon in the buff was seriously affecting my psyche. Did I really want to have sex with Dillon? Judging from my damp panties and the way my skin still tingled, yeah, I totally wanted to nail my roommate.
That wasn’t cool. I mean, he was Dillon, not just some random guy. It was weird to think about. But, if I was totally honest, pretty hot, too.
I shook my head. It was just a dream. Nothing more. I had to put it out of my head if I was going to be able to face Dillon over the breakfast table without picturing him naked. And wet. And holding a big sword.
I pulled the covers over my head and forced myself to imagine something else. Something unsexy, like stale beer or bad Elvis impersonators.
But it was still a long time before the sensation of his touch on my skin, his lips on my throat and everywhere else faded enough for me to fall asleep. If this kept up, I was in real trouble. Something had to give.
* * *
By the time I got home from work after a long bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived day, dinner was ready. I wanted to crawl in bed and just sleep until all my problems disappeared, but I’d promised to do dinner with Dillon and I would.
“Hey,” I said, pulling out a chair.
“Hey.”
“That smells awesome.”
“I told you so. When are you going to learn to listen to me?”
A hint of our old camaraderie welled between us. Maybe it would all be fine, after all. “So sorry, Mr. MBA.”
He rolled his eyes. “Could you pour the champagne?”
“Champagne? Seriously?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“What’s the occasion?” I unscrewed the lid and filled two juice glasses since we didn’t own any wine glasses.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, grinning like a fool. Something was up.
“I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”
“It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s good. Really good.”
Dillon brought our plates to the scarred little table and I grabbed a couple of forks and napkins. Spaghetti and meatballs. My favorite. The scent of crusty garlic bread and Dillon’s special pasta sauce set my mouth watering.
“Oh my God. That smells delicious.”
Dillon smiled at me. “Thanks.”
I met his
eyes for the first time in days and knew we were on the road back to normal.
“So, what’s this big news?” I asked. “I can’t stand waiting.”
“Hmm, I could make you suffer a little,” he said, grinning.
“Dillon. So help me…”
“All right, all right.” He sipped his wine, sprinkled some parmesan cheese on his spaghetti and straightened his fork just to make me squirm. “I got a call from the booking manager at Tootsies. Road Kill is on the schedule for the end of November.”
I couldn’t help it; I actually squealed. “That’s awesome!”
Before I could think better of it, I ran over to where he was standing next to his chair and threw my arms around him in a big hug.
He wrapped his arms around me and we both froze. I’d hugged Dillon dozens of time in friendship but it was different now. An image of the last time I’d been in his arms flashed through my head. Seeing him naked and ready in the bathroom. That dream of him putting his mouth and hands on me and loving me until I melted like a popsicle in hell.
He was the first one to move, sliding a trembling hand over the thin cotton of my sweater. His hand was warm on my back, comforting and disconcerting at the same time.
My breath caught and all my senses went on high alert.
I could feel his body tense, too, but he didn’t pull away, as enthralled by the sensation as I was.
His grip on me tightened for a minute, then he pulled back just a little to look at me.
“You were the first person I wanted to tell, Becca.”
There was no hint of my friend’s boyish grin now. Just a man wearing an intense expression of longing and lust that sent my heart into an abnormal rhythm.
My arms were wrapped around his neck before I knew it, my fingers stroking the hair at his nape, making small circles there, mirroring his light caress on my back. It was dangerous territory. I knew it and he knew it. But that didn’t make us pull back from the precipice, willing to tempt ourselves just that one extra moment, willing to pay for it later.
I wondered for one crazy second what it would be like to kiss Dillon for real. My gaze went to his full lips.
Nashville Naughty Page 6