He looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight. “Body language,” he murmured. “Finish your drink.”
“Right now?”
He tipped his glass, then emptied it in one long swallow. When he was done, he set it down and waved off another. Then he pulled her in again. “You can’t leave it on the bar, so yes.”
She studied him, but had zero luck reading his expression. “If you want to go…with someone else, you don’t have to babysit me.”
“Sweetheart, if what I’m about to do feels like babysitting, then I’m doing it wrong.” Or at least that was what she thought he said. The music was ridiculously loud, but she was starting to like the visceral beat. Besides, it gave her an out if some creep started hitting on her. She’d just pretend she couldn’t hear him.
Easy.
Easier than pretending she didn’t think Sawyer was the best-looking guy in the room. Or trying to reconcile the fact that, agreement or not, he was there with her.
He watched her, his gaze resting lazily on her with a confidence that made her want to melt into the floor. He looked as if he wanted to eat her alive, and not for the first time, she wondered how she’d ever come down from this. Granted, she knew he was playing a game. She just couldn’t imagine that feral look in the eye of a man who had marriage and a 401k on his mind. Nope, that look was all about straight-up sex.
Wild, filthy, backed-up-against-the-wall sex. The kind he’d promised in the cab. But that promise wasn’t for her, and if the first thirty minutes of this date had taught her anything, it was that she’d do well to remember that.
She finished her drink, wholly self-conscious because that confidence of his had her on edge. As soon as her shoes hit the floor, he had her hand. He led her to a somewhat quieter corner and pulled her into his arms. Full-body contact. God, it was delicious and warm, and he smelled heavenly. Like soap and clean sheets. And if there was anyone who ever needed to smell like something other than fresh linen, it was him. Automatically, she loosely draped her arms around his neck. Worst case, she could smack him in the back of his head with her wristlet. Her phone was in there… That could pack a punch.
“Lesson number one,” he said, and she realized they were already swaying. Dancing slow to an upbeat song…reason number one to melt.
“I thought we did the first three lessons this morning,” she said.
“Dance lesson number one, then,” he said. “Don’t twerk.”
Her jaw loosened. “You seriously think you need to tell me that? Me, who has to be taught how to move at all?”
He pressed his lips against her ear. “I don’t think you need to be taught a damned thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m just playing dumb, so you’ll keep touching me like this.”
Amusement touched his lips. “Back to twerking.”
“No twerking.”
“Yeah, I might have mentioned that. Forget all the wild stuff, and don’t be self-conscious about it.” He slid a hand down her back, evoking chills. “There is nothing sexier than bedroom moves on the dance floor.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Slow and sensual. Touch yourself.”
She gaped at him. “I’m sorry?”
He spun her around so her back was to him and flattened his palms on her stomach, then slid them against the satiny fabric of her dress until his fingertips were dangerously close to the apex of her thighs.
Her breath caught and held. Eventually he’d have to move them and…oh God. He traced her hip, then lower, then dragged that slow, sensual touch—along with her hemline—to her waist. She watched, breathless, as he released the silky fabric and the exposed expanse of thigh disappeared.
“Now you try,” he murmured into her ear.
“You want me to do that?” God, she’d never catch her breath again.
“Bonus points if you grind your ass against me while you do.”
She glanced back at him, startled. But never more so than when her face actually touched his from where he’d been bent over her shoulder, whispering instructions. They were two inches from kissing, she a half second from a meltdown.
And it terrified her.
She jerked her attention back to the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor, immediately zeroing in on a painfully familiar face. The guy from the dog park—the one who thought Sawyer was her brother—stared at them with a mixture of shock and disbelief. And while some part of her wanted to shake off Sawyer’s sensual grip and explain, a bigger part of her didn’t want to leave his embrace. Because being this close to Sawyer broke every rule in her book, but the reality of that did nothing to dispel the need churning inside her. He hadn’t relented on touching her, and the only thing between them other than their clothing was enough sexual tension to sink a ship.
“You’ve got a wedding to attend, sweetheart.” His voice was husky. Sexual. “You might want to play ball.”
No, she wanted to play ball because if she didn’t get away from him and his lessons, she’d be screwed without ever hitting a mattress. She took a deep breath.
Dog Park Guy gawked.
She didn’t care.
“Let me give you a hand,” Sawyer said, jerking her back to reality.
Just what she needed. She half hoped he’d start clapping, but no such luck. Instead that big, work-roughened hand of his closed over hers and ever so fucking slowly moved across her abdomen. Her entire body was plastered to his, and the quiet tempo they kept against the much faster beat of the music made her ovaries quake. She’d probably never been so turned on in her life, and that was before their joined hands crept lower.
It was because she and Sawyer were so wrong for each other. Had to be.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “Feel it.”
She felt it all right. But she closed her eyes anyway, and despite knowing she was in forbidden territory, she relaxed against him, dropping her head back against his shoulder and letting him take over. His fingertips, laced with hers, dragged a dangerous path from her thigh to her center, and a rush of cool air left her wondering if she’d just exposed herself.
She opened her lids and found herself locked in eye contact with a man several feet away—a man who wasn’t under the impression her brother had his hands on her. A dozen people passed between them, but New Guy never looked away. Jitters made her smile. Like an idiot.
The man smiled back.
The song ended, though she wasn’t sure why that mattered since they hadn’t been anywhere close to its rhythm, and Sawyer released her.
Just like that. No reluctance, no shaking limbs. How was that possible when she was such a mess?
She turned, dazed, to find him standing there, cocky and unaffected.
“I guarantee if you go out there and do that, you’ll have your choice of men.” He sounded like he was wrapping up a documentary. God, he really was a jerk, and now she felt like a fool.
She forced back her irritation. “What if no one asks me to dance?” As she spoke, she watched him watch a woman walk by.
For a minute, she didn’t think he’d heard her, but after the woman had disappeared into the crowd, he eased his attention back Kelsie’s way. “Confidence, babe. What do you care? You do you, and they’ll be standing in line.”
“So all that, and you’re sending me out on my own?”
His eyes touched a shade darker, but he shrugged. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”
“Yeah.” To get played. He hadn’t even been trying to seduce her. He wasn’t supposed to try, but all that stuff he’d done to her had her melting, and he was utterly unaffected. And then he’d told her to go.
She spun away from him, brushing off the sting. Until he touched her arm.
Whatever look she gave him when she turned propelled him a step back.
“What?” she demanded. Probably a bit too harshly, but she was hurt and mad at herself for feeling that way.
His gaze darkened. Hardened. “Don’t accept a drin
k from anyone but the bartender,” he said. “And don’t let it out of your sight.”
“Is that all?” Some part of her wanted him to drag her back into his arms. Bad idea, but it wouldn’t be the first. The first had been thinking she could get through seven dates with this man and not be attracted to him. But that had been more than a bad idea… It had been an outright lie. She’d been attracted to him from the moment he’d stood dripping wet in her kitchen, a knight in soaked blue jeans.
Or maybe just an opportunist.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s it.”
“Good,” she said.
And left.
…
Sawyer stood in the shadows where Kelsie left him, not the least bit surprised when that jackass who’d been watching her dance was the first to approach her. Apparently, her giant birth-control glasses weren’t the deterrent Sawyer had thought they might be. The man glanced at Sawyer as he spoke.
She didn’t.
Sawyer caught the bartender’s eye and gestured for another one. One more glance at Kelsie gave him an eyeful of that guy’s hand resting on her waist. Sawyer wondered if she liked it. If she trembled for that guy, or if the asshat would press his cheek against her just for the chance to breathe in her scent. Sawyer thought about his drink. He should have asked for a double, but as thirsty as he was, he’d find his way to distraction fast enough. No doubt.
By the time he cut through the crowd at the bar, his drink was waiting for him. “That your girl?” Harry, the bartender, asked. He sounded skeptical, and for good reason. He’d known Sawyer for months.
“No one ever is,” Sawyer said. He threw back the drink, trying—and failing—to chase the bitterness from his throat.
“That’s what I thought, at least until I saw the two of you over there.”
“She’s nothing,” Sawyer said. He smacked the empty glass on the bar a bit harder than he intended. “Double,” he said. “And why the fuck are you down here talking to me? You have a hundred people waiting for drinks.”
“They don’t tip as well as you,” he said. “And I’m not the only one serving up drinks, but I am the one who’s known you the longest.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Harry grabbed the whiskey and poured a double shot before topping it off with Coke. “Those of us on this side of the bar figured I’d be the one to get the fact that you’re actually seeing someone out of you.”
Sawyer scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”
Harry’s brow lifted. “The way you’re watching her with that other guy suggests otherwise.”
“Half the men in here are watching her.”
“Can you blame them? That woman is a work of art.”
Sawyer tore his attention from Kelsie to glare at the bartender, who started laughing before wisely moving down the line, leaving Sawyer alone with his drink and his thoughts. And a damned good view of a woman who looked nothing like her usual mummified self. Her little black number wasn’t a standout in a crowd that was packed with a hundred variations of short and sparkly, but it didn’t matter. Kelsie, inexplicably, was a beacon. Despite the lack of caked-on makeup, she should have blended in with the crowd, but instead she beckoned him without even trying. And maybe that was it. Normally when a woman caught his eye, it was a blatant invitation. Kelsie, with her fresh face and increasingly exuberant smile, was a knockout—one who didn’t seem too damned interested in him. And he hated how hard that sucked.
Screw that.
The redhead who’d approached him earlier caught his eye. She was dancing with some other woman, both too drunk to do anything but bounce off of each other and anyone who happened to be nearby. She winked.
He looked away.
Unfortunately, right back to Kelsie. He didn’t even see the man she was with. Just the long expanse of leg that stretched between the hem of her dress and those damned shoes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed a woman’s shoes before, but he wanted to take those off her feet with his teeth. Or maybe leave them on while he drove into her, her legs slung over his shoulders while she fisted sheets and screamed his name. Of course, the way she moved, she’d probably blow his mind with something slow and sexy. He could already see that long, lithe body stretched out on his bed, curving against his, crisp sheets twisted, kisses not coming fast enough.
Jesus Christ.
Sawyer probably looked like some kind of stalker glaring from the shadows, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her every sway was a seduction. She moved like an angel—or the devil incarnate—and he wasn’t the only one noticing those slow, sexy undulations. One guy cut in, then another. The way she maneuvered out there on that floor made him achy and feverish, and that had to be the alcohol. He couldn’t believe the motions were foreign to her. Three whole songs passed, and she never even looked his way. Then her dance partner pointed toward the bar, and as she looked up, her gaze tripped over Sawyer’s.
Though every predatory, possessive jackass cell in his body demanded otherwise, he didn’t flinch.
She hesitated, but only until the guy tugged on her hand. At first, Sawyer thought he was taking her to the bar, but the guy nodded to someone and led her toward the back. Sawyer momentarily lost sight of them. Then he saw Kelsie ducking into a doorway. Alone.
The ladies’ room.
Sawyer took a deep breath, too goddamned aware of how he’d felt when he thought she was about to get screwed sideways in the supply room. He stood there, his limbs threaded with tension, ready to wipe some guy off the planet, and all because he’d shown Kelsie the way to the restroom.
He needed a fucking grip.
Kelsie emerged a moment later, saw him, and froze.
Yeah, like that would last. The last guy hadn’t dragged her to the back room, but that didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t. This time he didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t care how he looked. He just closed the distance between them and took her hand.
“Come with me,” he said. “Now.”
Chapter Five
Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. After the heat of the club, the cool air stole Kelsie’s breath, but not nearly as effectively as Sawyer did. She’d remained largely indifferent to the guys with whom she’d danced. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had a great time—she had—but not one of them compared to Sawyer. All the brazen flirting had nothing on Sawyer’s subtle seduction, the stroke of his palms and curling of his fingers dragging her to the edge of insanity. Maybe that saying about wanting what you couldn’t have was true.
But she could have Sawyer. At least for one night. She just didn’t want to be another proverbial notch on his bedpost—or the humiliation of being dumped and awkwardly bumping into him in the building halls, which would come afterwards. He could stand there all night making her tremble under that fierce, possessive gaze, and that wouldn’t change. And however sexy that brooding, pissed-off stance of his was, she wouldn’t let it kill her mood. He was into the chase—he wasn’t at all into her.
“I thought you could use some air,” he said. The words were terse. Gritty.
“There’s air inside,” she said. The rain had her glasses sliding down her nose. She pushed them back, frustrated.
“And men?”
The loaded, pointed question irritated her. “Isn’t that the point of what we’re doing here?”
“Yeah,” he said. Bitterly.
His irritation confused her. “Was I doing something wrong?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“What?”
“How beautiful you are. Every man in there wanted you.”
Oh. Another line. But was he…jealous? “And for that you need air?”
He didn’t say anything. Just gave her that hard stare. Then he said, “I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”
She crossed her arms. Raindrops fell and staggered lazily to the valley that formed between her breasts. “So in other words, you’re worried someone will treat me, I don’t kn
ow, the way you would? Given half the chance, I mean.”
“Believe me,” he said darkly, “I got the message about that yesterday.”
The tinge of hurt in his voice caught her off guard. “I should thank you—”
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he said. He stood there in the spitting mist, like he didn’t notice the rain, staring at her like she represented some mystery he didn’t understand. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
And then she realized something. “That’s not one of your lines, is it? You really believe I’m beautiful?”
She waited for a smile. A laugh. Anything to break the moment into manageable pieces, but instead it loomed, scary big. And she wasn’t sure why. Not until she realized he was going to kiss her.
And that she wanted him to.
The light staccato of rain hitting the pavement didn’t come close to drowning the beat of her heart. She watched him close the distance and convinced herself the tremble that overtook her was the cold. Definitely not him. Not with the warmth of the fingers that threaded through her wet hair, capturing her breath. He paused there, his head slanted inches from hers, giving her every chance in the world to stop him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Instead, her brown eyes fluttered closed under the heat of his green ones, and it was all the invitation he needed. His lips touched hers, a soft brush that left her shaky and needy. Wanting more. And he gave it. He slanted his head, and on the heels of her gasp he deepened the kiss. Slowly, passionately, he tasted her. No games. No teasing. Just an all-consuming desire that had her melting into him, electricity coursing through her like lightning while she stood, drenched, in a damned puddle.
Dangerous was an understatement.
The last shred of restraint she harbored thinned and snapped, and she gave in. Gave fully. Couldn’t breathe from her want of him.
Knew. Better.
When the kiss broke, she was left breathless. Bewildered. And it wasn’t just her. The look on his face suggested he’d been hit by the same truck.
For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) Page 5