“Holy fuck, Angie,” he growled, and I knew that I had won.
“Evan.” That one soft word was like taking a match to dynamite, and I saw the fire ignite inside him. His hand slid around to my lower back and he yanked me close. I pressed against him, so hot with need it was a wonder I wasn’t reduced to ashes. I felt the hard length of his erection press against me and thought I might cry, simply from the knowledge that he was as desperate for me as I was for him.
I’d truly never felt anything like this. As if each vein, each hair, each atom inside me existed for no purpose other than to spread pleasure through me. So much pleasure that I wasn’t sure I could withstand the force of it. This was everything I’d wanted. Everything I’d imagined I would feel when Evan finally touched me. But it was so fast and so hard and so overwhelming that I was on the verge of exploding.
Either that or stripping off my clothes and pulling him down to the floor right then and there.
And that probably wasn’t the most prudent of plans.
Breathing hard, I backed away, increasing the space between our bodies. I saw the question on his face, the dark disapproval at our broken connection, and before that could shift to regret, or prudence or responsibility, I moved back to him, pressing my body against his torso and my hands over his ass. For the first time, it registered with me that he’d changed clothes. The tuxedo was gone. The man in front of me wore simple Levis and an even simpler white T-shirt that exposed the vine tattoo that encircled his upper arm.
He looked young and hot and completely fuckable, and once again I was blown away by the fact that he was here. With me. A very literal fantasy come true.
I felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat and knew that he was real. I swayed against him, moving in time with the music—and then realized that Evan wasn’t doing the same. “Dance with me,” I pleaded, edging toward the dance floor.
His gaze raked slowly over me, leaving me feeling fully exposed and very needy. “I don’t dance.”
“Oh.” My chest tightened, and suddenly I was afraid that all this—whatever “this” was—was going away.
Then his mouth curved up into a slow, sensual grin and he slid his hands along my waist and over my hips, the friction making a flurry of sparks between us. “But I think you’re doing a good enough job for the both of us.”
“Yeah?”
“Dance for me, Angie.” His voice was low and firm, and the command I heard was undeniable.
I’d been doing exactly that, but now my moves seemed more sensual, more erotic.
I was aware of Evan’s eyes on me, the heat of his gaze burning through me, giving me confidence to flirt, to beg, to tease in time with the music. Never had I been more aware of my body—or of the effect I was having on a man.
Damn Jahn for what he’d wanted or feared or forbidden. Right then I didn’t care. There was no way in hell I was letting Evan Black get away from me tonight. I needed this. Hell, I needed him.
And if the way he was watching me was any indication, I was pretty sure he needed me, too.
I danced even closer, my breasts brushing his chest, one arm going around his neck. I eased myself up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his ear. “There are all sorts of ways to dance,” I murmured, as I cupped my free hand over his crotch and felt the hard steel of his erection straining against his jeans. “So tell me, Evan. Are you sure you don’t want to dance with me?”
six
His eyes went dark, and I was afraid that I’d pushed him too far. That he was going to blink, and then we’d suddenly be just two people on a dance floor in a sleazy bar without this heat, this tug, pulling us together.