Soon enough, though, I just get lost in the music. I don’t even realize that a tall, blond guy has moved in close to dance with me, and when I do, I start to move away. But then I think, fuck it. We’re supposed to be playing the role of siblings, right?
And, yeah, maybe some part of me wants Dallas to see. To have the tiniest inkling of what it was like for me every time I saw one of those women at his side. And it’s not like I’m going to fuck the guy. But I am touching him, our hips brushing as we move to the music. Our bodies finding the music as I wish that he was Dallas and that I was grinding hard against him. And it’s only when Dallas moves in and roughly shoves the guy out of the way that I realize just how much I’ve gotten to him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s leaning in close because he has to practically shout to be heard over the band.
I hold on to his shoulder for balance as I answer. “Dancing.”
“Dammit, Jane. You—”
“No. No. You’re the one I want to dance with. Hell, you’re the one I want to press against,” I add. “To kiss.” And then, because I’ve drunk too damn much, I move in closer, then grind against him before boldly lowering my hand to brush his erection.
“Christ, Jane.” He pushes me away, then roughly pulls me back.
And even though I know it’s a mistake, I rise up onto my toes and close my mouth over his.
I’m not sure what I intended. Maybe just a quick, chaste brush of lips. A tease.
Dallas doesn’t take it that way. He’s had as much to drink as I have, maybe more, and between us we’re a walking billboard for impaired reason. Because god knows he shouldn’t be sliding his arm around my waist. Shouldn’t be pulling me close. Shouldn’t be slanting his mouth over mine and sliding his tongue inside, kissing me deep and hard and making me so goddamn wet right here on the dance floor.
He shouldn’t, but he is. And only when the bright flash of cameras breaks through my haze and reality finally crashes through my addled brain do I realize the consequences and push him away from me.
But it’s too late. We’ve been recognized, and camera phones are still snapping and people nearby are pointing and yelling, and though I can’t hear what they’re saying over the band, I don’t stay to find out. Instead, I turn away, ignoring both Nikki and Sylvia who reach for me, and race out of the VIP section.
I shove through the crowd, or at least I try to. But it’s only when bouncers open a path that I am finally able to move, and I realize belatedly that Damien and Dallas are ahead of me, and that Damien’s had security clear us a path.
Dallas and Jackson are on either side of me as Damien holds the door open and says something to the bouncer, who signals for the limo to pull up.
The driver steps out to open the door, and we start to hustle that way. “Just take it,” I hear Damien say. “I can get another one easily enough.”
“Thanks, man,” Dallas says. “I can’t—”
But Damien just shakes his head. “I don’t need an explanation.” He turns and smiles at me. “It was great meeting you, Jane. You’re going to be just fine.”
I somehow manage to respond, and Dallas and I head across the parking lot to the limo. But we don’t make it.
Someone inside must have made a call, because now the small crowd of reporters and paparazzi that had been hanging around outside the club hoping for pictures of Damien Stark or the band or Dallas has turned feral, and I can feel my panic rising. I can’t believe that I’ve done this. That I started this avalanche. Me, who only wants to be in control. Who fantasized about being open in my relationship with Dallas, but never, ever wanted this. The media. The attention. All the trappings and bullshit.
But that’s what we have, and now the press is surrounding us like a pack of dogs, and although Damien and his security guys tell them to back off, they continue to shout questions and flash pictures.
Finally, Dallas simply stops. “Come on, folks,” he says. “There’s not a damn thing to see here. You people know my reputation. Bad boy billionaire, right?”
“Are you fucking your sister now, Dallas?” one bold reporter asks. “Doesn’t get much more bad boy than that.”
Dallas points a finger at him, and I watch as his face changes to the personable media whore that he plays so well. “You have to admit she’s gorgeous, even as sisters go. But what you guys witnessed was a dare—nothing more. Somebody dared me to kiss my sister like I kiss all my women.” He lifts a shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll give me shit for it later, but I never turn down a dare. Especially when money’s on the table.”
“How much money?”
“Who dared you?”
“So is your brother a good kisser, Jane?”