“No.” I waved her off and lifted my glass. “I’m good. Just got one. You go ahead.”
I glanced down the line of her back as she leaned over the bar. Wide straps criss-crossed to form cutouts in the fabric of the back as well, and smooth material hugged the curve of her hips and ass. Her body petite but curvy, I wanted to run my hands all over that fabric.
God, she looked gorgeous. It was almost unreal.
She turned to me, holding a glass of wine she had obviously ordered at some point during my ogling.
“Sorry,” I apologized through a tight throat. “I was…”
She raised an eyebrow pointedly, a knowing grin on her face. “Staring at my ass.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”
She laughed.
“It’s a really fine ass, though. And your hair…”
She grabbed a strand of it self-consciously, twisting it around her finger. “Oh. Yeah. I have a thing for dyeing my hair. I’m not sure why, but I tend to change it like a hobby. Red or blonde or sometimes—”
“Georgia?”
She finally took a breath. “Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. You look beautiful. Own it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, but her face relaxed.
From there on out, she seemed herself: funny, sometimes awkward, but mostly at ease.
We worked the room, schmoozing all of the people who needed it and small-talking with the others. Unable to help myself, I kept a hand on Georgia all night.
Her hand in mine, my palm at the small of her back, a set of my flexing fingers on her perfect hip. Anything to touch her. Anything to keep her in close proximity.
Finally done with my obligations, I asked her something that’d been on my mind all night.
“Would you like to dance?”
She seemed surprised. “You dance?”
“With you, yes.”
“I swear,” she whispered with a shake of her head. “Do you secretly have one of those things on your wrist that Coca-Cola wears?”
I grinned in confusion.
Her eyes searched mine like I held all the power, a sheen of fear coating them with moisture.
Only then did I realize she meant the quarterback’s playbook cheat sheet.
I took her cheek in my palm, smoothing a thumb over the apple of it softly.
Apparently, when it came to Georgia Cummings and tonight, I’d been doing just fine.
“Come on,” I coaxed, setting my drink down on a nearby table, pulling her onto the dance floor with me, and pressing her body right to mine.
Hands clasped together, I pulled them into my chest and wrapped my other arm tightly around the curve of her hip.
Her eyes followed mine and mine followed hers, a closed loop of exploration into each other. The moment picked up speed as the band played a sweet and melodic tune, and the rest of the room faded completely away.
My chest felt tight with anticipation of what was to come—right now, in this moment, and beyond, as I gave myself over to getting to know this amazing woman.
Our weight shifted from foot to foot and our hips swayed, very much moving but, at the same time, fighting with everything we had to stay stagnantly lost in that moment.
Without thought or delay, I leaned in, touching my lips to hers for a full second before I felt the tension leave her body and her eyes fluttered closed.
Tentative but bold, her lips began to move under mine, exploring on their own rather than waiting for my invitation.
I abandoned her hand at my chest immediately and sought the solace of her hair instead, entrenching my hand and using its leverage to pull her lips even closer.
A sigh bounced from her mouth to mine as I focused on her bottom lip, pulling it between my own and sucking ever so slightly.
She tasted like the sweet cherry notes of her wine, and my tongue shot out to lick up another drop. When the tip of her tongue touched mine, everything else was lost.
Time.
Space.
All sense of propriety and appropriateness for a crowded dance floor at a Children’s Hospital benefit. My hand left her hip, circling around on a path straight for the cheek of her ass.
When the corners of her lips tipped up despite their connection to mine, I knew I’d never experienced anything sexier than a woman unable to withhold a smile while we kissed.
“Kline,” she whispered, pulling away and smiling without inhibition.
Just the way she said my name had me groaning.
“God, I know. Not the time.” I pulled her close to me and practically dragged the two of us off the dance floor. The band had started to transition into an old Grand Funk Railroad song, “Some Kind of Wonderful,” anyway. In the haze of my peripheral vision, I could see other couples head in the direction we’d just come, and amongst the shuffle and swing of their active bodies, our lip-locked, fully intertwined ones would have been even more obvious.
I grabbed Georgia’s wrist lightly, and her pulse thrummed and fluttered under the tips of my fingers. The feeling made my grip tighten minutely as I turned her to face me.