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I’m shocked that he would agree to let me anywhere near a club after the attack.
Maybe this is the first step to finding a functional relationship that works for us.
Maybe this marriage isn’t entirely doomed.
The bass is pounding as fog sweeps its way across the floor.
I run my hands along my body as my hips sway to the music.
Christian watches me from a few feet away at a table, the corner of his mouth twitching.
He sips on his drink as another man approaches the table and takes a seat.
I move toward my husband, but he gives a slight shake of his head and tips his drink toward me.
As I dance, I watch them talk, their heads bent close together. They laugh together, whispering some more before the other man leaves.
Christian finishes his drink before joining me.
His hand presses against the middle of my back as he pulls my body close to his.
He sets the pace as I put my hands on his shoulders.
His hips sway, his forehead pressed against mine.
“Are you still mad at me?” His voice is deep. Low.
I run my hands up his shoulders, linking them together behind his neck. “It’s not worth it.”
He pulls back, a strange expression crossing his face. “I’m sorry, Zoe. I won’t do that to you again.”
“Good.”
Christian spins me around before pulling me back to him.
His body presses against mine in all the right places.
Maybe it’s the drink I had going to my head, or the high I get any time I perform, but I want him.
Even if our relationship is never going to be anything more than a casual friendship, I can’t deny that I want him.
I try to push what I saw from Christian last night to the side.
All I want right now is to pretend that we’re a normal married couple just out for a good night together. Tomorrow morning, I can go back to figuring out how to deal with all the different facets of Christian.
His hands slide up and down my curves before he dips me low.
When Christian pulls me back up to him, I feel the heat building between us.
He gives me a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” His voice is throaty as he trails his nose along the side of my neck.
“Just a whiskey before I went on stage.” I tilt my head back as his mouth starts to take the same path as his nose.
“Good.” He pulls back to look at me for a moment, his heated gaze dropping to my mouth. “Me too.”
His mouth captures mine, the taste of whiskey on his lips.
