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“Well that all depends on how good you can dance,” I flirt, surprising myself.
“I happen to be a very good dancer,” he smirks, eyes flashing with mischief, as his fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently, scattering goosebumps down my spine.
“We’ll see,” I whisper back, “Because I happen to really like men who can dance.”
Time stills, neither of us breaching the gap, and that makes me bold knowing he is respectful enough not to push me despite how he feels. Leaning in, I ever so slightly brush my lips against his. A groan parts his lips, his fingers tightening in my hair.
“Fuck, Lia,” he mumbles as I draw back, biting on my lip. “You sure could give a man a heart attack.”
Christ knows what’s gotten into me, but whatever it is, I like it. “Don’t die on me just yet, we still need that dance,” I joke. “Shall we go inside?”
“We better had,” he says, shaking his head with a rueful smile.
NINETEEN
DRIX
True to my word, I don’t act like a possessive prick when Lia dances with my friends. She even accepts Dalton’s offer of a dance, and it takes every last bit of self-control not to rip her out of his arms and punch him for daring to touch what’s mine.
Fuck, I’ve got it bad.
But her happiness, her laughter, her smiles and the way she sings along to all the covers the band plays stops me from acting like a prick. I’ve never seen her so alive, and I’ve spent most of the night watching her in awe. I won’t lie, the four shots of straight vodka have helped. It’s just as well I’m built, because despite the high alcohol content I’m tipsy, not drunk. Still, I make a mental note to get us a cab home. I’m not stupid enough to risk driving with such precious cargo.
And, fuck, she sure is precious to me.
That day when Carl had treated her like shit, I’d wanted to rip his damn head off. I almost did, but the way she stood up to him stopped me in my tracks. Fuck, I’d been so proud to stand by her side as she ripped him a new arsehole.
“Want to tell me why you’re sitting here drowning your sorrows and not on the dance floor with that beautiful woman?” Walter asks as he drops onto the seat beside mine.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight,” I reply, raising a brow at Benedict’s dad and pointedly ignoring his question. “Did Carl send you to spy on me and Lia, or is this purely a social visit?”
“I heard he was a little unwelcoming.”
“Unwelcoming? He basically accused her of being with me for my money, the fucking arsehole.”
“That sounds about right coming from Carl. Sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Don’t be sorry for me. It’s Lia who’s owed an apology, and that needs to come from that prick not you,” I grind out.
“I’ll have a word with him.”
“You do that,” I say, not giving a fuck if he does or doesn’t, because it won’t make a difference to how I feel about Lia. I don’t need his permission or approval.
Like most of the men in this bar, Walter’s attention is drawn to Lia. Her hips swaying to the music as Dalton dances with her. My teeth grind just seeing her in his arms, and I crick my neck trying to relieve some of the tension. Dalton glances over at me, probably feeling the daggers I’m shooting from my eyeballs. He gives me a wary smile, and despite his usual manwhore ways, he’s being respectful, his hands staying well away from all the places I’m desperate to touch her.
“She sure is beautiful, Drix. I can see why you’re drawn to her.”
“It ain’t just her looks. She’s an incredible woman, a damn fine mother, and most of all too fucking good for the likes of me.” I sigh, reaching for my fifth shot, ready to down it when Walter places his hand on my arm.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“I’m not drunk… Yet,” I counter, placing the shot back on the table. Despite hating to admit it, he’s right, I should stop drinking.
“How serious are you about her?” Walter asks.
“As serious as a man can get. I think I might be…” My voice trails off as I groan.
“Might be what, Drix?”
