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But for once, I didn’t mind being wrong.
Pierce led me over to the bar, where he grinned and spoke hurried Spanish to the bartender, who seemed to know him. Two shots of rum were poured; we clinked the shots together and then each downed them. The liquor burned down my throat and settled warmly in my stomach.
“Let’s see what moves the billionaire has,” I said over the sound of the music.
He gave me a playful glare. “Be cool. To the people here, I’m just some white guy.”
“Sorry. I’ll try not to say the B-word.” I glanced around. “Do you really not have any bodyguards hiding somewhere?”
Ignoring my question, he took my hand again. “Let’s go find those moves you wanted to see.”
Out onto the dance floor we went, finding some space near the middle. A DJ was up on a platform at the end of the area, nodding along to the beat. Pierce took my hand and held it against his chest, then grabbed my hip with the other hand.
And then we danced.
It was immediately obvious that Pierce knew what he was doing. He was smooth and coordinated, more than most men I had known in my life, although I wasn’t sure what we were dancing. Like the music, it was a strange mixture of salsa, hip-hop, and club techno. Fast and upbeat and full of life.
“Relax!” Pierce shouted over the music. “You’re all stiff. Loosen up!”
I realized that up to that point, I had been extremely self-conscious since arriving on the Bellerophon. I was aware that I was around a billionaire and his servants, and that I was just some regular person by comparison. Even when I thought I was relaxing by the pool, that deeper awareness permeated everything.
I let go of that assumption and allowed the music—and alcohol—to guide my motions as we danced together. And for the first time since signing that insane contract, I felt like myself again. I felt normal, but in a good way. Pierce and I swayed and stepped and moved together, finding our rhythm on the dance floor along with all the other people who just wanted to forget their problems for an evening.
The music changed, but we kept dancing. And dancing. And dancing. When I threw a new twist into the dance, Pierce picked up on it instantly and reacted in time. When he raised my hand above my head, I immediately spun in a circle like he intended. We were natural dance partners, operating on the same wavelength despite all our differences.
He wiped some sweat away from his temple, pulled me close while gazing deeply into my eyes, and then launched into the next gyration.
The more we danced, the more I realized something else: Pierce was more than just a billionaire. When you stripped away all the money, and yachts, and servants, he was just a man like anyone else.
A sexy man, one who I didn’t want to take my hands off of.
He continued smiling and gazing into my eyes as we danced, the eye contact as intimate as the closeness of our hips. My body ached for him in a primal way, a way that transcended words and appearances and ridiculous surrogacy contracts. It was the longing that had existed between humans as long as there had been humans. A screaming urgency in the back of my head that said one thing in big, bold letters:
Mate with this man.
Once I realized that I wanted him, it was all I could think about. We possessed each other’s space, sharing breath and scent and touch. I let my fingers caress his cheek, and he responded by squeezing his fingers around my hip, brushing against the edges of my ass. Unhappy with his respect for my boundaries, I grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on my ass. His fingertips dug into my jeans and he smiled more deeply as we gyrated together in time with the music.
When the song ended, both of us were breathless. And before I could change my mind, I stood on my tip-toes and whispered in his ear: “Let’s get out of here.”
“You have somewhere in mind?”
“Somewhere private.”
He gave my ass a final squeeze. “I have just the place.”
We raced through the streets of San Jose, dodging other pedestrians and motorbikes that puttered through the masses. We made it to the stadium where his helicopter was parked, darting through the gate and past the bored looking guard.
Then we rounded a corner, veiled in darkness and privacy, and Pierce threw me up against the wall and kissed me. I was desperate for the kiss by this point, and my body came alive as his lips churned against mine. My chest surged upward with need as he pressed himself against me, closer than we had been on the dance floor—hips and chests and arms and mouths connecting erotically.
Pierce ripped his lips away and then nuzzled at my neck. “God, I want you.”
“I need you,” I replied breathlessly.
“Here?” he asked, squeezing a handful of my ass again.
God, it was tempting. To tear our pants down and let him take me right here in the darkness. But I shook my head. “Not here. Not yet.”
He kissed a trail up to my earlobe, and then he was taking my hand and pulling me into the stadium proper, onto the grass of the field. The helicopter stood where we had left it, the pilot sitting in the cockpit with his feet propped up and a book balanced on his knees.
