Placing one arm around her upper back, I take Delaney’s hand in my opposite one and pull her into a close embrace. Some might say obscenely close. I say not quite close enough. Because unless I’m inside her tight body, we can always get closer.
The Argentine Tango is intimate, dramatic and improvisational. Chest-to-chest, our eyes lock as I step forward and she steps backward, and we move together as one unit.
The Walk or La Caminata, is the fundamental element in the Tango. It’s why it’s so popular at gatherings of all sizes and social statures. It’s definitely a favorite tonight. At least for me. Everyone else can stand around and schmooze. I’m exactly where I want to be, holding mywoman in my arms. If I could dance away the entire night with her, I would.
Delaney pivots and backsteps. Drowning in her sea-colored eyes, I slide forward, then guide her into a half turn, leaning into her body. Sparks fucking ignite, and my nostrils flare. Her intoxicating jasmine scent fills my lungs and my dick presses against my zipper. I knew doing this sensual dance with her might result in overheating, but I had no idea I’d spontaneously combust.
“You’re quite good,” she murmurs, expertly crossing her legs as we glide across the floor as though on ice. Completely in tune with her body, and she with mine, we improvise like pros. “Maybe you should be onDancing with the Stars.”
“I’m no star.”
She chuckles, her warm, minty breath fanning my face, and my focus drops to her cherry red lips. The moment her pink tongue pokes out and sweeps over her bottom lip, I’m a goner. Every part of my body yearns for this woman like it never has for anyone. I can’t explain it—don’t fully understand it—but it’s on a soul-deep level.
Delaney Marquette is mine. She might not realize it yet, but I’m not giving her up. I’ll fight for this woman—protect her, worship her, love her.
Now all I have to do is convince her to take a leap of faith. To take a risk on me.
Completely focused on our connection, oblivious to everyone else in the room, we move as one, lost in eachother and the sensuous moves of the dance. The moment the music ends, my mouth takes hers. The kiss is deep and intimate, and I don’t give a fuck who sees. I’m claiming Delaney as mine, now and forever.
“Ryder,” a deep voice says, interrupting us, “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
I reluctantly pull my mouth from Delaney’s and turn to see my father and Wanda standing at the edge of the dance floor. “Guess my invite got lost in the mail,” I respond, already using sarcasm as a defense mechanism.
“It’s just like him to make a scene,” Wanda whines, staring daggers at me.
“Any time you want to come here, you’re welcome,” my dad says, ignoring the stepwitch and motioning for me to follow him. “Why don’t we talk in private? It’s been some time since we’ve seen each other.”
That’s an understatement. I’m a little shocked at his words and tone, to be honest, but I take Delaney’s hand in mine, refusing to let her go. As I follow my dad and Wanda across the crowded room, I spot Addie and Knox. They send me a look that asks if I need to be saved, but I give a slight shake of my head.
We leave the party goers and step into a sitting room. The walls are a dark, rich wood paneling, and a couple of chairs face a low-burning fire in a large stone fireplace.
“So what are you doing down here?” my dad asks, sounding more confused than angry. But maybe also a little… pleased? Before I can answer, his attention flickers over to Delaney. “And who’s your friend?” Again, I’m surprised by the genuine curiosity. I’d expected contempt. Guess there really is a first time for everything.
“This is Delaney Marquette.” I don’t even try to disguise my pride at having such a stunning and talented woman at my side. “Delaney, my dad, Arthur, and his wife, Wanda.”
“Hello,” Delaney murmurs politely.
“That was quite a show you two put on,” Wanda gripes, and I pull in a deep, steadying breath, refusing to let her get under my skin.
“Wanda,” my father sighs, bracketing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “I haven’t seen my son in two years. Do you mind giving us a moment?”
I glance at my dad, a little startled, and almost laugh at the way my stepmother’s face puckers like she just sucked on a lemon.
“We have guests, Arthur,” she reminds him in a taut voice. “I expect you’ll join me shortly.”
My dad rolls his eyes—rolls his fucking eyes at the stepwitch—and I want to burst out laughing. Or high five him. The moment Wanda sweeps out of the room, my father’s shoulders relax. Although he’s dressed to the nines, I don’t miss the extra lines around his eyes and how tired he looks. It’s only been two years since we last saw each other, but he looks like he’s aged ten.
“She can be exhausting,” he admits.
“That’s an understatement,” I comment.
“Forget Wanda. God knows, I’d like to half the time,” he adds under his breath, and the way my eyebrows shoot up must be almost comical. What alternate dimension have I stepped into? I’ve never heard him say a negative word about the harpy. In fact, he’s always picked her side. It’s one of the reasons we’ve drifted apart over the years.
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask.
“I suppose this is as good a time as any to let you know…” He lets out a tired sigh. “We’re getting a divorce.”
Words elude me. To say I’m shocked is an understatement.
