I shake my head.
“Dancing.”
I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. “Okay. I’ll watch your drink.”
She hands it to me, then says, “I want you to dancewithme.”
I’d rather get stitches without being numbed. I’m not even exaggerating. A cheery pop song is playing from speakers set up by a DJ table in the far corner. The throng of people dancing nearby are twirling and bouncing and gyrating.
Carina steps closer, rising on her toes and looping her arms around my neck. I set the glass down so it doesn’t spill all over her. She seems intent on pressing as much of our bodies together as possible, and it’s very, very distracting. Her body heat seeps into my skin—solid, warm proof that she’s alive.
“Please,” she whispers right next to my left ear. “Please dance with me, Lev.”
Fuck. I can’t handle her begging.
I grab her hips and spin her toward where the dancing is happening. “One song.”
“Oneentiresong,” she says. “This one already started, so it doesn’t count.”
“You’re bossy.”
We reach the periphery of the designated dance area. Carina spins to face me again. To ensure I see her roll her eyes, I realize.
“Says the bossiest person I’ve ever met.Don’t tell me where you’re going. Shoot this potato. Get in this stolen car.” She pauses. “Take off your clothes.”
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to remain cool and collected under any circumstances. It’s always been easy to let go around Carina, locked away in a private hotel room. Since my willpower is rapidly disintegrating out in public, I think I underestimated how much of it wasn’t where we were … but was her.
“You’re not dancing.” Her head tilts back, eyes meeting mine.
“Thisisme dancing,” I argue.
Carina reaches out, grabbing my wrists and forcibly raising my arms to wave them in the air.
I feel ridiculous. I’m close to laughter.
She beams and spins, hair flying as she sings along to a line romanticizing being young and in love. Some dark strands smack my chest before she’s facing me again. Her eyes narrow when she notices I’ve reverted to swaying, and then she turns and steps back so our bodies are flush. Her ass presses against my pelvis. I’m getting hard, and we’re close enough that I’m sure she can tell.
Is this the first song or a second one?
Carina angles her head, chin lifting so she can see my face. “You haven’t touched me.”
“I’m touching you right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Nope,” I say lightly.
“I missed you.” Her head tilts back even more, exposing the pale column of her throat. “And your cock.” She smirks. “Mostly your cock.”
“Carina …” I’m struggling to stay in control. To remind myself that she’s tipsy and traumatized and needs to get on a plane as soon as possible.
“Did you miss me?”
“You’re drunk,” I state.
She shakes her head. “I’m not. Ask me anything. I’ll prove it to you.”
“There’s nothing I want to know,” I lie.
