The fuck I will. A guttural hiss escapes my mouth.
“Fine,” I grumble.
“This will be fun,” Chloe says, because that’s her. Looking on the bright side, having a good time. “It’s such a great way to learn.”
As far as I’m concerned, her dancing with this Ian guy is a great way to make me want to smash his face in.
But I reluctantly let her go, stepping away, standing against the mirror, and crossing my arms. I’m like a bouncer, my eyes locked on the two of them, ready to toss him out for any line crossed.
“All right, this is just thirty seconds. A little waltz, some swing, a dip,” her father says, moving gracefully in his own short demo. While waltzing, he explains the choreography quickly to Ian.
“Fantastic. I’ve got this, no problem.”
I narrow my eyes as the charming Brit takes my woman in his arms and slides right into the dance like he’s onBridgerton. Like he’s Anthony or Benedict. Like he’s smooth and irresistible and the moves are second nature. They spin, and his hand slinks down Chloe’s back.
My nostrils flare. His hand is on her.
I am nothing but a vat of boiling green jealousy as he spins her, dips her, and holds her close.
My fists clench.
My jaw clicks.
“Shall we do it again?” Ian asks, with that camera-ready smile, so ready to help.
Fuck that.
I uncross my arms. “No,” I say, stalking across the dance floor, my wingtips clicking on the hardwood.
I cut them off, taking her in my arms. “I’ll take it from here.”
“But you only saw it once,” her father says, his brow knit.
“I’m a fast learner,” I say. And we’ll see. We’ll fucking see. But no one else is dancing with her but me. I take what’s mine—hand on her waist, holding her close, and sayingfuck itto their plan.
I improvise, doing my best to waltz like I’ve learned in class, to swing like he’s taught me, then to slide a hand down to the small of her back like I know how, because Iknow her.
I know this woman. I know what she likes. And screw her back. My hand drifts lower, lower, lower still, resting on top of her sweet curves as I dip her.
Farther than I’d planned. So far her red hair is spilling behind her, nearly sweeping the floor. Her eyes widen, flickering with the slightest bit of fear that she might fall—but also excitement, knowing I won’t let her. It’s like she’s on a roller coaster—the good fear, tinged with exhilaration.
She’s under my control, sweet and submissive, lips parted, breathcatching. Waiting for me to keep her safe. I do more than keep her safe. I kick it up a notch, ad-libbing one more time as I drop a quick kiss to her lips. Her sweet, spicy cinnamon scent fries my brain. Knocks my senses loose. I tug her up and yank her close to my chest.
“How was that?” I’m asking her dad, but I’m really askingher.
Chloe’s breath comes fast and staggered. She nods, like she’s transfixed. That makes two of us.
“Surprisingly good,” her dad says.
Never underestimate the power of a little motivation. Letting go of her, I head to the corner of the studio, passing Ian on the way. He’s standing by the mirror, watching the scene unfold with curious eyes. Let him. I grab a small paper bag I left in the corner. It contains a gift. I bring the bag back to her father and hand it to him. “For you.”
He peers inside, and a smile spreads on his face like sunrise. “My favorite. Luca’s too,” he says, taking out the bottle of whiskey I picked up at Prohibition Spirit for them. With a bow on it, too, just the way they like.
I stick out a hand and shake. “Thanks for the dance lesson tonight, Mr. Rivers. We’re going to rehearse some more now.”
I swing my gaze to Chloe, savoring the way her hazel eyes flash with sexy hope. “My house this time.”
“Yes, we are.”
