Page 14 of Every Eligible Man

OH.

He pulls me onto the floor without waiting for permission, one hand settling at the small of my back, too low to be proper, high enough to make me wonder when it'll slide lower. The other hand holds mine like I'm something precious he's about to absolutely wreck.

We move.

And gods, can he move.

For a man his size, he dances like he was born to lead. Every step deliberate. Every turn controlled. He doesn't follow the music so much as he commands it, guiding my body with the kind of easy dominance that makes my breath catch.

"You're better than I expected," I manage, letting him spin me and then pull me back against his chest, harder than necessary. My ass presses against his thighs and I feel…

Oh.

Oh gods.

The thick line of him. Even through the trousers. Already hard. Already substantial.

"I'm better than you expected at a lot of things." His voice is a low rumble against my ear. "But we'll get to that."

His hand slides lower, finally, cupping my hip through the silk, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. I can feel the calluses on his palms, rough against the thin fabric. Working hands. Hands that know how to grip and hold and take.

"Those other men," he continues, breath hot on my neck as he turns me again, "the ones who disappointed you. They didn't know what to do with a woman like you."

"And you do?"

"I know you don't want gentle." His teeth graze my earlobe. Just enough to send lightning down my spine. "I know you're tired of being handled like glass when you want to be handled like you can take it. And I know." His hips roll against mine on the next turn, letting me feel exactly how hard he is. "That you've been thinking about what's in my trousers since I walked through those doors."

I have. Gods help me, I have. I've been thinking about it since I saw him step in like a thunderstorm made flesh.

"You're awfully sure of yourself," I say, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.

"I'm sure of what I see." He spins me out and back, catching me with both hands on my waist now, practically lifting me through the turn. "Your pulse is racing right here."

His thumb brushes the side of my neck, right over my hammering pulse.

"And you keep pressing back against me like you're hoping I'll bend you over right here on the dance floor."

"Would you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

His grip tightens. His voice drops to something almost dangerous. "Don't tempt me, lady. There's a clock ticking and I've got plans for you that require more privacy than this."

I'm wet. Already. Just from dancing. Just from the promise in his voice and the hard heat of him against my back and the way his hands grip me like he owns me.

What is happening to me?

The music shifts, signaling the end of the dance. He releases me reluctantly, his hands dragging across my hips as he steps back.

I'm flushed. Breathing harder than a single dance warrants. Furious about how affected I am.

"Next," I manage.

The pretty one approaches like he has all the time in the world, that wicked smile already in place. Where the big one claimed, this one invites, extending his hand with a flourish just theatrical enough to make me laugh.

"My lady. I believe it's my turn to make you forget your own name."

"Bold promise. Your friend set a high bar."

"My friend is a battering ram. Effective, but limited in technique." He pulls me close, not as forcefully as his brother, but somehow more intimately. Our bodies align like puzzle pieces. "I prefer a more... comprehensive approach."