Page 76 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

I finished the combination and lowered the music.

“Ladies, we have a visitor.”

Several women turned toward him, and Elijah lifted one hand in greeting.

“This is Dr. Elijah Valentine,” I said. “He claims he can dance.”

Cat calls and whistles sprinted around the room.

He laughed. “I said I could hold my own.” His voice traveled easily through the room.

Journey pressed her hand to her chest. “Please let him take my place.”

“No.”

“Frankie, I could have a medical condition.”

Elijah looked at her. “Are you experiencing chest pain?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

“Only when she spins us too fast.”

“Difficulty breathing beyond what you would expect during exercise?”

Journey drew in a dramatic breath and released it. “I can breathe, but I don’t enjoy it.”

His mouth twitched. “You should be fine.”

Betrayal covered her face. “Whose side are you on?”

Elijah’s gaze returned to me. “Frankie’s.”

Heat coursed over my body as a chorus of appreciative sounds came from several women. Journey pointed toward a space in the back row. “Then prove your loyalty.”

Elijah set his phone and keys near the wall.

I raised my brows. “You’re joining us?”

“You said you needed evidence.”

“I didn’t say you had to provide it in front of thirty-four witnesses.”

“It’s too late now.”

He moved into the space, and I turned the music back up.

“Last full song!” I called. “Give me everything you have left.”

Journey stared at me in horror. “There’s a full song?”

The beat dropped before she could argue. I began with a simple step-touch, giving Elijah time to find the rhythm. He caught it immediately.

Of course he did. His undulating between my thighs should’ve told me that. His shoulders moved easily. His feet landed on the count. When I added a body roll, he followed without exaggerating it or turning the movement into a joke.

The man could dance. Worse, he looked good doing it. I moved through the next sequence while watching him in the mirror. His eyes stayed on me, but not because he needed instruction. The heat in his gaze brought our last sexcapade back to me in sharp pieces—his hands on my hips, the flex of his thighs beneath me, my back against the shower wall.