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I move around to face him. I shimmy out of my dress. I wear a sheer white bra and thong. In the dim light of the tasting room, it shimmers like a million diamonds.

The angle of his square jaw moves in the dim light. His hands are balled into fists on the thighs of his jeans, masculine feral need pulses around him. He grips his whiskey glass so tight it could shatter.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he grits out.

I dance for him, rolling my hips, running my hands over my breasts, my throat, and into my hair. I haven’t danced, really danced since I got here. It’s easy to remember my confidence, my strength when I’m with Cole.

Slowly, my back to him, I lower myself to sit on his lap. I lean back. I rest my head on his shoulder, my arms around his neck tangle in his thick, dark hair.

The sheer size of him makes him a challenge. His massiveness is magnificent, and I feel delicate and small on his lap.

Cole breathes heavily as I grind against his lap. I feel his erection, hard, pulsing, in his jeans. One big hand settles on my leg, trailing possessively over my thigh, my hip.

I smile. The man’s getting into it. I wonder how long I’ll have to grind on his lap until it’s his final straw. Until Cole sees god and good common sense.

“You know, Cole, you can touch me if you want. I don’t bite.” I dip my head back on his shoulder, looking at him beneath my lashes.

“What if I do?” His deep voice caresses my ear.

“A girl can only hope.” My thighs clench.

I return my attention to the dance and stand. Cole stares up at me. After a beat, he swallows the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

My heels click-clack over the hardwood floors. The sound is loud in the empty space.

Then I climb onto Cole’s lap like it’s a throne. Like there’s never been any man before him. Holding his shoulder, I lift myself up and roll my hips against his. Flames of desire ignite in his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

“How in the hell are you real?” he rasps, his calloused hand palming my breast.

Ready to channel my inner Lady Lawless, I reach out, tipping his hat off his head and onto mine.

Cole’s entire body changes to lead. “Darlin’, you don’t know what you’ve done.”

I tilt my head, blond hair curling over my shoulders. “What’s that?”

“Made yourself mine by wearing that hat.” Cole’s fingertips dig into my skin, restraint, hunger war on his features.

My heart flutters. I can’t tell if he’s serious, but I keep my eyes on his. “That so, cowboy?”

The dance isn’t mechanical like it’s been at the club. It rearranges my atoms with a rawness, a realness I’ve never experienced. It’s not just another dance for another man. It’s for Cole. This cowboy who has been kind to me despite my secrets.

As I move to the music, I feel him. Loosening up. Getting into it. He trembles as his fingers roam up my spine, a sinful caress.

“That’s right, baby.” I sweep my mouth over his stubbled cheek and whisper, “Feel the music. Feel me, Cole.”

His hands squeeze my ass. Pressing myself up against him, I drag my breast over his mouth, and he moans.

Unable to help himself, Cole lunges. I gasp as he catches my breast in his mouth. Cole takes my nipple, hard and swollen, and bites it gently with his teeth. Whimpering, I arc in his arms, my head falling back. His fingers, rough and possessive, trail over my breasts.

My lungs expand. This man. This dance.

It’s different.

I whip my head back up, and when I do, Cole and I lock eyes.

It’s explosive. Us.

Roughly gripping the back of my neck, he slams his mouth to mine. An instant, fiery connection that steals my breath.