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Wolf tightens his grip on me. “Dancing with Lenore. Trying to find that rhythm we once had.”
I stiffen, staring up at Wolf. Does the man have a death wish?
Solon practically bristles, his face glowering. “Let go of her.”
“I’m not sure that’s what Lenore wants,” Wolf says, and when he turns to me, he winks. What the hell is he doing? Trying to make Solon jealous?
And that’s when it hits me. That is what he’s doing. And it’s not of his own accord, this is because of Amethyst.
“I’m fine dancing with Wolf,” I say, feeling petty. “We’re good at this.”
Solon gives me the coldest look. “Oh, please. You have two left feet.” He reaches out and grabs my elbow, yanking me out of Wolf’s grasp. “And whatever rhythm you shared was only because you were picturing me the whole time.”
I tear my eyes away from Solon’s burning gaze and look to Wolf with a raised brow. I think it worked.
“Perhaps,” Wolf says, giving us a smile that suits his name, then he turns and walks off through the club.
“Amateur,” Solon mutters under his breath.
Then he puts his arm at my lower back, pressing me close to him, taking my other hand in his. “You want to dance?” he says gruffly, his gaze still burning. “I’ll show you what it’s really like to dance.”
I’m about to remind Solon that I have two left feet, when suddenly we’re gliding backward through the crowd. My feet aren’t even moving on my own power, it’s like they’re doing it naturally.
I stare up at Solon, his eyes so close to mine, I see the blue becoming less cold, though his brow is more determined. “What are you doing to me?” I whisper. “This isn’t me dancing.”
“This is you dancing,” he says, now with a hint of a smile. “You’re a natural.”
“No,” I tell him, looking around us as he spins me around the dance floor, other vampires watching, parting for us. “You’re doing something. Magic? Compelling?”
“Neither,” he says. “It’s just you responding to me. That’s all.”
He says it so simply.
“Sometimes you just need to find the right partner,” he says, his eyes resting on my lips.
“Well, damn,” I tell him, and around and around we go, like I’ve been dancing my whole life, with him at my side. “You should get jealous more often.”
“Jealous?” he repeats, eyes flashing again, his grip at my back strong, fastening me to him so we’re connected at our hips. “Who said anything about being jealous?”
“You didn’t seem to like Wolf touching me,” I point out, enjoying this. “You especially didn’t like the mention of Wolf fucking me.”
He lets out a low growl, brows lowered until his eyes are in shadow. “Don’t you dare say those words again unless you want to face the consequences.”
Oh, I got him. I got him good.
“Does it bother you that he got to taste and touch me before you did?”
His nose flares, mouth twisted grimly. “Lenore, don’t,” he warns.
He’s so close to going over the edge. I shouldn’t poke the bear—or provoke the beast in this instance—but I can’t help myself. Perhaps I really am a wicked creature at heart.
“So far I think he’s made me come more times than you have.”
It’s like watching a bomb go off.
A low, guttural rumble sounds from the depths of him, sending chills down my spine, and his eyes fasten to mine with an intensity that takes my breath away.
Before I know what’s happening, he whisks me off the dance floor and drags me to the cigar lounge, throwing open the door.
