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“It’s never been a hardship, Dylan,” she said, the tone of her voice taking on a bit of frustration. “But tonight, I don’t want this gorgeous, sexy dress and the way I feel in it to go to waste on someone who isn’t going to thoroughly enjoy it.”
Which meant she intended to find a guy who would appreciate the outfit. With that declaration ringing in his ears, she turned around and sashayed toward the poker tables, drawing the heated, interested stares of the opposite sex as she walked by. The wolves smiled at her, and she returned the sentiment, making it clear she was single and available.
Fuck him. It was going to be a long night.
6
“What’s up with Dylan?” Chelsea asked as they used the mirror in the ladies’ lounge to check their hair and makeup before heading back out into the nightclub fray. “He’s been acting moody since the two of you met Eric and me at the poker table. Now, he’s sitting by the bar scowling over . . . well, I have no idea what he’s brooding about.”
Serena laughed. After two very strong cocktails, she was feeling really good, and refused to let Dylan’s weird attitude put a damper on her evening. “I think he’s scowling because of me. Or rather, something that happened that involved me at the roulette table.”
“Oh, do tell,” Chelsea said, her tone intrigued as she opened her compact and powdered her face.
While touching up her lip gloss, Serena told her what had happened, along with Dylan’s domineering reaction to another guy touching her. “I don’t get it. He’s got this whole Jekyll-and-Hyde thing going on tonight. And right now, he’s all Mr. Hyde.”
Chelsea smiled knowingly. “It’s the dress. It’s clearly bringing out the conflicted beast in him. Dylan wants you, but he’s fighting the desire because of the whole BFF thing he’s pigeonholed you into. And he’s hating that other guys are lusting after you when he can’t have you.”
It was hard for Serena to wrap her mind around that concept when Dylan had never openly shown that kind of interest in her. “He’s never seen me as anything more than a best friend.”
“Care to test that theory?” Chelsea dared.
A part of her was tempted to do just that. “How?”
Chelsea dropped her compact back into her little purse, her eyes sparkling devilishly. “Find a guy and go out on that dance floor and dance like you’re a stripper . . . minus the taking-off-your-clothes part, of course,” she said with a laugh. “If that doesn’t unhinge Dylan and get a reaction out of him, then he’s never going to take you out of the friend zone. In the meantime, I’m going to go dance with Eric like I’m a stripper, and if I’m lucky, the clothes will be coming off tonight.”
She waggled her brows, and Serena was pretty sure that Chelsea and Eric would be hooking up at some point tonight. There was a definite attraction between them, and neither one was looking for anything serious, so why not?
They headed out of the ladies’ room, the obnoxiously loud techno music making Serena’s whole body vibrate with the beat. She considered Chelsea’s advice to head right out onto the dance floor with some random guy, but she wanted to give Dylan one more opportunity to stop being a grouch and have some fun, because everyone was having a great time but him when he should be celebrating the contract he’d signed earlier.
She found him sitting alone at the small round table where he’d been since they’d arrived, and he watched her approach, his eyes hooded and his expression less than inviting. But one of his cantankerous dispositions had never scared her off before, and she wasn’t going to be deterred now.
Reaching the table and standing across from Dylan, she placed her hands on the wood surface and bent toward him so he could hear her over the loud music. His gaze dropped briefly to the breasts that were now eye level for him, before his jaw visibly tightened and he lifted his gaze to hers.
“Dance with me?” she asked in a playful, cajoling tone that did nothing to soften his features.
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Not in the mood.”
It was the third time she’d asked him tonight, and it was now the last. “Okay, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” she said, straightening again. “I am in the mood, so I guess I’ll have to go and find someone else who is, too.”
She reached for his drink and finished whatever was inside in two gulps, ignoring the burn of liquor down her throat because she was going to need the liquid fortitude for what she was going to do next—dance like she was a stripper.
It didn’t take Serena long to find a willing partner, and as Dylan watched her and some guy out on the dance floor, his stomach twisted into a knot of conflicting emotions, with envy and lust topping the list He was also feeling possessive—like, caveman-level possessive—which he had no right to be. Serena was free to do whatever she wanted with the stranger, even if Dylan wanted her for himself.
And right now, she was dancing like she had zero inhibitions left, which was the first time he’d ever seen her so brazen and openly sensual when she was usually much more modest and reserved. Her body was loose and fluid, despite the four-inch heels she was wearing. Her hips swayed provocatively in that sexy, shimmering dress, and the sultry, inviting smile she bestowed on the muscle head she was with made Dylan clench his jaw, hard.
It was complete torture to witness her seducing some random guy, to think about the possibility that she might do something completely out of character for her after having a few cocktails—like leave with her dance partner and have a one-night stand. And considering how cozy the two of them seemed to be getting, that scenario worried him more with each passing minute.
The song segued into another, and the guy she was with grew bolder, more daring with his touches. He looped an arm around her waist and anchored Serena up against his body, and much to Dylan’s dismay, she looped her hands around his neck and followed his lead in a dirty dance that set him on edge. When the man’s hands drifted down to grab her ass so he could grind against her, Dylan shot out of his chair and reached the couple in record speed, and just like earlier at the roulette table, he asserted himself—to protect her from doing something potentially stupid with a total stranger. Never mind his own personal envy issues.
He gently but firmly grabbed Serena’s arm and pried the two apart. She looked up at him with wide, startled eyes, and the guy shot him a dark, irritated glance meant to dissuade Dylan from poaching on what he believed was now his territory.
“What the hell, man?” the muscle head said gruffly. “You need to back off and find your own woman to dance with. This one’s mine.”
The fact that the guy referred to Serena as a possession rankled Dylan even more. “Actually, she’s mine,” he said, staking his own claim. “She’s here with me.”
The other man’s gaze shifted to Serena. “Are you? Here with him?”
She sighed in resignation, and even though Dylan knew she wasn’t happy with his interference once again, she made her choice, and thank God it was him. “Yes, I am.”
