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The room began to get warmer still and he loosened his tie. A flush stole up his face and he felt a little light-headed. He was definitely getting a buzz. Well, good. He didn’t want to be here anyway. Might as well enjoy himself.
Halfway through his next drink, he felt a smooth hand close over his arm. He jumped and champagne splashed down the front of his jacket and shirt. Kat’s long fingers dug into the muscles beneath his sleeve. Her eyes were dark with rage, her full lips clenched in fury. “You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”
He shook off her arm. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“No?” She arched an eyebrow in a sexy gesture that scared him spitless. “Mmm. We’ll see.”
He finished his drink to spite her, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her face changed into a soft smile and her eyes caught the reflection of the chandelier, sparkling up at him. With an innocent grin, she linked her fingers through his. “Dance with me, Zach.”
Zach, despite the friendly cobwebs in his mind, smelled trouble. “I…I don’t dance.”
“Sure you do. It’s easy.”
“But I can’t—”
She leaned closer to him, put her lips against his ear. “People are staring. Come on.”
His throat was suddenly desert-dry. “Katherine, I really don’t want to—” But she was right. He felt the burning weight of the gazes of curious onlookers. He wanted to die. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jason staring at him, his expression unreadable. Trisha was downing champagne and God-only-knew what else. She smiled drunkenly at Zach’s discomfiture. Witt, his father, was still dancing with little London and too busy to notice that Zach was trapped.
“Really, Katherine. I don’t want to—”
“Oh, you want, Zach,” she said, leaning to him, pressing her hip against his groin. “I can tell. And I’ll let your father know if you don’t give me just one little dance.”
Guiltily, Zach glanced at Witt but the old man seemed oblivious to the fact that his son, the one who always gave him so much trouble, was being led to the dance floor like a lamb to slaughter. He couldn’t imagine dancing with Katherine, feeling her body pressed close to his. His blood was already roaring through his system. As they reached the dance floor, she turned, molding her torso to his, beginning to sway in rhythm to the music.
Her hips were pressed intimately to his and her breasts seemed crushed against his chest. “Now, isn’t this better?” she murmured in a husky drawl and he closed his eyes, fighting the lust that burned through his body, feeling his stiffening erection even as he tried to deny it.
“Let me go,” he begged.
“You don’t want to go.” She shifted slightly so that her lower abdomen was hugging his. God, she had to know that he was hard. “I can tell.”
“Don’t—”
Holy Christ, his right hand was on her bare back, feeling the silky texture of her skin, the sleek movement of her muscles. Was it his imagination or did she make some low sort of wanting sound deep in her throat?
“You lied,” she whispered, her breath ruffling the hair covering the tops of his ears.
He was dying inside. So hard he ached, he couldn’t think straight. A part of him warned him to back off, but the other part puffed up by male ego, champagne, and sexual desire, couldn’t stop fantasizing. He wondered what she would do if he rubbed up against her, let his hand slip beneath the black fabric of her dress. What would happen if he slowly let his mouth and tongue wander down the delicate column of her throat?
As if she understood his need, she lolled her head to one side, exposing more of her white skin, showing off just a little more of her gorgeous bosom.
“Mind if I cut in?” Witt’s voice seemed to reverberate through the ballroom and Zachary started, dropping his hands guiltily. He tried to put some distance between his body and Kat’s but she held him close.
Turning slumberous eyes toward her husband, her lips twisted into a wicked grin, she whispered, “Thought you’d never ask.”
Witt’s face was flushed. His eyes thinned on his rebellious son as Zachary took a step back and London, who was still clinging to her father, was plopped into Zach’s empty arms. “Stay away from the champagne,” Witt said. “It would be a hell of an embarrassment if Jack had to arrest you here. Now, give London a spin on the floor and ask one of the Kramer girls to dance—they’ve been watching you all night.”
Gulping, Zachary wished he could knock the old man’s lights out. When he glanced at Kat she was laughing, her eyes twinkling with naughty amusement. At his expense. His fingers clenched into fists and if it wasn’t
for the fact that he was holding London, he might have made an already ugly situation worse. It was as if his father and stepmother had conspired together to make him look a fool.
His shoulders tensed and heat surged up the back of his neck to spread through his face. Though several girls in expensive dresses were trying to capture his attention, Zach didn’t even give them the time of day. He handed London to her nanny, and wished he could hit something…anything.
Ripping his tie from his neck, he wanted nothing more than to leave the goddamned hotel and cool off. Spoiling for a fight, he left the dance floor. How could he have been such a fool? How? Because of Kat. Damn the woman! His fists curled in angry impotence. He had to get out of here.
Jason, drink in hand, found Zach insolently leaning a shoulder against one of the pillars near the door as he plotted his escape. “Don’t let her get to you,” Jason advised.
“Who?”
