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Her breasts rise and fall, a sure sign she's breathing harder. Her lips struggle to form a smile, quivering with emotion as deep as what I'm feeling right now. My throat has constricted, and the moisture in my eyes has come back. She wants me. She loves me. I duck my head close to hers, but just when I start to speak, the music crescendoes to deafening levels and drowns out what I'd meant to say.
Erica cups a hand over her ear, shouting her words. "What? I can't hear you."
I pull in a deep breath, and at the instant the song ends, I holler, "I love you."
Everyone in the club turns to stare at us. Some look baffled, others amused, and still more glare at us like we've committed a heinous crime by interrupting their hip-thrusting dance moves. Fuck what anyone else thinks. I care only about Erica's opinion.
Tears stream down her cheeks. She staggers backward, turning away from me.
I come up behind her, caressing her shoulders with my hands. "I love you, Erica. Did ye not hear me?"
"People on Jupiter heard you." She clenches her fingers in the fabric of her dress, but I can't see her expression.
I slide my hands down her inner arms. When I graze the insides of her elbows, she shivers faintly. I skate my hands down, past her wrists, and fit my palms into hers, lacing our fingers and tugging her into me. When I bend my head to whisper in her ear, she shuts her eyes and sags into me.
My lips flutter over her earlobe. "What's wrong,gràidh? You said you wanted to talk, but now you're pulling away."
"Sorry. I do want to talk, but I'm—I'm afraid you won't like what I have to say."
I tighten my fingers around her hands. "Nothing you might say will change how I feel. I love you, and I swear I will never leave you again."
She squeezes my fingers.
But before she can speak, the music starts up again. Bass beats thump through the floor as a woman's sensual voice purrs lyrics about desire unheeded. I slip one arm around her waist to hug her close, my cheek pressed to hers. My hand drifts down to her lower belly, and I swirl my fingers over the silky fabric of her dress.
"Please, Erica." I raise our joined hands to my lips, feathering kisses over her knuckles. "Trust me to love you no matter what."
She nods. Her voice is constricted by emotion when she says, "I reserved a private booth."
I hustle her around the dance floor's perimeter, past the heathens who writhe and thrust and flail their arms as if they're engaged in a sex ritual meant to summon the devil himself into this hedonist club. I grasp Erica's hand tighter, tug her close to me, and lay a protective arm around her shoulders. I shoot a dark glare at a man whose gaze flies to Erica's half-exposed cleavage as we pass him.
The man cringes and swings his attention to the dance floor.
My initial impression of this club hasn't changed. It's not for me. I don't think it's Erica's style either. I'd noticed the private booths the last time we were here, so I usher her out of the main club area and around a half wall to the hallway that houses booths, each hidden behind plum-colored velvet curtains. Lavender light showers down from bulbs recessed in the ceiling, but even the strange lighting can't diminish Erica's beauty. The walls dull the urgent beat of the music, so I no longer feel as if I've entered the first level of Hell.
She points toward the third booth. "That one."
Halting in front of it, I sweep the curtains aside with one hand while I place the other on the small of her back. With gentle pressure, I urge her to enter the booth. A U-shaped sofa sits tucked behind an oval table with a single lamp on the tabletop, its light bathing the space in a muted, intimate glow. When Erica scoots across the sofa, her dress catches on the purple velvet upholstery and rides up her thighs.
I stifle a groan.Bod an Donais, I haven't seen this much of her body since our time at the bed-and-breakfast. My mouth waters just looking at her creamy skin.
By the time I tear my focus away from her thighs, she's trying to yank the hem of her dress down, but it won't budge. The velvet holds it fast. She seems to realize she won't fix her dress unless she stands, so she gives up the fight.
I lower my body onto the sofa beside her, one arm draped across the back behind her shoulders. I settle my other hand onto her bare thigh. "You still drive me mad, without even trying to."
"Ditto." She half stifles a gasp when I push my fingers down to stroke her inner thigh. "I should be more circumspect about this, but I lose my mind whenever I'm close to you."
"I know the feeling."
Two months without touching her has left me starved for the feel of her. I can't resist petting her flesh with my fingers, loving the way she sucks in a breath. I slant toward her, my lips close enough to hers that I could kiss her. "What did you need to say?"
"Guh…"
"Still afraid?" I drop kisses along her jaw, lightly teasing her. "You can tell me anything, Erica."
She lays a hand over her belly.
"I'll go first," I say, pulling back a little. "I'm divorced, finally and forever. I made certain of that."
