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Before her eyes, his self-conscious, self-mocking, awkward shuffling slowly morphed into insanely sexy moves that told her there and then that he’d totally been conning her.
And that he’d be fucking incredible in bed.
“You can dance,” she accused, whacking the back of her hand to the stingray.
Mischief and a certain level of triumph glinted in his eyes at her realization, and he snagged her wrist with gentle pressure, drawing her to his body. Her heartbeat tripled, and she looked up at him as he brought his lips down to her ear. “If I tell you I paid my way through my degree working as a stripper, would you believe me? Or be offended?”
Oh baby.
He pulled away a little, loosening his fingers on her wrist, a question in eyes.
For an answer, she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him.
It was, in all practicality, the only answer she could give.
