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“Wow,” I say, “third place? You’re talking about the Top 500, right?”
He nods.
“That’s a cool LINPACK benchmark,” I continue. “How many PetaFLOPS does it deliver?”
Titus, Oliver, and Elizabeth laugh out loud. Mack’s eyes sparkle. “Four hundred and forty-two.”
I whistle, remembering that Marise registers at just over ten. “Impressive.”
Victoria leans closer to Mack and says, “How turned on are you right now?”
He just grins. I have a couple of big gulps of the G&T, and then put it down. “Come and dance with me.”
The others all chuckle. “Good luck with that,” Titus says with a grin.
“Mack doesn’t dance,” Victoria advises.
He glances at her, then looks back at me. I stand in front of him, moving a little to the music. He’s still leaning on the bar, and he tips his head to the side, watching me. His planet-filled eyes glitter in the flashing lights.
I move a little closer, shimmying my shoulders, holding his gaze. He’s so tall, and he smells so good. I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue, and his gaze drops to them.
Sliding my hand into his, I take a step back.
He resists for a moment, then, to my surprise, pushes off the bar and moves forward. I let him walk right up to me and lift my arms around his neck, and he drops his hands to my hips. As I sway, he moves with me, just a little.
Closing the distance, ignoring the others, I lift up and brush my lips against his, then move back. He follows, and I lead him onto the dance floor. I don’t look at the others, but out of the corner of my eye I can see them exchanging surprised looks.
The lights flash, and the beat thrums up through my feet, all the way up my body. I move my hips, and he follows, moving with me. Ooh, the guy’s got rhythm, and not only that but he starts singing along with the song. It’s calledHeartbeat, and the lyrics seem to have been written for tonight. It’s a duet, the male lead singer being accompanied by the female backing singer. The lead singer is young and good-looking, and he’s singing about sex, about feeling his lover’s heart beating as they make love.
“You’re an amazing dancer,” Mack says in my ear, raising his voice to make himself heard.
“You too.” I’m thrilled that he can dance. He’s relaxing now, getting into the rhythm, and he takes my hand and spins me around before pulling me back into his arms.
“I want to move inside you,” Mack murmurs, as the lead singer goes into the chorus. “Our hearts beat as one, when I move inside you.”
“When you move inside me,” I repeat breathlessly, following the backing singer’s vocal.
Goosebumps rise all over me. It’s like a promise, or a premonition, and I can’t wait for it to come true.
The music’s loud, it’s hot, the lights are flashing, and I know everyone’s watching us. I’m drunk, but I don’t care. I’m with the sexiest guy in the room, and all I can think about is getting him into bed. I haven’t been this hot for a guy in years, maybe ever.
But once Mack starts dancing, he doesn’t seem to want to stop. We pause for a drink, down our G&Ts quickly, and then we’re back on the floor. Fast songs and slow, he doesn’t let go of my hand, and we spend most of the time pinned together, his hand glued to the base of my spine while he looks into my eyes.
Time fades away. There’s only the music, and Mack, and the alcohol speeding through my veins, blurring everything else into color and shadow. I don’t know how much longer we dance for. Minutes? Hours? At one point the band takes a break and a DJ comes on, but we continue dancing. I’m having the time of my life. Part of me never wants to stop. But I’m in high heels, and my feet ache, and I’m tired, and so when eventually Mack says, “Want to stop for a bit?” I nod and follow him off the dance floor.
He stops at the edge and turns to face me. “Here?” he says in my ear. “Or do you want to go back to my room?”
My heart bangs on my ribs. “Your room,” I say, and his eyes glitter.
Taking my hand, he leads me away, through the doors and out into the corridor. There are a lot of people around, most of them in suits or cocktail dresses, talking, laughing. Mack nods at some of them, but he doesn’t stop to talk, heading away from the music, toward another set of double doors.
We go through them, and they swing shut behind us. It’s quieter here, the thick carpet muffling the sound of our shoes. His hand is warm on mine as he heads to the end of the corridor, past a series of doors that I think are small offices, then turns through yet another door.
It’s another corridor with a line of doors. He stops by one, touches a keycard to it, opens it, and gestures for me to precede him, and I go inside. As the door swings shut, he flicks a switch, turning on a series of discreet lamps.
It’s like a hotel suite, with a sofa and chairs facing a large flat-screen TV, a desk and a leather chair against the wall, a kitchenette, and a king-size bed.
And that’s all I have time to see, because seconds later he takes my face in his hands, and then he’s kissing me, and everything else fades away.
