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Part of me throbs in response.
The rest of me is pretty damn annoyed.
I frown.Enough. She’s the one who suggested we keep it PG; why is she playing games with me now?
Her eyes, soaked in velvet onyx and framed by midnight lashes, narrow at my frown. “Okay, I give. You eat me up with your stare and then you hesitate. What is it with you? Do you have something against strong women?”
I can’t help the annoyed snort. Not liking strong women suggests I’m not confident or capable. I’m neither. “For someone so direct, you are seriously clueless.”
“I’mclueless? Buddy, you have no idea of the opportunity for friction and fun you are passing up right now.”
I laugh because she’s quick and funny, not afraid to speak her mind, heat and energy, and the promise of friction and fun… Oh, hell. Rangers, lead the way.
I grab her hand and pull her onto the dance floor, desperate to feel all of her pressed up against me.
I’m a little surprised when she doesn’t resist because, a moment ago, she’d taken my hesitation personally. I thought she’d make me pay for it, but when I look over my shoulder, she bequeaths me with athat’s-more-like-itsmile. Seriously, this woman is scorching hot.
“At this Moment” by Billy Vera and the Beaters plays through the speakers as I pull her to me.
She curves into me, drawing a sound from my throat that’s as involuntary as breathing.
“That’s one,” she purrs into my ears.
My grateful hand slides along the silk fabric of her dress, down her back to her smooth, round, and hot-as-hell ass. And there I go. Zero to sixty. What did she just say?
“One?” I whisper, bending to place my cheek to hers.
She runs a tongue over my earlobe and the warm wet stroke sends tremors zinging low into my body.
“I’m counting.” Her sultry voice meshes with a teasing tongue that vibrates through me. “Counting how many different ways I can get you to moan.”
My brain freezes and I growl, a raw, desperate sound that even I recognize as raging intent.
She laughs. “Two.”
Okay. Definitely time to divert the conversation. Complex math, anyone? Or a subject destined to slow down any hot moment. “Have you spoken to your mother about our progress here?”
She laughs again, as if she can see me trying to wrestle control from the moment. She moves her mouth against my neck and breathes hotly, “No. But I’d like to meetyourmother. You’ve met mine. It’s only fair. What’s she like?”
Sexy and interested in me; hard to resist. “You’d like her. At least, who she used to be.”
“Used to be?”
“She’s been sick for a few years. Early-Onset Alzheimer’s. She’s at a care center. I have friends and family scheduled to sit and read with her every night I’m away.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looks past me for a moment.
I get it. Not exactly a light topic for this moment. Probably turned her right off.
Her gaze returns to me, intense and searching. She bites sexily and purposefully on her lower lip. “You do realize I already want to sleep with you, right? You don’t have to sweeten the pot with your unflinching kindness.”
I laugh again because only this woman would think talking about my mom—meant to cool things off—is sexy.
“Sandesh, I’m serious.”
She rolls her hips against me and heat explodes through my body. My eyes roll back in my head. So good. That. Feels. So. Good.
I bring my mouth to hers, desperate and searching.
