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Hendrix was off to one side with a glass of whiskey in one hand, talking to a group of men around a tall, round table. The way he looked in that tuxedo—Good. God. He was handsome on a normal day, but this… the black pants that hugged his ass but fit just right everywhere else, the button-up shirt with the bow tie that matched my dress, the jacket that spread over his broad shoulders and clung tightly to his biceps…thiswas mouth-watering. Every woman in this place, except for Holmes and Kacey, stared at him when he walked past. I saw a couple of them snap a picture when they thought no one was looking—pictures that would end up in a Facebook group somewhere next week.Yeah, I caught you, Lexi.It would probably go viral and photographers all over the country would be chomping at the bit to get him in front of a camera.
I didn’t want him in anyone’s Facebook group. I wanted that smile, that sexy smirk, that single-cheek dimple to be for me, only me.
No kiss, no touch, no fight would ever come between us again. We were like cockroaches in a nuclear war. Fucking survivors.
The Bunny Hopended, and the DJ slowed the music down. When my eyes found Hendrix, he was already watching me. He said something to the group of men, then set his glass on the bar table and made his way through the sea of people, stopping right beside me.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Dance with me.”
The last time I danced with Hendrix all hell broke loose. Was I ready for that again? Short answer: yes.
We both knew the dynamic had changed. There would be no more watching movies on the sofa without wanting to finish in bed. There would be no more flirty innuendos without more than an ounce of truth behind them. And there would be no more dancing without needing to feel more of his touch.
He held out his hand. “Please.”
Without another moment’s hesitation, I placed my hand in his and let him lead me to the dance area. I kicked off my heels, not giving a single fuck about professionalism. He laced his fingers with mine and put his other hand on my back, pulling me close enough for our bodies to touch. I grabbed his bicep and held on tight.
We swayed back and forth to the music, dancing in silence for what felt like forever. He leaned his forehead against mine and brought my hand to his shoulder. I let it trail around to the back of his neck, loving the way his skin felt underneath my fingertips. This was not Hendrix, the eleven-year-old boy I played Freeze Tag with. This was Hendrix, the grown-ass man who reminded me with every touch that I was a grown-ass woman with grown-ass needs.
I brought my other hand up, circling both hands around his neck. He moved his hand to the curve of my hip, soft and gentle, followed by the slightest dig of his fingertips.Sweet Jesus.We weren’t two people dancing anymore. We were two people exploring one another. My fingers toyed with the ends of his hair. He let out this muffled groan, then his right hand inched further down my back. Further. And further. Until his fingertips were splayed over the curve of my ass.
Myass. Mine.
All my fear, all my hesitation… pointless. This feeling right here, being in his arms like this was a drug, and I was hooked. I glanced around his shoulder to one group of women who’d been watching him earlier.Take a picture of this, bitches.
He looked down at me and licked his lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he said as if he was reading my thoughts.
“You know your flattery is useless on me.”
This was it. I told myself it was now or never. Let the horse out of the gate. Do the damn thing. And all the other inspirational shit I’d seen in memes over the years.
I dragged my hands over his shoulders and down his chest. I grabbed the lapels of his tux and stared up at him. “Unless you’re trying to get laid.”
He stopped moving, stopped blinking, and I was pretty sure he stopped breathing for a split second. “Is that an invitation? Because if it is, so help me, God…”
“Do you want it to be?”
He pressed into me,hard, so fucking hard. “What do you think?”
I swallowed a moan. Holy shit.
He didn’t wait for me to answer. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
I looked around the room, frantic and suddenly full of panic. “But—”
Kacey. Ashton. The wedding.
He grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the exit, shoes be damned. I’d get them tomorrow.
“You. Me. This.” His hand cradled the side of my face. Oh God, he was shaking. “Right fucking now. Yeah?”
I swallowed hard, then nodded my head. “Yeah.”
HENDRIX
The—what should have been a thirty-minute—drive from the beach to my house took fifteen minutes. Longest damn fifteen minutes of my life.
I kept my hand on Kennedy’s thigh the whole way, and it took all of my willpower not to let my fingers slide under her dress and find that sweet spot I couldn’t wait to get my hands on. We didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The air buzzed with sexual tension, want…need. Primal. Basic. Dirty. So fucking dirty.
