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He grips my elbow, leaning close enough I can almost taste the sweet alcohol on his breath. “I’d better find Nic.”
Our kidnappee. Dominic Fontana is Timothy’s best friend from childhood and the star of the massive Warwick superhero franchise. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but he’s going through an acrimonious divorce and Timothy’s worried about him. I don’t know a lot about it, but routinely being photographed at clubs getting up close with other women isn’t helping him counter the claims that he cheated on his wife.
Timothy will be checking the dark corners, and this club has a few. It could take a while.
“We’ll be on the dance floor,” I say, smoothing my hands over my hips. The dark blue charmeuse of this dress picks up the lighting beautifully. I’m obsessed.
When I look up, Timothy’s still standing there, staring at my hands, which are still stroking the short skirt. I immediately stop. “Timothy?”
His eyes snap up to mine. “Nic can wait for a bit.”
Um…okay.
“Come on.” Lexi squeezes my arm and takes off for the dance floor, Charlotte shooting me an excited grin before following her.
Timothy places his hand on the small of my back as he follows us, the little touch raising goose bumps everywhere despite the heat of the club.
I shake it off. Timothy’s attractive. He’s tall and well-muscled in a lithe way with a body that frequently defies the laws of physics. His dimpled smile and light brown puppy eyes can incinerate panties—not mine—and the energy he brings to a room draws people to him. He has this way of making every person in his orbit feel special.
I love how he makes me feel.
Conversely, I hate his job. Hate his hobbies. Hate the heart versus cheese grater feeling that comes from loving an adrenaline junkie.
I’m not attracted to Timothy—I’m seldom attracted to anyone—but if I were? If I wanted more than friendship with him? It would end me.
So these goose bumps? They have to be unrelated to his touch.
The dance floor is crowded, and within minutes Timothy is pushed close to me, or maybe I’m pushed closer to him. He gives a little self-conscious laugh, which is a lie because nothing about this man is self-conscious. I roll my eyes at him, but the man can dance, and all of a sudden, he’s dancingwithme, not next to me.
Every brush of his body on mine tugs the silky fabric of my dress over my skin, filling me with this achy, inconvenientneed.
The dress. Of course. Ithas to bethe dress. It’s so sexy it’s tricked the dormant parts of me into waking up. A perfect storm of music, alcohol, and the energy of the club. It’s not Timothy.
I turn, putting my back to his front, so I can’t see the way the lights make his eyes look hungry. Tonight is my night to get wild—whatever I’m feeling, it’s temporary. I’m going to enjoy it, not overthink it.
I’m drifting away to the music and the rhythm of the crowd when Timothy’s hands slip around my waist. My breath hitches at the press of his fingers. Something pulls tight, low in my stomach. His chest is firm against my back as we sway. We haven’t danced like this before. It’s sensual. It’s…good.
This is a bad idea, but it’s friendiversary night. It doesn’t count. I relax, sinking into him. Enjoying the way he feels, the way he touches me.
Maybe it’s the bass reverberating through our bodies, but I could swear he groans, and the achy need he’s inspired in me narrows to a sharp longing.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” His lips brush my ear, his breath cool against my too-warm, too-tight skin, and I suppress a shiver.
He has, several times. Why do butterflies explode in my stomachthistime?
“I’ll get Nic, then we’ll go,” he says reluctantly, his hands slipping to my hips as I struggle to breathe.
I nod but he holds on to me for another ten whole seconds, during which I inch closer to spontaneous combustion, before he lets go and is swallowed by the crowd. My back feels cold without the heat of his body and that shiver finally runs free.
Charlotte grabs my arms. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I shake it off and suck in a deep breath. It’s too hot in here.
“That was something,” Lexi yells over the music. She blows a strand of lavender hair out of her face. “You two need to bang it out.”
I dismiss that with a laugh. “We’re just friends.”
He asks me out at the end of every friendiversary night, and for the first time, I wonder if he actually means it. A little buzz of anticipation thrums through me and I tamp it down. This is a silly tradition he keeps up because he gets a kick knocking me off-kilter. That’s all.
