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“I dance. Just not to country. I like pop and rock. Stuff like that.”
“Have you ever tried to dance to country?”
I shake my head. Will takes my drink from my hand and places it on the bar. I turn to him with a scowl on my brow. Next, he takes my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
“I said, I don’t dance.”
He ignores me as he guides me to the dance floor and speaks over his shoulder. “Never having tried something doesn’t mean you don’t do it.” When we reach the near center of the floor, he turns around and faces me. “It just means you’ve never tried it.”
I blow out a large breath and shake my head in refusal.
He grins in response and my knees have now become too jellylike to walk away.
Will snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me toward him. Our torsos touch, making our hips and groins press against one another. I knew this man was a rock of a specimen, but I didn’t know he felt as hard as he looked. I want to glide my palms along him just to feel every divot and curve of his physique, but I don’t because that would be inappropriate … but I want to. So bad.
He sways his hips, and I follow suit until I’m quickly swung away from him with his arm over mine, and then he’s twirling me back into his arms.
We’re face-to-face, and our lips nearly touch.
“Not terrible,” he says, seemingly impressed with the fact that I managed a simple spin move into his arms. “Let’s see what else you got.”
He swings me away again, and I follow along. I’m not a horrible dancer. I can keep a beat. Yet there is something about the wayhedances, as if from his core, not just his legs, that makes it easy for my body to follow.
When he spins me, he flicks his wrist, and our connection is broken as I twirl back in. His free hand lands low on my waist, gliding me back into him, and I land firmer against his chest.
Closer.
Intimate.
We stay like this for a few sways. His breath hits against my cheek, and the pulse of the music hums through his chest. When he releases me, I not only make my way back into his arms, but his hand also rests against my hip, guiding me down into a dip until my back is resting against his knee. My leg instinctually rises in the air, and my hair falls like a waterfall toward the dance floor.
I feel feminine and light, free and sensual as he leans down and brings us up together.
I’m like a rag doll, and he’s my master, bending and moving me as I succumb to his every silent whim.
Will can dance. Not just dance. He can command his body. My body. The whole dynamic is controlled through simple movements. I’ve never danced with a man like this before, and it’s addictive. I could dance with him forever.
I laugh and smile the entire time as we enter into a second dance and then a third. I’m becoming comfortable with my ability. Brazen even. He twirls me and starts to show off himself with his own rotations, catching my hand to twirl me again and again, and before I know it, his hand catches me by the back of my neck in a reverse choke hold, as I’m now dangling in the air in a backward dip.
Slowly, ever … so … slowly … he raises us to a standing position, and we’re face-to-face.
Breaths ragged.
Eyes glued to one another.
Our mouths inches apart.
His hazel eyes and that damn smolder are not only heat, but they’re also intense fire. My entire body is ignited with electricity piping throughout, making my head light, my breasts heavy, and my core tight. I lick my lips to cool myself down, but it’s no use.
His hands are still on my neck and hip, gripping tightly and molding us together.
It’s erotic as hell.
Turns out, I’ve been dancing to the wrong music my entire life.
Will’s breathing is harsh. He silently stares at me with somewhat of a frown. Whatever power the dance had on us has now dissipated from the air. “I have to go.”
His hand lowers from my throat, and I nod.
