and I wonder about the type of cologne he wears. It’s compelling, and I breathe deeper as my eyes close for a second, so earthy and distinctly male that I tremble against the memory of it.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you that your dress should be illegal. One tug and I’d have your entire body exposed. I’d take my time enjoying the view. And when I’ve finished memorizing every part of you, I’d spend another hour tasting every inch. I don’t think I’d stop until you’re a quivering mess that will let me do anything I want. So wet and ready that you’d beg to be filled.”
My heart is a drumbeat in my throat, my legs weak. I manage to appear unaffected, but on the inside, I’m already a mess. Already begging.
I quickly glance at Grant to see he’s oblivious to what’s happening, his attention focused solely on the group of men around him.
Clearing my throat, I whisper, “I’m a married woman.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I care.” A pause. “I’m not sure you care either.”
He runs a fingertip along the curve of my hip, and I jump, my throat slamming closed as I attempt to hide the reaction.
“Are you planning on having any fun tonight, Adeline? Or has your life become so boring, you’ve forgotten what it is?”
I don’t answer him, but it doesn’t stop Ari from having his fun.
Another soft slide of a fingertip, this time down the center of my nape, the secret touch hidden by the fall of my hair.
“I hope you know I plan to wrap my fist in this hair the first time I sink inside you.”
My entire body shivers, my lungs struggling to breathe as he pulls his hand away.
Voice a low croon, he asks, “Will you dance with me?”
Swallowing several times before I can answer, I lie to him. “I don’t dance.”
But it makes me remember when I used to lose myself to the beat of music, the hours I would spend happily working myself into a full body sweat, my hair wild, my heart pounding. I’d felt so free then. So unencumbered by the weight of responsibility that came with being the wife of Grant Cabot.
“I think you do,” he whispers.
“My husband doesn’t dance,” I say, my voice firmer because it makes me angry to admit it.
A soft chuckle. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your husband.”
He steps away from me, and it’s like being doused with ice water, the loss of his heat leaving me cold and empty.
It’s unfair the way Ari affects me, the pull he has, as if he’s attached strings to every part of my body and can so easily manipulate me into a puppet who worships only him.
My eyes round with panic when Ari moves to stand beside Grant. “Would you mind if I dance with your wife?”
Grant, ever the sycophant who will do anything to land an investor, smiles, his eyes shooting to me before he answers Ari with a practiced, obsequious voice.
“Not at all. Please, both of you enjoy yourselves.”
Something glimmers behind his green eyes, though. I still at the sight of it, my head shaking on a weak refusal as Ari takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
Turning to look over my shoulder, I notice Grant’s stare following us, suspicion narrowing his eyes before the odd expression is gone and he returns his attention to the group.
I wonder if I imagined it as Ari pulls me close, his left hand moving to my lower back as his right grips mine. I melt against the heat of him, the hard planes of his chest pressing against the soft weight of my breasts.
We haven’t taken the first step yet, and already he’s the embodiment of raw sensuality, the rough, jagged promise of male sexual aggression that calls to something oh so feminine inside me.
And when we do finally begin to move, my head isn’t in this moment. Instead, I’m learning through the grace of his body just what this man would be like in bed.
It doesn’t help that his mind is in the same place as mine, the deep purr of his voice whispering against my ear, stroking me in places that are forbidden.
His knee brushes the inside of my thigh as we turn through a move, the room melting away around us. A bead of sweat slips down my spine, and I press closer to him without thinking of how it must look.