Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,11

me down a staircase a few months ago. To say things didn’t end amicably would be a colossal understatement.

“Just lookin’ for a good time, honey. Care to help me out with that? I still remember what it was like being with you. I miss you.” He grabs hold of my elbow, and I immediately tense in his grip. “C’mon, Lena, honey. Let’s go dance.”

I shudder at hearing the old nickname he gave me. Lena. If he won’t give me a straight answer, I’m not going to wait around for one.

I fight the urge to slap him or throw my drink in his face. My elbow jerks from his grasp. I whirl around, grab my drink, and stomp out to the dance floor; but not before sending a “go to hell” and middle finger in his direction.

I press myself through the throng of bodies, losing myself in the thundering bass. I keep pushing until a pair of strong hands snag on my hips, pulling me near a tall, lean body. My heart thunders in panic, and I glance behind me, reassuring myself it isn’t Travis. I allow myself to relax then let loose, shaking my body in time to the beat.

Thumping, pounding music surrounds me; bright strobe and colorful disco lights pulse to the beat. Sweat runs down my neck and back in beaded lines. The anxiety and haunting thoughts trickle away with each beat that passes, and I loosen up. I will not think about Travis. He doesn’t control me any longer.

I bend at the waist to flip my hair into a quick ponytail, finding cool relief against my overheated neck. Standing back up with a roll and grind of my hips, I lean back into his chest, resting my head near his shoulder, and reach behind to run my fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. This is what I focus on. An unattached connection. A distraction.

His hands roughly grab my hips, fingers digging into my soft skin, yanking me against him while a possessive hand skates around my abdomen.

This man can dance.

I can’t tell if the wetness between my thighs is from dancing or from being turned on. His lips press near my ear, and he shouts above the music, “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Marlena!” I holler back, trying to be louder than the music the DJ’s producing.

He traces the shell of my ear with his lips causing me to shiver. “Well, Marlena,” he drawls in a rich, velvety voice. “I prefer you pressed up against me like this…” Somehow, he manages to pull me even tighter against him for emphasis. “Rather than sprawled out at my feet on your ass.”

My eyes grow wide.

Oh shit.

There’s only one human being on the entire planet who could say that to me. I groan inwardly with embarrassment. Somewhere between shaking my ass and flipping my hair in a ponytail, my dance partners switched. I don’t know what I did to piss off whatever god or karma fairy arranged this little meeting, but I am not pleased.

Okay, maybe I’m a little pleased.

His hands firmly grip my hips, and I think he’s waiting for me to turn and face him. At least my intense dancing turned my cheeks red enough to hide my humiliation.

I turn awkwardly in my high heels, wishing to delay the inevitable. As soon as I turn, a full megawatt grin is directed entirely at me.

“This is just not my night.” The words slip out before I can swallow them back down.

For a nanosecond, his grin falters and his eyes narrow, but he shifts his expression back into place. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of my eye.

“What a coincidence, running into each other again so soon.”

“I’m sure that was a coincidence.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “What did you do with my dance partner?”

“I told him to get off my girl.”

My heart stutters. “I’m not your girl; I don’t even know your name.” My arms fold over my chest. The maneuver meant to be defensive but only serves to display my rack to him further. I catch his gaze drifting before he returns it to my face with a smirk.

“My name’s Elias. Let’s go sit at the bar. We can grab another drink.” He places his palm on the small of my back, trying to steer me through the crowd.

I plant my feet. “No thanks, Romeo, I’m staying here.”

“Okay, let’s dance then. We can talk later.” His hands glide from my back to rest casually on my hips. He’s