firm grip on it, so I look back up just as he’s leaning down and sliding his scruffy beard along my cheek. Chills shoot over my skin, and I inhale sharply. I don’t even trust myself to breathe right now.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He pulls back slightly and tilts his head, waiting for my response.
My brain feels foggy. “Huh? What question?”
His lips tip up at the corner, and there’s another gentle pull on my waistband. “Are you having fun?”
My heart won’t stop beating like it’s in a freaking track race. How am I supposed to answer that? I was having fun, unquestionably. But now… I have no clue how to make sense of my feelings. Why don’t I want him to unhook his finger? Why do I want to find a way to get closer?
“I am,” I shout back.
His brows crinkle in confusion, and he leans down again until I can feel that familiar scratchy feeling against my cheek. Then his next breath hits me in the ear, sending a wave of chills over me. Shit.
“What?” he asks, like he didn’t hear my answer the first time.
I swallow and turn my head so I can speak closer to his ear just as he tugs me closer. Our bodies are practically one now, every inch of space gone between us. I know I should hate it, but I don’t, not at all.
“I said I am,” I say, this time gripping his shoulders to help steady my position against him. “I can’t stop dancing.” I pull back, catching the smile that slowly spreads across Desmond’s face.
“I can tell.”
Heat spreads like wildfire through my chest, to my neck, then to my face. “I haven’t been to a concert in years.” I don’t know why I tell him this. It’s not like he needs justification for the fact that I can’t stop moving my body.
I don’t miss the way his gaze slides down my front and then back up. It’s so fast, I almost think I imagine it, but the way his eyes flash on mine again tell me this isn’t the first time tonight that he’s checked me out. He’s been watching me all night?
My cheeks heat again at my wishful thoughts. The fact that I’m even considering whether Desmond has been checking me out all night is preposterous. Of course he isn’t. But even if he was, I shouldn’t care.
“Maybe you should go more often. Where’d you learn those dance moves?”
I make a face and laugh. “I wouldn’t call those dance moves.”
“Well, whatever it is, I like it.”
He’s definitely flirting, my subconscious screams. He has been watching you. Yup, my face is burning. It’s probably as red as the Exit sign at the over Desmond’s shoulder. But when I feel the tug on my belt loop slack and I look up to see his focus has returned to the band, I’m filled with instant disappointment. It’s like a balloon just deflated in my chest, and I’m left with no choice than to turn back around in the middle of the most romantic song.
I swivel to face the stage only to feel Desmond’s hand snake around my body and slide over my belly. His palm flattens against me, and I feel another pull, this one less subtle than the one on my belt loop, almost possessive.
He leans into my neck and growls so intensely, I’m almost expecting him to swing me back around. But that’s not what he does. Instead, his voice penetrates my insides like a rush of adrenaline. “That asshole keeps staring at you.”
I look up and immediately spot the douchebag from the bar who thought he could put his hands on me and call me “sweet thing” as I walked by.
“Stay close to me, and he’ll get the hint.” Desmond pauses a moment. “Or I can let you go. Just say the word.”
His voice blows like a fire through me, and I push myself into him further, my back crushed to his hard front. His palm presses against me in response. This isn’t one of those moments in my life where I need to read between the lines to know if a guy is actually flirting with me or not. His touch, his deep gravelly tone, and his burning gaze—it’s all perfectly clear. There is absolutely zero question whether Desmond wants me as much as I want him. And if he’s not hiding it, then why should I?
“Feel free to move those hips again if you want,” he rasps