Page 121 of Under the Lies

But no matter how hard I pretend, the hands on me still feel amiss.

I close my eyes, pressing into him harder, wishing they felt right, when he pulls away.

Before I can turn around, hands slide around my waist. Different hands. Familiar hands.

I stop dancing. Chest heavy.

My former dance partner now stands in front of me, brushing off his pants. He shoots a glare over my shoulder, hands balled into fists before his eyes widen at the person behind me.

“This is why you disobeyed my request? To dance?” His voice is thick, his laugh cruel. “Then let’s dance.” His hips roll once, twice—embers crackle within me.

I try to pull away from Noah in frustration, but his hold on me is tight, keeping me locked to his body.

“Let me go.”

His head dips low as he answers simply, “No.”

I begin to struggle, but his grip doesn’t relent, only tightens. I spent time dancing with the other guy wishing his touch was like Noah’s, but now that I have Noah’s arms around me I want them gone.

It’s a vicious cycle.

“I told you to stay at home, Sayer,” he rumbles at the low octave, rich bourbon on ice.

Too bad all I feel is the ice. “Just because you said it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.”

His fingers sting my skin. “Does it?” He sounds amused.

With his head dipped low, I feel his scruff scratch the shell of my ear.

He missed his shave today.

“It’s not going to work.” If I had control over my arms, I’d cross them.

“What is?”

“You trying to intimidate me.”

“Is that what I’m doing right now?” he asks, his hips move at a sensual pace. “Here I thought I was trying to get a pretty girl to dance with me.”

Pretty girl.

My heart leaps, the first reaction I’ve felt in days.

I twist in his arms. Chest to chest.

Looking into his eyes, I find myself shocked at what stares back.

With a face carved like his, it’s always going to be hard, but there’s something in his expression that has me sucking in a breath. A look that robs me of thought.

An openness that he’s never shown me before. Cupping my cheeks, he brings our foreheads together. Our noses touch.

“I want you to come back to me, Sayer.” His hands move from my cheeks to the back of my neck. “I don’t like you like this. So close but so far out of reach.”

It’s the realist he’s ever been with me. “Noah—”

His mouth crashes against mine, shutting me up and stealing my words. Cradling the back of my head, he devours me like I’m his last meal. I cling to him, opening for more. My nails bite his flesh.

He’s not kind or soft. He’s possessive and in control.

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