Page 23 of Playboy For Hire

“And more than enough woman for me,” Brandon said, nuzzling her ear and giving her another kiss—this one much shorter, to everyone’s relief.

Conversation moved on after that, but I couldn’t help noticing how quiet Quinn was. The whole time Brandon had been talking, Quinn had been stiff as a post, his eyes fixed on a pillar on the far side of the room. And when Brandon had kissed Julie, Quinn had suddenly become very engrossed in staring at a wine stain on the tablecloth. It was sort of the shape of a turtle, but it wasn’tthatinteresting.

I glanced over at Brandon and Julie, who were now talking about plans to go to Rehoboth Beach in April. What was going on there?

Quinn only grew more withdrawn as the evening progressed, and when the band began to play music during dessert, I stood up and took his hand, trying to pull him out of his seat and onto the dance floor.

“I really don’t dance,” he protested.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll teach you.” I shimmied and grinned at him, not releasing my grip on his hand.

“But I don’t actually want to.”

“That doesn’t matter either.”

I swung my hips back and forth—hard enough to make a woman at the table next to us say, “Ooh, I like this show.”

I glanced over my shoulder. She looked old enough to be my grandmother. I shook my hips some more. “I accept tips in the form of cash and chocolate cake.”

“Can I tuck it in your waistband?” she asked, her grin matching mine for lasciviousness.

“You can tuck it anywhere you want.” I winked, then turned back to Quinn, who still looked pained.

“Come on,” I wheedled. “It’ll do you good. Work off some of the calories from that dinner.”

He shook his head emphatically and opened his mouth to protest again, but I didn’t give him the chance. Quinn might have had an inch on me, height-wise, but I was way more muscular. I caught his other hand with my own and physically pulled him out of his seat. He had the choice of either falling on his face or following me to the dance floor.

“That’s better,” I said as we slipped into the sea of couples. “Now let’s see, how do we do this?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn said, sounding aggrieved. “I told you, I don’t dance.”

“Lucky for you, I do. And I can teach you.”

I pressed my lips together, thinking for a moment. I’d danced with plenty of women over the years—some who weren’t even clients. I could do the foxtrot, the Charleston, even a halfway-decent tango. But we didn’t have to do anything that complicated tonight.

I took Quinn’s left hand in my right, holding it out slightly, then put my left hand on his hips. He was taller than most women, so his hip was higher up than I was used to, but my hand fit there perfectly.

Quinn looked around like he was afraid people were watching us.

“Just put your other hand on my shoulder,” I instructed.

He did, but said, “I meant it when I said I don’t know how to dance.”

“And I meant it when I said I’d teach you. Don’t worry, we’ll start simple. Just sway your hips a little.”

“I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”

I glanced around. “Quinn, absolutely nobody is staring at you, or me, or anyone other than the person they’re dancing with. I promise, no one is judging you.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. “You look good doing this.”

“I do, don’t I?” I said with a laugh. I had the urge to spin him around once, but suppressed it. I didn’t think Quinn was ready for that.

I was honestly surprised by how natural this all felt. I moved us slowly across the floor—partially because it was so crowded, and partially because every time I moved, Quinn stepped on my feet. But it was really no different from dancing with a tall, somewhat clumsy woman. I’d thought it would feel strange, holding a guy like this. But I still had a hand clasped in mine, a body in my arms, someone’s eyes to look into.

It felt good. It felt right.

“You could dance with someone else, you know,” Quinn said after a moment. “I wouldn’t be jealous or anything. And I don’t think any of my family would find that weird. They know I don’t dance.”

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