Page 70 of The Second Dance

She winces, her shoulders dropping a bit. “No.”

“Alight, then. Make it quick, Andy. I can’t…”

I can’t stand being near you.

I can’t stand being so far away.

She comes closer, those dark blue eyes so full of emotion it looks like they could spill over. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“Me?”

“For grouping you in on the bet. I shouldn’t have held you responsible for what other people choose to do.”

What is this woman on about now? “Didn’t we already discuss this?”

She steps even closer. “Yes, but I didn’t like the way we left it.”

I can smell her shampoo. See right down the top of that pretty little dress. My mind supplies me with a very visceral memory of the last time I had a view like this. Of this exact dress. She was on my lap. We were in my truck just trying to escape a shitty dance.

I look away, swallowing. “Well, I don’t have much to add.”

“But I do…”

Frustration and stress and plain old desire mix together, boiling over, drowning out the last of my restraint.

These words we trade back and forth aren’t doing us any good. They don’t get us any closer to any kind of truth. We’re just sitting in the muck, slinging mud at each other. The only thing that ever made perfect sense, every time, was when she was in my arms.

I reach out, tugging her hard against my chest. She tips her head up and I slant my lips over hers.

Her tongue pushes past my lips, crashing into mine.

God, she feels good. This satin fabric over those curves is intoxicating.

We are standing in an open hallway. And while we’ve already established we like a little risk, this goes too far, even for us.

Keeping her body pressed to mine, my lips crushed against hers, I feel my way towards the storage closet I know is not far behind us.

It’s unlocked, thank God.

I shut and lock the door behind us. It’s a tiny space, but there is a little desk on the opposite wall. I walk her backwards towards it, my hands running up and down her body.

I back her onto the desk, and she scoots back, loosening my tie as she goes.

My fingers slip under her skirt and drag the smooth fabric up her soft thighs.

“I never thought I’d get to see this dress again.”

She’s wearing a lacey thong. I slip my fingers underneath it, dipping a finger inside.

She’s dripping wet.

Gripping the lapels of my jacket, she tilts her head up to look at me. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since I put this on.”

A possessive feeling surges through my body. Which is not good, because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to win this girl over.

She’s not mine.

I yank my zipper down.

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