Page 4 of Breakaway

“Wanna dance?” Elton invited.

“No thanks.” She smiled politely.

“Aw, come on.” He stood and tugged her hand. She tried to resist, but his grip was tight and rather than make a scene, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.

Holy mother of cake, what a mistake. Elton danced like he was doing the funky chicken, elbows up and out, flapping like wings, feet shifting erratically. Her face burned as she cast glances at the other patrons on the dance floor. Nobody paid any attention to them, wrapped up in their own dancing or wrapped up in their partners’ arms.

Remi smiled brightly at Elton, waiting for the song to end. When it did, she stood on tiptoes. “I’m going to the ladies’ room!” she said into his ear. He nodded and she quickly exited the dance floor.

She passed the catwalk where the go go dancers shook their booties. A group of men at the end of the catwalk watched them with smiles on their faces. Remi spared a glance and then a second glance at the group of big, good-looking and uh…big men. The five of them created quite a sight, with their massive shoulders, expensive-looking suits and neat haircuts.

She returned to the table moments later to find only Elton sitting there.

“The others are dancing,” he said. “Wanna go dance again?”

“No thanks.” She smiled and picked up her drink.

They sat there for a moment, Remi trying to think of something to say, and then Elton stood and said, “Excuse me. I see someone I know.”

He disappeared into the crowd around the bar and Remi sighed. She didn’t know what was worse, sitting there with a manshe had absolutely no interest in—or sitting there alone. Painfully alone.

Ah well.

She dipped her straw in and out of the cocktail, studying the people. In her sexy new clothes, she definitely wasn’t out of place. Many girls wore similar outfits. Rouge was the hottest bar in Chicago, an upscale place to see and be seen.

When the others returned to the table, breathless and laughing, Delise said, “Where’s Elton?”

“He went to talk to someone.”

A frown creased Delise’s forehead. “Well,” she said, head swiveling one way, then the other. “We’ll have to find someone else for you.”

“It’s okay, Delise!”

“No, it’s not.” Delise pouted. “We’re finding a hot guy for you tonight if it’s the last thing we do.”

“I’ll find my own guy!”

Delise rolled her eyes. “No, you won’t.”

“I will, I promise. I’ll…go for a walk. Right now.” She stood. “After I get another drink.”

Delise shook her head, but subsided back into her seat. “Fine.”

Delise didn’t believe she would try to pick up a guy. She knew her too well. Remi grinned as she squeezed between some bodies at the bar to order another mojito.

Drink in hand, she twisted and turned through the crowd of warm bodies and mingled scents of Armani, Chanel and Prada, the darkness lit by lights flashing in time to pulsing music. She glanced back at the table and saw Delise watching her with narrowed eyes and raised chin. She couldn’t help but be amused by her friend’s determination, even though she wanted to shake her head. She waved a hand at Delise and moved on through the crowd.

Near the catwalk she paused again to watch the dancers, admiring their defined abs, long lean thighs and sexy moves. Then she spotted Delise coming toward her. Remi’s eyes flicked around.That group of stunningly gorgeous guys still stood over there, laughing, each of them holding a beer. She moved toward them.

What was she going to say? This was crazy.

She paused beside the men, and put a hand on the forearm of the one closest to her. He looked down at her—waaaay down. He had to be six foot three at least, and considering she was five foot three—okay, a few inches taller than that in her new heels, but still—he was in another layer of the atmosphere. He lifted a brow.

“Excuse me,” Remi said, heat sweeping from her collarbones up over her throat and into her face. “Can you do me a really big favor?”

Jase looked down at the tiny little blonde standing there with her hand on his arm. Was she even old enough to be in the bar? Amusement tickled inside him. He was used to girls hitting on him, went with the territory, but this little pipsqueak teeny-bopper blonde was hands-off material. Not even close to his type, anyway.

“Favor?”

---