Page 43 of Prince Charming

“I’m right.” Smirking. Ugh, why was that so hot?

“I don’t want to dance.” She lied.

She’d lied yesterday too when he brought it up. Only now, he glowered overbearingly because he knew she lied.

“Don’t bullshit me, Anna.” The growl reached into her panties, stroking her into a wet mess.

“Don’t boss me around, Tag.”

He smirked, and her tummy flipped over.

The air became charged and full of her heartbeats.

Ever since she saw what she saw in his eyes the other day, every glance now meant something deeper. Something new andbreathtaking.

Hewantedher, intimately.

She couldn’t decide if the churning in her stomach was anxiety or excitement.

She was a conscientious,determinedwoman working toward a new life. If she fell into an affair, it would be with a safe man like Tag. He wouldn’t bruise her or use her.

He’d probably fill her so full of passion she’d explode.

He made it effortless to fall into his gaze.

He made itimpossibleto say no to him.

It was natural to fall under Tag’s enigmatic spell.

She did it without realizing,

“You are impossible.” She accused.

The look in his eyes was overwhelminglysexual. And then it was gone in a blink, leaving her wondering if she saw it or it was her overrunning imagination.

Dripping with sweat, he reached for the towel she held out to him.

She’d been gawping again like a fangirl while he kicked a free-standing punch bag. Marianna loved kickboxing for fitness, but she was nowhere in his league.

“Good call,” he smirked, tossing the towel aside, giving her a full view of his tight backside in gray shorts. Like she was on a string attached to him, she followed, only to come up short when he turned a devastating grin on her. “You coming into the showers with me, darlin’?”

Dear god. She’d been following him into the locker room like an obedient lamb.

He laughed at her hasty retreat. Calling out. “For fuck’s sake, dance, you know you want to.”

More than anything, to help her focus.

When she moved to music, Marianna lost herself and became someone who wasn’t a failure, a terrible mother, or someone who couldn’t see mistakes when they smacked her in the face.

When she danced, she was someone important, someone who liked herself.

Grabbing her Goodwill ballet flats, she put on a favorite piece of music and she danced. Flowing across the floor until her calves protested and her back contorted to the notes. Ballet was so theatrical; every move was precise and coordinated. Her thirty-one-year-old body was not as good as she was at twelve, but oh, she danced until the air evaporated out of her lungs.

The music took her away.

And the staring biker brought her back again as she skidded on the floor however long later.

The rapture in his eyes told her all she needed to know.

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